Josh Frendy hated this aspect of the job. Most parts he really enjoyed, but this one always got him down. He had seen a lot of things over the years, gruesome and terrible things that would give many people nightmares for long afterwards, and they no longer bothered him; he could detach himself from them. He had quickly learned the art of treating a corpse as just a piece of meat. It was essential in his line of work. The jokes, the banter at crime scenes, were all a part of the defence mechanism that protected him and his colleagues from irreparable mental damage.
This, though – the delivery of bad news – always involved people from outside the job, people who would cry and wail and get angry and depressed, people who would break down in front of him. People who would remind him what it was to be human in the face of loss.
Strangely, it was the ones who said nothing that affected him most. The ones who accepted the news as if it was something they heard every day. Their blank expressions haunted him because he knew that they were hiding the pain of the acid bubbling inside them. At some point, hours or even days later, they would have to acknowledge it, and by then there might be nobody there to catch them as they fell.
He parked up at the address Izzy had supplied when she had first walked into the police station. It was a pretty terraced house, small and cosy. A wooden bench in the tiny front garden. A light 162above the glossy red door. Lights on behind the shaded downstairs windows too.
He prepared himself for what he was going to say. Was cautious optimism an option here? She hasn’t been seen since she left the bookshop several hours ago, and her car hasn’t moved, and her phone is in pieces nearby on the street, and there are traces of blood in an alleyway that may be hers. But on the other hand, there’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation, so please don’t get too worried about her at this stage.
Yeah, that’ll work.
Shit. I’m overthinking. Let’s get this done.
He got out of the car. Unlatched the little wooden gate. Went to the door and rang the bell for the downstairs flat. Its sound was pleasant, like wind chimes.
He tried to remember if Izzy had told him the name of her partner, but it evaded him. Would she be home now?
Movement from inside. A porch door being opened. A fuzzy, blurry-edged shape beyond the frosted glass.
A bolt was drawn back and the front door was pulled open. Josh looked into surprised eyes.
‘Hello, Izzy,’ he said.