"Actually, I think he's a policeman, too." [18/???] [Midsomer Murders]
"Actually, I think he's a policeman, too."
Chapter 17: Continuing Navigation
"What?"
"How did it go today?" Gavin asked again, half looking over his left shoulder as he changed lanes, still not bothering to use the indicator. Cully was certain he did sometimes, but she never remembered witnessing it.
"Oh...About what you'd expect," she said, almost yawning. The initial staging rehearsal-the true introduction to the director's desires and dreams-was always one of the most difficult and tiring, particularly after only doing run-throughs with the other cast members. "Missed lines and cues, and the director still hasn't decided on much of anything."
"Missed lines?" he said, the car swerving briefly when he glanced at her. "Not you, surely."
Cully closed her eyes against the brilliant late afternoon sun, her mind exhausted and muddled by the day. Her copy of Pygmalion was now laden with notes-all in pencil, ready to be both smudged and erased. "Of course I missed some, Gavin. It was the first real rehearsal."
"After going through them that many times?"
"It's different reacting to them," she said, squinting when she opened her eyes. "Especially when the director stops the whole thing every minute for blocking."
"Right," he said, downshifting. The car's engine roared, shuddering as Gavin bore down on the accelerator to overtake a car in the adjacent lane-and Cully clenched her fingers on the car's door, her eyes now wide and her mind perfectly clear. At least that's something good, she thought. If nothing else Gavin's driving would wake her up, even if it only did so by doubling her pulse. It had done so most afternoons during the past two weeks.
"You wouldn't make a great actor, you know," she said quickly, her heart still pounding as Gavin changed lanes once more, without glancing over his shoulder this time. Again, he ignored the indicator. "You just read them."
"Isn't that what I was supposed to do?" he asked, returning the car to the next gear up.
"Yes, but you didn't put anything into them. That's the difference." Her hand relaxed as the engine quieted. "But, what about you?"
"Hmm?" His mind was elsewhere, Cully realized.
"How was your day, Gavin?"
"Oh, fine," he said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Just doing the last forms for all those burglaries."
"Did you ever catch him?"
Gavin let out a sigh, almost a hiss as his face darkened. "No. Slimy devil."
She touched his shoulders, the muscle noticeably tense through his jacket and shirt. "Well, if he's done nine of them, he's probably not going to stop."
"He did once," he said, the drumming of his fingers faster and louder. "No reason he won't do it again."
It was unlike him to be this caught up by a case. She expected it from her father, but not from Gavin. "But then he started again-"
"And we had to start from scratch."
"Is something wrong, Gavin?" she asked, pulling her hand back.
"What?" he asked, his voice flat. More than observing the traffic ahead, he was staring out the window, thoughts churning in a way she had never seen before.
"This isn't like you. You're never this wrapped up by work."
Gavin scowled, his fingers white as they tightened around the wheel only to loosen after a moment. "I don't like putting a couple of weeks of work into something that doesn't go anywhere."
"You'll sort it out," she said quietly.
He shook his head as he turned off Causton's high street. "You mean your dad will."
"You solved the murder in Midsomer Market, didn't you?"
"Sure," he said vacantly after a moment.
"You did, Gavin." This case had drawn him in, enveloped him-and she didn't like it. "Even Dad said so."
The car slowed to a stop at a red light, the intersection ahead filled with cars crossing the road: going straight, turning right and left, yielding as other vehicles came from the opposite direction. "There was something odd today, Cully," he said, looking at her while the car was motionless. "I got a phone call from him, about a missing person. I thought your parents were at a funeral."
"Yes, Karl Wainwright's," Cully said, pushing a few wayward strands of hair out of her face, "out in Midsomer Magna."
"Never heard of him." The light turned green and Gavin pressed the gas pedal heavily.
