Free Trophies: a gripping detective thriller (The Wakefield Series Book 1) by David Evans

Amanda?”
    “Graham’s at Hull University in his first year and Amanda … well … she’s doing A Levels next year and doing my head in this year!”
    “Hard work is she?”
    “No, not really. It’s just, if there’s a cause she’s into it. I think it’s animal welfare at the moment. It’ll probably be something else next month.”
    “At least she’s got an opinion, unlike some youngsters. Anyway, come on then, what can I get you?” Souter offered.
    “Seeing as you’re in the chair, I’ll have a steak bake and a mug of tea, no sugar.”
    Strong removed his coat and dropped it over the back of the seat and watched his friend thread his way through the throng of shoppers to the counter. As he waited for him to return, he took in the other occupants of the café. It was a habit born out of the job. He didn’t linger on any one individual but, if asked ten minutes later, he could describe all the main characters in his field of vision. He spotted a couple of faces he knew. Chris Wentworth, a not-particularly bright lad in his early twenties with severe acne and a long record for shoplifting, avoided eye contact as he sat with a pregnant girl who appeared no older than sixteen. Freddy Oldroyd a scruffy individual of indeterminate age, and a useful snout from time to time, looked nervous sitting opposite a large, severe-looking woman with a florid complexion.
    Souter eventually came back with a tray supporting Strong’s steak bake and mug of tea along with his own Cornish pasty and replenished coffee mug. He took off his waterproof jacket and hung it on the back of his seat then sat down.
    “So what brings you down here, then?” Strong asked, shuffling all the food and drinks on to their table and leaning the tray against the table leg. “I can’t imagine you’d choose Wakefield for a holiday in January.”
    Souter was quiet.
    Strong looked at his friend. “Is everything all right, Bob?”
    “You know, Col, I envy you.”
    “What?” Strong laughed then dropped his voice, “Come on. Look around you. I’m a policeman, a profession held in low esteem by most members of the public.”
    “Mine isn’t much better, though.”
    “I suppose you’re right. Still, could be worse, you could have been an estate agent.”
    “Look, I’m serious. You’ve got a decent reliable family situation for yourself.”
    Strong grinned.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “It’s ironic, really, it’s just that sometimes,” Strong paused while he took a mouthful of tea, “just sometimes, I envy you .”
    Souter exhaled, as if in disbelief.
    “Well, think about it,” Strong went on, still in a jocular fashion, “most married men wonder how it would be if they were footloose and fancy free again. You know, out on the pull, no commitments.”
    “Yeah, right. It’s alright when you’re in your twenties and still finding out who you are but there comes a time …” Souter bit into his pasty. “It can be bloody lonely out there too.” Flakes of pastry dropped onto the table.
    Strong was puzzled at his friend’s demeanour. “Hang on a minute, Bob, I thought you and Sandra …”
    Souter looked down and began playing with the teaspoon.
    “Oh, no, Bob, you haven’t screwed things up again? I thought this time …”
    “So did I.”
    Strong leaned forward on the table. “I’m a good listener, if it’ll help.”
    Over the course of the next ten minutes, Souter brought Strong up to speed with events in Glasgow since learning of Adam’s death.
    “So,” he concluded, “the outcome is, Sandra’s history and I start officially on Monday as Senior Reporter specialising in Crime and Home Affairs.”
    “Well that’s great. I’m really pleased for you. That’s a big step-up for your career. And it sounds as if Sandra wasn’t right for you anyway.”
    “Yeah, I know, but it’s just … it seems every relationship … I fuck it up.”
    “Come on, let’s go.” Strong decided to act before his friend could beat