Free The Siren by Alison Bruce

were the very reasons
that Kimberly had made her the channel for all her hopes.
    Gully never intentionally shirked anything but this particular responsibility rested heavily on her. She could have argued that it wasn’t hers to carry but, more than that, she felt it
wasn’t hers to avoid.
    It was when she and Kimberly conversed that she sensed it most. Therefore Gully feared showing the wrong emotions, and similarly that she might show either too much or too little of the
acceptable ones: sympathy, promise, faith and even strength. Gully felt under pressure not to make any mistakes in her interaction with Kimberly. Therefore a few minutes with no eye contact or
conversation was unlikely to harm either of them.
    She now absorbed the mess outside: same event, different aftermath.
    The fire had left Gwydir Street looking hung-over and dishevelled, like it had awoken to face cleaning up the last traces of some rowdy carnival that had pushed its way through the narrow
thoroughfare. Where cars were still allowed to park, they’d been jammed into too few spaces, standing non-parallel and untidy. Many curtains were still rucked from people peering out and some
front doors gaped open and probably had been since first light.
    The road was wet, the pavements strewn with cigarette ends and partly burnt paper. When a man stooped to pick up a piece, she recognized him at once as Goodhew, the detective she’d heard
about but hadn’t yet met. The piece of paper was white and narrow, maybe out of a notepad or similar. He turned it over, and back again, then he put it in his pocket. The other pieces would
soon be trodden into the pavement, but for now they fluttered in tiny ticker-tape-like shreds.
    He looked about her own age, though she guessed he had to be a couple of years older, but twenty-five maximum. She didn’t even know if it was possible to be a detective sooner than that.
So, assuming there was no such thing as a buy-it-yourself detective badge, he had to be sharp; probably a bit of a nerd as well as a high-flyer. She thought that he was probably here because
he’d decided to interfere with her morning and it grated on her.
    He tapped on the driver’s window and gestured for her to get out of the car. She removed her seatbelt and climbed out, each movement as clipped as her tone. ‘What?’
    He held out his hand. ‘I’m DC Goodhew. Gary.’
    They shook hands but she didn’t smile, and forgot to introduce herself. ‘I know who you are.’ She tried to look confident but was aware how her eyebrows had drawn together,
locking her forehead in an involuntary scowl. ‘I left a message for DI Marks, so he knows we’re both down here.’
    ‘He’s not in, so he doesn’t know yet. Mel passed your note to me, and it seemed odd, so I just want to make sure that everything’s OK.’
    ‘She wanted to come back here. I think she’s been awake for most of the night, and of course she’s desperate for news.’ Gully heard herself making too many excuses,
talking away any illusion of assertiveness, but she was finding it hard to stop. ‘She wanted to stay here last night but, of course, that wouldn’t have been sensible . . .’
    ‘And this is ?’
    ‘Why not? She’s not under arrest and she’s had no news yet of her son or her best mate.’ Gully managed to stop herself talking before she was interrupted, and challenged
him with a look of determination.
    ‘Because . . .’ A deep irritation filled the word; he must have heard it too because he paused for breath. ‘Look, if they suddenly find a body in that wreckage, you’re
going to have the locals right in your face. Not to mention the press. You’ve spent some time with her, so do you think that’s fair?’
    Maybe if she’d held his steady gaze, and had the courage of her own convictions, it would have been different. She could have answered that, yes, it was the right decision , and only
realized the flaw in her judgment at a later and more