He was with her again, sitting in the car rather than at his desk, talking instead of stewing. "He always donated to Mum's drama group," she said. Not that money can fix everything. Cully had attempted to enjoy every performance she had seen, but she had been more than a little relieved when the group dissolved after that murder. Every interminable evening of sitting through awkward words and stilted movements had been torture. "I guess he did a lot for Midsomer Magna. Causton, too. I think she would have felt guilty if she didn't go. Dad just got roped into it."
"One bloke didn't turn up for it." Gavin swerved to avoid a cyclist, though the man still jerked his bicycle toward the curb. "No surprise there," he added faintly.
"Why would you think that?"
"It's a funeral, Cully."
"So?" she asked, sitting straighter.
"Well, no one goes if they can help it. I still can't believe your parents went."
At times, Cully was convinced Gavin did not give a moment's thought to anything he said. If he did, the world would never hear a great deal of it. "Most people don't think the way you do, Gavin," she said, gazing out the passenger window. "It's a final time to see whoever died. And it's respectful."
"It's not like it was his father, Cully, just his boss."
"You wouldn't go to Dad's?" Cully asked, instantly hating the words as her skin burned. But he didn't answer and she was glad she could not see his face. Neither Gavin nor her father could face a working day without the knowledge that, however improbable, it might be the final one they had.
Cully shivered. She and her mother had confronted it as well-truly seen it-that night a few months ago, watching him struggle for air and claw through a drugged haze that had lingered through much of the next morning. No matter how unlikely, how remote the chance, surely neither Gavin nor her father could just ignore it."I'm sorry," she said, looking away from the window, no longer seeing anything. When she thought about that evening, breathing was still too difficult. "I shouldn't- I'm sorry, Gavin."
He drew a deep breath. "No worries." Now he was silent-thinking about that night, the possibilities it evoked? "But I would. It's not the same thing," Gavin added, tapping the indicator before he turned again.
A first time for everything, she thought unhappily, the clicking ending abruptly.
It would always be different from anything else, Cully knew, the relationship between two policemen. It was an occupation that day after day and year after year sent its officers into the unknown. That man across the table: was he a killer or a witness? That woman whose body had just been identified: was she an innocent bystander or someone with a secret poisonous enough to lead to her murder? There was no way to be sure until everything was revealed-and the only path to that end was through the murky world of ignorance and uncertainty. It was a world that could be dangerous and could only be navigated with unshakeable trust, far more than even she or her mother could ever hope to understand. "I know," she said quietly. He had surely been as frightened as her that night.
Silence took over, leaden and awkward. It had been a stupid thing to say and a simple apology was not enough to clear the air. One thought after another wound through her mind, each one trite and useless. "Did-he say anything else about him?" she managed after a minute, trying to forget that the detour had ever happened. "The man that didn't go to the funeral?"
"No." Gavin stopped, peering into his wing mirror before turning again. "Don't think he knows anything else." One of his hands wandered to his neck, further loosening the knot in his tie. "So-what's got this director confused already?"
Cully smiled to herself. He was willing to let her forget. "Nothing, Gavin. He just hasn't decided how he wants things done yet."
For the last few minutes of the ride, Cully reviewed the day further for Gavin: the director's comments, her deepening impressions of her fellow cast members, even a few of the lines she had forgotten. "I still can't believe you missed any," he muttered once. But at least his mind was on something else, Cully told herself. If it kept him-both of them-from thinking about that evening, he could ramble on about her lines all he wanted.
He was more careful than usual when he pulled into the drive, almost stopping instead of turning; his hand lingered on the keys in the ignition for a few seconds before he removed them. They often sat and talked for a few more moments-but never like this, mute and uncomfortable. Tightening her grip on the door's handle, Cully opened the door, forcing herself to clamber out quickly. If she didn't do so now...well, it would only be more difficult in another minute.
"Thanks for the lift, Gavin," she said, closing the door harshly as he got out as well.
"Why would I stop now?" he asked, leaning against the car's frame, one hand wrapped around the keys.
"I didn't mean that. But rehearsals probably won't ever end much earlier than this."
