Page 85 of Copper Script
Thursday came and went with more interview requests, a twentyfold increase in the number of letters, and still nothing from Aaron.Joel, who hadn’t left the building since Tuesday, was increasingly bored and frustrated.He wanted to see Aaron and to hear what was going on.He wished his landlady had a telephone.
He’d paid her son to get him all the papers.The lad duly delivered the Evening Standard, which had a sidebar about the story on the front page pointing to a spread on pages 2 and 3.Joel turned to it and almost dropped the paper.
Sergeant In IOU Affair, Marks Murder Case Leaves Force
Detective Sergeant Aaron Fowler, who led the investigation into Gerald Marks’ death, abruptly left the Metropolitan Police this morning, according to reports.It is unclear if he resigned or was dismissed.The Standard’s requests for more information were not answered...
“Shit,” Joel muttered.Had Aaron been pushed too far?Or was this Colthorne getting the upper hand?He hadn’t made a statement beyond the obligatory one about not commenting on active investigations and expecting all allegations to be cleared up shortly.
Aaron would surely get in touch now.Joel would just have to sit tight and wait for the next post; there was usually one around five-thirty.
It came and went without a letter.Joel paced up and down his room feeling like a kennelled dog.Had he fucked this up?He might have fucked this up.He’d insisted on taking the lead, but maybe that had made Aaron seem incompetent or incapable.Perhaps Colthorne had been able to use Joel’s record and his words to Sabini against Aaron.Maybe he oughtn’t have thrown Aaron’s cousin to the wolves?
Maybe Aaron was just being highly cautious and not contacting him like they’d agreed, and Joel should stop working himself into a tizzy for no reason.
He made himself a resentful bacon sandwich for supper.The last post arrived at eight; if he didn’t hear from Aaron by then, he’d stop worrying.Or he’d throw caution to the winds, run out to a telephone box, and call him.One of the two.
He heard the rattle of the letterbox and the soft thump of a cascade of paper falling to the mat, and went downstairs to collect what would be overwhelmingly his letters.He put them on the stand to sort through them, and almost knocked over the whole pile as Aaron’s hand leapt out at him.He ripped open the letter, fingers fumbling in haste, and shook it out of the envelope.
Joel—
Please come to my flat as soon as you get this.Things have gone badly wrong.Don’t speak to anyone.Come at once.
Aaron
He stared at the familiar hand, a cold feeling of dread coalescing in his stomach.Then he sprinted upstairs for his coat.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE KNOCK AT THE DOORcame in the middle of the afternoon.Aaron didn’t open it.Perhaps that was an excess of caution, but he hadn’t been making friends recently.He called, “Who is it?”
A high-pitched adolescent squawk from the other side.“Telegram.”
That was surely from Joel.Perhaps it was urgent.Perhaps Joel needed him.They’d agreed to keep apart until this was over, however long that might be, but if Joel had reason to get in touch, Aaron had to respond.Not to mention that Aaron had had an appalling day and he wanted Joel, even at the remove of a telegram, with a longing that hurt.
“Can you leave it on the mat?”he called
