Free The Burning Girl-4 by Mark Billingham Page A

harder than it used to be.
    She could try to get back to how she was when they'd taken the job away from her: her 'fighting weight', Jack cal ed it.
    Leaning closer towards the mirror, cream smeared across her fingers, she saw the light change. A glow pink at first, then orange that crept through a gap in the curtains and lit up the room behind her. She opened her mouth to cal out Jack's name, then closed it and pushed back her chair. As she walked towards the window, she saw the glow reaching up and il uminating the bare branches of the copper beech at the end of the drive. She knew more or less what she was going to see when she reached the far side of the room and looked out.
    She wondered if he'd be there. She hoped that he would be ... He was already looking up when she pul ed back the curtains, standing motionless next to the car, the can of lighter fluid white against his gloved hand.
    Waiting for her.
    For a few long, stil seconds they stared at each other. The flames were not spectacular, and the light danced only across the dark material of the man's anorak. The blaze never threatened to break up the shadow, blue-black beneath the hood that was pul ed tight around his head.
    The fire was already beginning to spread across the Volvo's bonnet. It drifted down around its edges, into its mouldings, where the lighter fluid had run and dripped. Stil , the words, sprayed in fuel and spel ed out now in flame, were clear enough.
    I burned her.
    Carol heard locks being thrown back downstairs, and saw the man's head turn suddenly towards the front door. He took a step away from the car, then looked up at Carol for another moment or two before he turned and ran. She had seen nothing, could see nothing of his face, but she knew very wel that he had been smiling at her.
    A few seconds later, Jack burst out of the front door in his vest. He ran, arms raised and mouth gaping, on to the front lawn. Carol half-saw him turn to look up, at the same moment she moved away from the window and back into the heart of the room.
    FIVE
    Thorne had never conducted an interview alongside Carol Chamberlain before and, although this was in no sense official, he stil felt slightly odd, sitting there next to her, waiting for Rooker to be brought in. He looked around the smal , square room and imagined himself, for no good reason he could think of, as a father, sitting with his wife. He remembered the sobbing black woman he'd seen on his last visit. He pictured himself and Chamberlain as anxious parents waiting for their son to be marched in.
    The door opened and an officer led Rooker into the room. He looked angry about something until he saw Chamberlain; then, a broad smile appeared.
    "Hel o, sexpot," he said.
    Thorne opened his mouth to speak, but Chamberlain beat him to it. There was an edge to her voice that Thorne could not recal hearing before.
    "One more out-of-order remark and I'l come round this table and tear off what little you've got left between your legs that hasn't already withered away. Fair enough, Gordon?"
    Rooker's smile wobbled a little, but it was back in place as he pul ed back his chair and plonked himself down at the table. The officer moved towards the door. "Give us a shout when you've finished," he said.
    "Thanks," Thorne said, looking up. "I thought you'd retired, Bil ."
    The officer opened the door, turned back to Thorne. "Got a year or two left yet." He nodded towards Rooker. "Feels like I've been in here as long as this cunt." He quickly looked across to Chamberlain, reddening slightly. "Sorry, I didn't.. ."
    Chamberlain held up a hand. "Don't apologise. That sounds about right to me .. ."
    Rooker cackled. The officer stepped out of the room, letting the door swing shut, hard, behind him.
    "This is getting to be a habit," Rooker said. He produced a tobacco tin from behind the green bib and removed the lid. "Twice in a week, Mr. Thorne. I don't have family who come as often as that." He teased out the strands of tobacco,