One side of his mouth turned up. "Then that'll make us even."
"I guess," she said, holding back a quick laugh, "until your burglar starts again."
The beginning of that smile faded, though nothing replaced it. "Maybe. It took him a few months last time." He paused, staring at his hand as he twisted the keys through his fingers before he spoke, his voice so quiet that Cully almost didn't hear him. "Hopefully he'll wait that long again."
That makes both of us, she thought as they walked toward the front door together. When the investigation had utterly consumed him, his absence had become a constant-if mild-ache, always nagging at her mind. In such a short time, she had become so accustomed to seeing him almost every day and speaking to him on those few days she did not. He had nearly disappeared from her life-turnabout was fair play, after all-and she hated the thought of it happening again. Each time she saw him, the happiness was a little more complete, a little more overwhelming, a little more demanding.
"See you tomorrow?" Gavin asked as she thrust her key into the lock.
"If you'll still give me a lift," she said, turning back to him.
"Any reason why I shouldn't?"
"I don't think so."
He nearly laughed, even as his gaze fell to the pavement. This moment was longer each day, stretching from a few seconds to share a final word to minutes. Once they had stood on this spot for nearly a quarter of an hour; they had nothing new to say, but neither of them would say goodbye. And the kiss he always gave her, it too was changing, now deeper, longer, more confused...
Or rather, the kiss he almost always gave her. A few evenings ago whilst they were still talking, her father had opened the door, no doubt wondering what was taking so long after he heard the car pull in. No one had said anything; Gavin had offered a small bland smile, her father had frowned darkly, and Cully had struggled to just breathe as the air was suddenly heavy. There was no danger of that today, not if he was still in Midsomer Magna conducting a search.
"I'll see you then-"
"I'm sure you can stay for dinner this time," Cully interrupted, speaking faster than usual. The longer she let him think, the more reasons he might concoct for declining-and she might actually think at all.
He looked up, his eyes indecipherable. "Cully-"
"As long as you don't mind Mum's leftovers," she added. Her hand was no longer on the doorknob but on his arm-at his elbow-not holding it, but just touching him.
"Why would I?"
"I actually don't remember what she's got in there." Cully stepped closer to him, ready to hear him say no. "I think she's trying Delia Smith again."
"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Gavin said, lifting his arm-her hand rose as well, ready to catch hold of him if she had to-and dropping his keys into his jacket pocket.
"They've got to be eaten sometime," she said, breathing again, "and I'm sure Dad managed to have something at the reception."
"Before he went out on this search?"
His arm fell away from her hand, but Cully didn't care at the moment. "Of course. He always does, if he can."
"What about your mum?" Gavin asked as she opened the door to the dark sitting room. The curtains across the front window were closed and every light had long since been switched off. Just at the edge of the hallway that led into the kitchen, a patch of sunlight glowed on the carpet.
"She might have," Cully said, stepping inside, Gavin following her, "but I'm know Dad did."
"Doesn't that bother her?"
"Not anymore." Cully closed the door. Though dimmed, his face was still visible as the meager light caught and hung on his pale skin. Even with the time he spent on the cricket pitch, she had never seen a hint of color on his face-except when he was embarrassed. "She got over it pretty quickly."
"That's probably for the best," Gavin said, nodding his head to one side. "But it can't be that bad."
Cully laughed quietly, brushing a speck of invisible dust from one of his shoulders, his frame more distinct as her eyes adjusted. "Someday I might have to stick you to her liver and greens for that," she said.
"Her what?"
"Liver and greens," she repeated, crossing her arms. It had been years since she had endured that concoction and the memory remained vile. "You'd have to taste them to believe me."
"I'll believe you if you say I should."
"You should," Cully said, leaning toward him. Even with her hands pressed against her body, she still felt his shoulder beneath her palm as she had in the car-at first tense then relaxing before it transformed to warm, bare skin she could not touch. "But it won't be as bad as that." The knot-new and familiar-was twisting in her belly, already aching and demanding. "I promise."
