ARCHER SIGNS OUT A POLICE vehicle and makes her way to the Brandon Estate in Southwark where Quinn lives. Mark has given her the address and told her Quinn apparently has the most excellent view over Kennington Park. She walks towards the high rise and looks up at the vast gloomy building, counting the floors and stopping at the seventh. She can just about see what looks like a half-naked man standing on a balcony peering out over the green.
Is that Quinn?
The communal door is open so she lets herself in and makes her way up in the lift.
At the seventh floor, she gets out and sees a thin woman in her late sixties wearing a silk dressing gown and slippers, standing outside number forty-two, Quinn’s flat. She is holding a raised toilet seat and is knocking on his door.
‘Hello, is this Harry Quinn’s flat?’
The woman raises her pencilled eyebrows and looks Archer up and down. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘A colleague.’
The woman knocks harder.
Archer’s phone pings suddenly and she wonders if it’s Quinn.
Archer stares hard at the phone, unsure what to make of Dom’s message. 1. He knows she hates being called ‘babe’, 2. Since when has being a detective been a ‘fun’ job? and 3. Regardless of how ‘crazy busy’ they are, ever since their two-week fall-out last year, both of them have always made a point of contacting each other, even if it is just a text.
Harry’s voice interrupts her thoughts. ‘Clear off! There’s no one home,’ he shouts from behind the door.
The woman looks to Archer, shrugs and rolls her eyes. ‘He’s always doing this.’
‘Harry, it’s Zelda Frutkoff. I need your help. Can you open the door, please?’
After a pause the door opens and a haggard-looking Quinn appears wearing only shorts. ‘What’s up, Zelda?’
The Irishman’s eyes are red and raw and widen when he sees Archer.
‘DI Archer, what are you doing here?’ he asks.
‘I came to see if you were all right.’
Zelda interrupts, ‘Before you two get reacquainted, Harry, my toilet seat has broken again. Could you reattach it now, please? I’m a woman in a predicament.’
Quinn rubs his neck. ‘Sure. Do you want to use mine?’
‘Harry, with my knees you might as well have a hole in the ground. Besides, we’re two unattached free spirits – and the neighbours will talk.’
‘Sorry, Zelda, of course. DI Archer, please come inside.’
Quinn follows his neighbour into the flat opposite as Archer enters his. The décor is unashamedly 1970s working-class chic. Patterned and peeling orange wallpaper matched with a floral carpet woven in shades of brown, blue and red makes her eyes blink. She enters the living room and is pleasantly surprised at the breathtaking vista across Kennington Park and South London.
The room has little in the way of furniture: an old leather Chesterfield sofa, a pine dining table and chairs, a modern medium-sized flatscreen television and a games console. On the table is half-full bottle of bourbon and several squeezed lemons. Archer feels a knot tighten in her stomach as she recalls what Hicks said that morning about Quinn having a heavy night.
Has Quinn been sleeping off a hangover?
Leaning against the bottle is a dog-eared photograph. She picks it up. The picture shows a happy family scene on a beach with Quinn and a fair-haired woman and a smiling boy in between them. Looking around she sees no evidence of anyone else living here other than Quinn and she assumes he is separated from them.
She hears the front door closing and places the picture back on the table.
‘I’ll get a shower and we can go,’ says Quinn.
‘Go where?’
‘We have a killer to catch.’
Archer glances at the bourbon and lemons.
‘They’ve been sitting there for three days. I’m a bit behind with my house chores.’
‘Why did you not show up for work this morning?’
Quinn looks away. ‘I had other things on my mind.’
‘What other things?’
‘Personal stuff, ma’am. I’d just rather not talk about it right now.’
‘Harry, we are thin on the ground with people. We all have personal problems. I need someone I can rely on.’
Quinn rubs his neck. ‘I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll make up the time, I promise.’
Archer can see that Quinn is troubled but all the same can’t help but feel let down. ‘Do you need time off? I can get Hicks to fill in for you.’
Quinn arches his eyebrows. ‘I would not inflict that on anyone. Give me five.’
She hears the shower running, followed by a knocking at the front door. After a moment of deliberation, she answers it.
Zelda Frutkoff is standing outside holding a small casserole dish. Archer can smell garlic and tomatoes.
‘Breakfast,’ she says, entering the flat as if it is her own. She makes her way to the living room and places the dish on the table.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asks.
‘No, thank you.’
‘You could do with putting on a few more pounds.’
‘Thank you. I’ll bear that in mind,’ replies Archer with a flat tone.
‘There’s plenty if you change your mind.’ The neighbour disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later and setting the table for one.
Archer turns her attention to the misty park outside and tries to decipher Dom’s odd text but is distracted by Quinn’s neighbour who is watching her.
‘Are you married?’ asks Mrs Frutkoff.
‘No,’ replies Archer.
‘I’m a widow.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Harry was married.’
Archer gives her a half smile.
Mrs Frutkoff folds her arms. ‘Poor man. He needs a woman in his life. Arguably, I am past my prime. You, however . . .’
‘Colleagues, Mrs Frutkoff. We’re colleagues.’
‘Call me Zelda.’
Archer is relieved to see a freshly showered and dressed Quinn, looking much better.
‘Are you two getting to know each other? That’s just peachy.’
‘Always the comedian,’ says Zelda. ‘I brought breakfast,’ she adds.
‘Aww, Zelda, I thought I could smell shakshuka. Thank you.’
‘I crumbled feta on top. I know you like that.’
‘You’re the best!’
‘Eat and be careful out there.’ She turns to Archer. ‘Goodbye, Miss Archer.’
‘Goodbye, Zelda.’
Quinn asks, ‘Have you eaten? I can get you a plate or some tea?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. Go ahead and eat.’
‘Hope Zelda didn’t give you the third degree.’
As Quinn tucks into the shakshuka, Archer gives him a rundown of this morning’s meeting.
‘What do you think is going on with Pierce?’ she asks.
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s so unpredictable. I asked her if I could bring in Klara and she said no. This morning she had a complete change of mind.’
‘My guess is her dinner with the Chief Constable changed matters ever so slightly.’
‘How so?’
‘She was trying to convince him to give her a bigger team for this investigation, which I assume was unsuccessful. Also, since being outed as DI Rees’s lover after his arrest she is on borrowed time and the Chief Constable knows it. He’s given her two high-profile cases. If she fails to close both or even one of them, then she’s out. I may be wrong but time will tell.’
Archer recalls the DCI looking tired and drawn this morning. A small part of her thinks that maybe Pierce deserves it, but she can’t help but feel sympathetic. After all, wasn’t Pierce just a victim of circumstance? She fell for the wrong man and is now being judged and juried by other men because of it. Despite Archer’s real feelings about her new boss, the way Pierce is being treated is unfair.