Free Bad Boy by Peter Robinson Page A

“He’s got the whole place wired for sound,” she said. “Bit of an anorak, really.”
    “I think it’s cool,” said Jaff. As he flipped through the CDs and took them off the shelves in handfuls, he would glance quickly at the title, then make some comment about it being naff and toss it on the floor. Finally, he seemed to find something he liked and slipped the disc in the player. Tracy recognized the music: My Morning Jacket, Evil Urges . Erin had played it constantly back in Headingley. What on earth was her father doing with that? It must be something to do with his last girlfriend, Sophia, Tracy thought. Sophia had more modern tastes in music than he father, who seemed stuck in the sixties time warp when he wasn’t playing jazz or bloody opera.
    “Anything to drink?” Jaff asked when they went back into the kitchen.
    “Well, there’s some wine.” Tracy checked the fridge for beer, but it was empty, then she opened Banks’s drinks cabinet and gave a little curtsy. “And this. Tra-la!”
    “Jesus,” said Jaff. “Likes his booze, doesn’t he, your old man? Good taste, too.” He picked up a bottle of Highland Park. “We’ll save that for later.” Then he went over to the wine rack on the floor by the door to the conservatory and knelt down. “Stonewell Shiraz, Saint-Émillion, Côtes de Nuits, Vacqueras, Amarone, Barolo, Ripasso, Châteauneuf du Pape. Not bad. Not bad at all. None of your cheap Asda specials here. We can have a real party. I think I’m starting to like your old man. What does he do for a living?”
    “Retired civil servant. He goes on cruises. I think some of the wine belonged to my Uncle Roy,” Tracy said. “He was rich, but he died. Dad got the wine and some of his money.” She found Jaff a corkscrew in the drawer, and he opened a bottle of Châteauneuf du Pape while she put the takeaway in the microwave to heat up. Tracy wasn’t sure the wine would go well with vegetable samosas, chicken tikka masala and naans, but she was willing to try it. She noticed that Jaff had poured them both a large glass and was busy sitting at the pine breakfast nook rolling a joint. When he had finished, he licked it, put it in his mouth and lit it. Tracy smiled to herself. To think they were doing this in her father’s house! She went over to join him, and he offered the joint to her. She took a hit. It was strong stuff. It made her head spin, but in a nice way. She drank a mouthful of wine and nearly choked on it, but she got it down. “The curry won’t be long,” she said. “Want to go in the conservatory to eat? It’s nice out there and the music pipes through.”
    “Sure,” said Jaff, sucking on the joint and passing it back to her. He edged off the bench, then he turned on the small television set that sat on one of the bookcases above the nook. “Let’s see if we can find some more news first.”
    They caught the brief local broadcast after the News at Ten, and the day’s events in Eastvale were the lead item. This time, the reporter seemed to know a little more about what was going on. Jaff turned upthe volume so they could hear what was being said over the music. First came the now familiar image of Laburnum Way crowded with vans and police cars. Apparently, an armed police unit had entered Number 12, Erin’s parents’ house, at ten forty-five that morning, and there had been an incident within the house involving the discharge of a weapon. One man, believed to be the owner of the house, had been taken on a stretcher to Eastvale General Infirmary. There was no further word yet on the weapon, on the condition of the wounded man, or on how or why it had happened, but the police said they would hold a press conference in the morning. Neither Erin nor Jaff were mentioned. One of the neighbors reported that she had seen an armed officer carrying what appeared to be a gun-shaped object wrapped in a tea cloth out of the house. Tracy thought she could see Detective Inspector Annie