Chapter 17: Continuing Navigation
"What?"
"How did it go today?" Gavin asked again, half looking over his left shoulder as he changed lanes, still not bothering to use the indicator. Cully was certain he did sometimes, but she never remembered witnessing it.
"Oh...About what you'd expect," she said, almost yawning. The initial staging rehearsal-the true introduction to the director's desires and dreams-was always one of the most difficult and tiring, particularly after only doing run-throughs with the other cast members. "Missed lines and cues, and the director still hasn't decided on much of anything."
"Missed lines?" he said, the car swerving briefly when he glanced at her. "Not you, surely."
Cully closed her eyes against the brilliant late afternoon sun, her mind exhausted and muddled by the day. Her copy of Pygmalion was now laden with notes-all in pencil, ready to be both smudged and erased. "Of course I missed some, Gavin. It was the first real rehearsal."
"After going through them that many times?"
"It's different reacting to them," she said, squinting when she opened her eyes. "Especially when the director stops the whole thing every minute for blocking."
"Right," he said, downshifting. The car's engine roared, shuddering as Gavin bore down on the accelerator to overtake a car in the adjacent lane-and Cully clenched her fingers on the car's door, her eyes now wide and her mind perfectly clear. At least that's something good, she thought. If nothing else Gavin's driving would wake her up, even if it only did so by doubling her pulse. It had done so most afternoons during the past two weeks.
"You wouldn't make a great actor, you know," she said quickly, her heart still pounding as Gavin changed lanes once more, without glancing over his shoulder this time. Again, he ignored the indicator. "You just read them."
"Isn't that what I was supposed to do?" he asked, returning the car to the next gear up.
"Yes, but you didn't put anything into them. That's the difference." Her hand relaxed as the engine quieted. "But, what about you?"
"Hmm?" His mind was elsewhere, Cully realized.
"How was your day, Gavin?"
"Oh, fine," he said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Just doing the last forms for all those burglaries."
"Did you ever catch him?"
Gavin let out a sigh, almost a hiss as his face darkened. "No. Slimy devil."
She touched his shoulders, the muscle noticeably tense through his jacket and shirt. "Well, if he's done nine of them, he's probably not going to stop."
"He did once," he said, the drumming of his fingers faster and louder. "No reason he won't do it again."
It was unlike him to be this caught up by a case. She expected it from her father, but not from Gavin. "But then he started again-"
"And we had to start from scratch."
"Is something wrong, Gavin?" she asked, pulling her hand back.
"What?" he asked, his voice flat. More than observing the traffic ahead, he was staring out the window, thoughts churning in a way she had never seen before.
"This isn't like you. You're never this wrapped up by work."
Gavin scowled, his fingers white as they tightened around the wheel only to loosen after a moment. "I don't like putting a couple of weeks of work into something that doesn't go anywhere."
"You'll sort it out," she said quietly.
He shook his head as he turned off Causton's high street. "You mean your dad will."
"You solved the murder in Midsomer Market, didn't you?"
"Sure," he said vacantly after a moment.
"You did, Gavin." This case had drawn him in, enveloped him-and she didn't like it. "Even Dad said so."
The car slowed to a stop at a red light, the intersection ahead filled with cars crossing the road: going straight, turning right and left, yielding as other vehicles came from the opposite direction. "There was something odd today, Cully," he said, looking at her while the car was motionless. "I got a phone call from him, about a missing person. I thought your parents were at a funeral."
"Yes, Karl Wainwright's," Cully said, pushing a few wayward strands of hair out of her face, "out in Midsomer Magna."
"Never heard of him." The light turned green and Gavin pressed the gas pedal heavily.
