Free The Siren by Alison Bruce Page A

humiliating moment. Instead, though, she glanced at Kimberly and understood how much more vulnerable she’d now made her.
    Gully’s cheeks flushed. She wished there was some dignified way out of this, but he was just standing there while she squirmed, and this smart-arse detective was looking on like it was the
first time he’d ever seen someone screw up.
    And she was blushing again – just the thought that she was at risk of blushing made it happen, the medical term being ‘idiopathic craniofacial erythema’. It was virtually
untreatable, and according to various family members, boyfriends and acquaintances it was either cute or funny. Ha-bloody-ha. She knew that any attempt to keep her feelings private would trigger it
automatically.
    She shook her head, then reddened further. ‘Shit.’ She turned her face away. Shit, shit, shit.
    ‘You’ve been up all night, so you’re bound to be really tired . . .’ He stopped as soon as he saw her anger now turning on him.
    ‘Hang on, I can see exactly where you’re going with this. I can see I ballsed up, but don’t patronize me, please.’ She phrased the please more like an insult than
a request.
    ‘I wasn’t.’
    ‘Not much.’ She poked a finger in his direction. ‘Why don’t you put it down to hormones as well as tiredness?’
    ‘No,’ he said flatly, ‘I’m not going down that road. And if you want to, that’s up to you. But not here, not now.’ He took one step back, as if he’d
done his bit of damage and now he was ready to walk away.
    Her bad temper evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. ‘Just back off,’ she said more quietly, ‘I don’t need favours. I appreciate your advice, but I’ll see Marks
and put my hand up to it.’
    ‘You’d better get over to Parkside or back to Miss Guyver’s house, then, Marks is due to get in at eight.’ Goodhew started reaching forward to open the car door for her,
but stopped abruptly. ‘Too late,’ he observed.
    Activity outside the Golinski house had suddenly ceased, the fire crew now gathered in a fatigued and dirty group. They were being briefed by the fire officer.
    One of them was skinny and squatted on the balls of his feet, leaning his elbows on his knees, his body taking the shape of a question mark. He wiped his face a couple of times, taking several
attempts to clear the worst of the grime from his eyes. He didn’t look in the direction of the patrol car, but to Gully it was still obvious that what he was feeling was pity, and all of it
directed at Kimberly. Goodhew knew that one of them should go over before the fire officer approached to take them to one side. ‘Do you want me to speak to him?’ he asked Gully.
    ‘No, I’ll go, thank you. I can handle it.’
    It seemed like her automatic response was to reject anything that could be construed as a favour, no matter how minor. As she strode towards the fire crew assembled outside the shell of the
house, any trepidation she was experiencing was well hidden. First impressions had shown she possessed resolve, and he guessed that she was determined not to make a second error too quickly.
    Goodhew climbed into the car along with Kimberly, sitting at the other end of the rear seat.
    ‘Have they found something?’ Her voice contained a heavy burr of emotion, but the delivery was unflinching.
    ‘PC Gully’s just gone to find out.’
    ‘I see. This’ll be it, then.’
    It was as if she spoke more to herself than to him, but he queried her in any case. ‘It?’
    ‘Yes, the final crank and tip.’ She pushed her hair away from her face, and he noticed that her hands were shaking even though her voice was not.
    ‘You’ll have to explain.’
    ‘It’s like a rollercoaster: it starts moving and you know you can’t get off. You meant to get on, but at the same time you don’t really know what you’re letting
yourself in for. It climbs slowly, seems to take forever, and then when you reach the top . . .’
    ‘You get the final