Free Blood Symmetry by Kate Rhodes

mind.’ He shot me a grin. ‘Cook for me tonight and all is forgiven.’
    â€˜I’m at the safe house.’
    â€˜Pity.’ Burns scanned the wall to check that the door was shut, then his hand closed over my wrist. ‘You’ll need this, sooner or later.’ He placed a key on my palm.
    â€˜You’re giving me an office here?’
    He shook his head. ‘It’s for my flat.’
    I passed it back to him. ‘There’s no need.’
    â€˜Take it anyway.’
    He dropped it into my pocket, then picked up the phone that was jangling on his desk. I wanted to argue, but the station was the wrong place to debate territory. A queue had formed outside while we’d been interviewing Riordan, and I felt a pang of sympathy. Half a dozen members of his team were waiting to offload their worries.
    T he police presence had lightened when I reached the safe house; just one officer in the squad car outside, immersed in a newspaper. So many uniforms were doing house-to-house in Clapham that every spare human was needed on the streets. The tense expression on Gurpreet’s face told me that he was in need of a break. The house’s dark walls seemed to have squeezed the last breath of oxygen from the air.
    â€˜He had a rough night,’ the nurse said. ‘Bed-wetting and standing by the window for hours. The kid’s so tired he can hardly keep his eyes open.’
    â€˜I’ll do my first night shift tomorrow.’
    â€˜If you think he’s ready. You still want social contact kept to a minimum?’
    I nodded. ‘Any demands will put him under more pressure.’
    Mikey was hunched in a chair in the lounge, keeping the world at bay; the TV was switched off, no external stimulus to lighten his state of mind. We would need to move to the next level fast, even though he was so vulnerable; if his feelings stayed locked inside, they would fester until his nightmares grew toxic. I knelt on the floor before making direct eye contact.
    â€˜I’d like to stay here tomorrow night, Mikey. If you write down a list of foods you like, we can cook together.’ I drew a notepad from my pocket, and a set of playing cards.
    The child ignored me, his body folding in on itself.
    â€˜Want to play Solitaire?’
    It felt like a minor victory when he gave a minute nod of agreement. I dealt the cards myself the first time, to show him the rules. It seemed as though he’d ignored me, but he laid new cards on the floor with a shaky hand.
    â€˜Good going,’ I commented. ‘You’re quicker than me.’
    I waited until he was absorbed in sequencing the cards before speaking again.
    â€˜It must be hard keeping your feelings to yourself. If you write some of them in the notebook, you’ll feel better. I won’t make you talk till you’re ready. But lots of people would love to visit you: mates from school, your aunt, Denise and Simon.’
    His body language changed when he heard the names, shoulders stiffening, the cards spilling from his hand.
    â€˜It’s okay. You don’t have to see anyone yet.’
    â€˜Not far now,’ he whispered.
    â€˜Not far from where, Mikey? Try and tell me what you mean.’
    His eyes glazed as he stared at the wall, making me wonderif the names I’d mentioned had triggered his fear. I carried on talking in a soothing voice, but it had no effect; by the time I left he was hunched in his chair once more, like my visit had never happened. I cursed silently as I got into my car, wishing I could pinpoint what had caused such a strong reaction. His traumatised state had me convinced that he’d witnessed something that might lead the investigation directly to his mother.
    I walked to St Katharine Docks that evening to clear my head. It was after seven when I arrived, the sight of the marina lifting my spirits. There was something heartening about the garish houseboats, side by side in their moorings,