He was with her again, sitting in the car rather than at his desk, talking instead of stewing. "He always donated to Mum's drama group," she said. Not that money can fix everything. Cully had attempted to enjoy every performance she had seen, but she had been more than a little relieved when the group dissolved after that murder. Every interminable evening of sitting through awkward words and stilted movements had been torture. "I guess he did a lot for Midsomer Magna. Causton, too. I think she would have felt guilty if she didn't go. Dad just got roped into it."
"One bloke didn't turn up for it." Gavin swerved to avoid a cyclist, though the man still jerked his bicycle toward the curb. "No surprise there," he added faintly.
"Why would you think that?"
"It's a funeral, Cully."
"So?" she asked, sitting straighter.
"Well, no one goes if they can help it. I still can't believe your parents went."
At times, Cully was convinced Gavin did not give a moment's thought to anything he said. If he did, the world would never hear a great deal of it. "Most people don't think the way you do, Gavin," she said, gazing out the passenger window. "It's a final time to see whoever died. And it's respectful."
"It's not like it was his father, Cully, just his boss."
"You wouldn't go to Dad's?" Cully asked, instantly hating the words as her skin burned. But he didn't answer and she was glad she could not see his face. Neither Gavin nor her father could face a working day without the knowledge that, however improbable, it might be the final one they had.
Cully shivered. She and her mother had confronted it as well-truly seen it-that night a few months ago, watching him struggle for air and claw through a drugged haze that had lingered through much of the next morning. No matter how unlikely, how remote the chance, surely neither Gavin nor her father could just ignore it."I'm sorry," she said, looking away from the window, no longer seeing anything. When she thought about that evening, breathing was still too difficult. "I shouldn't- I'm sorry, Gavin."
He drew a deep breath. "No worries." Now he was silent-thinking about that night, the possibilities it evoked? "But I would. It's not the same thing," Gavin added, tapping the indicator before he turned again.
A first time for everything, she thought unhappily, the clicking ending abruptly.
It would always be different from anything else, Cully knew, the relationship between two policemen. It was an occupation that day after day and year after year sent its officers into the unknown. That man across the table: was he a killer or a witness? That woman whose body had just been identified: was she an innocent bystander or someone with a secret poisonous enough to lead to her murder? There was no way to be sure until everything was revealed-and the only path to that end was through the murky world of ignorance and uncertainty. It was a world that could be dangerous and could only be navigated with unshakeable trust, far more than even she or her mother could ever hope to understand. "I know," she said quietly. He had surely been as frightened as her that night.
Silence took over, leaden and awkward. It had been a stupid thing to say and a simple apology was not enough to clear the air. One thought after another wound through her mind, each one trite and useless. "Did-he say anything else about him?" she managed after a minute, trying to forget that the detour had ever happened. "The man that didn't go to the funeral?"
"No." Gavin stopped, peering into his wing mirror before turning again. "Don't think he knows anything else." One of his hands wandered to his neck, further loosening the knot in his tie. "So-what's got this director confused already?"
Cully smiled to herself. He was willing to let her forget. "Nothing, Gavin. He just hasn't decided how he wants things done yet."
For the last few minutes of the ride, Cully reviewed the day further for Gavin: the director's comments, her deepening impressions of her fellow cast members, even a few of the lines she had forgotten. "I still can't believe you missed any," he muttered once. But at least his mind was on something else, Cully told herself. If it kept him-both of them-from thinking about that evening, he could ramble on about her lines all he wanted.
He was more careful than usual when he pulled into the drive, almost stopping instead of turning; his hand lingered on the keys in the ignition for a few seconds before he removed them. They often sat and talked for a few more moments-but never like this, mute and uncomfortable. Tightening her grip on the door's handle, Cully opened the door, forcing herself to clamber out quickly. If she didn't do so now...well, it would only be more difficult in another minute.
"Thanks for the lift, Gavin," she said, closing the door harshly as he got out as well.
"Why would I stop now?" he asked, leaning against the car's frame, one hand wrapped around the keys.
"I didn't mean that. But rehearsals probably won't ever end much earlier than this."
One side of his mouth turned up. "Then that'll make us even."
