Free Staying Power by Judith Cutler Page A

Kings Heath chippie specialising in the most marvellous chicken tikka in a naan.’
    â€˜Are you based in Kings Heath then? Splendid – I know just where we’ll eat.’
    â€˜It doesn’t have to be Kings Heath—’
    â€˜But no reason why it shouldn’t be. Giovanni’s, that’s where. Just off the High Street, opposite Safeway’s car park. Would nine-ish suit you? Excellent. I’ll look forward to that.’
    Would she? His voice told her it wasn’t a purely business meeting. Could she really want to go out socially with him? Biting her lip, she looked for the phone to replace the handset.
    Fatima pointed, ironically. The phone was at the extreme edge of her desk. There was a barricade of files between it and Fatima’s work-space. On top of the files was a styrofoam cup of greyish liquid which was probably the coffee that Selby had left there earlier. He himself was nowhere around.
    â€˜Is he being a pain?’ What Kate couldn’t ask was why Fatima simply didn’t plonk it back on Selby’s desk.
    Fatima shook her head. ‘He just finds it funny to leave a drink just where I might reach for it without thinking. When we were out yesterday, he kept offering me sweets and crisps.’
    â€˜You don’t think he’s just being generous?’ Kate said, her heart not in the question.
    â€˜Do you?’ Fatima asked.
    Kate shook her head. ‘I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word.’
    â€˜Maybe he’s just trying to proselytise? Turn me to the paths of Christian righteousness?’
    â€˜It would be nice to think he knew the meaning of those words. Oh, shit!’ Kate shoved a chair over to Fatima’s side. ‘What are you going to do? Apart from resist temptation, that is?’
    Fatima shrugged. ‘What would you do?’
    â€˜Have you tried simply explaining and asking for his co-operation? No? I don’t say that it’ll succeed but you never know.’
    â€˜Too many people are hostile to Islam.’
    â€˜Do you really think it’s anything as sophisticated as that? Not just like some stupid prat thinking it’s clever to offer a bacon sandwich to a vegetarian?’
    Fatima looked her straight in the eye. ‘He may be a prat, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be a malicious prat.’ She smiled. ‘Kate – that phone-call upset you, didn’t it?’
    Kate blinked. ‘Not – well, yes, maybe. Not so much upset as unsettled me. My bloke was killed only a few months ago and this path’s asked me out for a drink. Then it became a meal. After sunset,’ she risked, to be rewarded with an answering grin.
    â€˜Is he nice?’
    â€˜I’ve only seen him in the morgue. He did yesterday’s autopsy. Says he wants to discuss my theories about Alan Grafton’s death.’
    Fatima nodded. ‘There’s always the possibility that that’s precisely what he wants to do.’
    â€˜Hm. He may be just a path. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be an amorous path.’
    Fatima threw up her hand to acknowledge the hit. ‘And what if he is an amorous path: is that a problem?’
    Kate shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’

Chapter Seven
    â€˜Doesn’t look much like a business tycoon’s residence,’ Colin said, as he and Kate stood under an inadequate porch waiting to be let into Alan Grafton’s house.
    â€˜Remind me never even to contemplate moving into – where is this? Acocks Green?’ She dashed a futile hand at a dollop of rain, presumably sloshing from a blocked gutter.
    â€˜It’s not so bad when it’s fine,’ Colin said. ‘Ah, do I hear action?’
    â€˜Can you
hear
action? Or only see it?’
    â€˜You know what I mean.’
    The door was opened by a paler, more delicate version of Alan Grafton.
    â€˜Good afternoon. Mr Grafton, is it? Mr