"I guess," she said, holding back a quick laugh, "until your burglar starts again."
The beginning of that smile faded, though nothing replaced it. "Maybe. It took him a few months last time." He paused, staring at his hand as he twisted the keys through his fingers before he spoke, his voice so quiet that Cully almost didn't hear him. "Hopefully he'll wait that long again."
That makes both of us, she thought as they walked toward the front door together. When the investigation had utterly consumed him, his absence had become a constant-if mild-ache, always nagging at her mind. In such a short time, she had become so accustomed to seeing him almost every day and speaking to him on those few days she did not. He had nearly disappeared from her life-turnabout was fair play, after all-and she hated the thought of it happening again. Each time she saw him, the happiness was a little more complete, a little more overwhelming, a little more demanding.
"See you tomorrow?" Gavin asked as she thrust her key into the lock.
"If you'll still give me a lift," she said, turning back to him.
"Any reason why I shouldn't?"
"I don't think so."
He nearly laughed, even as his gaze fell to the pavement. This moment was longer each day, stretching from a few seconds to share a final word to minutes. Once they had stood on this spot for nearly a quarter of an hour; they had nothing new to say, but neither of them would say goodbye. And the kiss he always gave her, it too was changing, now deeper, longer, more confused...
Or rather, the kiss he almost always gave her. A few evenings ago whilst they were still talking, her father had opened the door, no doubt wondering what was taking so long after he heard the car pull in. No one had said anything; Gavin had offered a small bland smile, her father had frowned darkly, and Cully had struggled to just breathe as the air was suddenly heavy. There was no danger of that today, not if he was still in Midsomer Magna conducting a search.
"I'll see you then-"
"I'm sure you can stay for dinner this time," Cully interrupted, speaking faster than usual. The longer she let him think, the more reasons he might concoct for declining-and she might actually think at all.
He looked up, his eyes indecipherable. "Cully-"
"As long as you don't mind Mum's leftovers," she added. Her hand was no longer on the doorknob but on his arm-at his elbow-not holding it, but just touching him.
"Why would I?"
"I actually don't remember what she's got in there." Cully stepped closer to him, ready to hear him say no. "I think she's trying Delia Smith again."
"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Gavin said, lifting his arm-her hand rose as well, ready to catch hold of him if she had to-and dropping his keys into his jacket pocket.
"They've got to be eaten sometime," she said, breathing again, "and I'm sure Dad managed to have something at the reception."
"Before he went out on this search?"
His arm fell away from her hand, but Cully didn't care at the moment. "Of course. He always does, if he can."
"What about your mum?" Gavin asked as she opened the door to the dark sitting room. The curtains across the front window were closed and every light had long since been switched off. Just at the edge of the hallway that led into the kitchen, a patch of sunlight glowed on the carpet.
"She might have," Cully said, stepping inside, Gavin following her, "but I'm know Dad did."
"Doesn't that bother her?"
"Not anymore." Cully closed the door. Though dimmed, his face was still visible as the meager light caught and hung on his pale skin. Even with the time he spent on the cricket pitch, she had never seen a hint of color on his face-except when he was embarrassed. "She got over it pretty quickly."
"That's probably for the best," Gavin said, nodding his head to one side. "But it can't be that bad."
Cully laughed quietly, brushing a speck of invisible dust from one of his shoulders, his frame more distinct as her eyes adjusted. "Someday I might have to stick you to her liver and greens for that," she said.
"Her what?"
"Liver and greens," she repeated, crossing her arms. It had been years since she had endured that concoction and the memory remained vile. "You'd have to taste them to believe me."
"I'll believe you if you say I should."
"You should," Cully said, leaning toward him. Even with her hands pressed against her body, she still felt his shoulder beneath her palm as she had in the car-at first tense then relaxing before it transformed to warm, bare skin she could not touch. "But it won't be as bad as that." The knot-new and familiar-was twisting in her belly, already aching and demanding. "I promise."