Sleepyhead

'I hope my grilling proved useful, Detective Inspector.'

The way Bishop emphasised Thorne's rank, he might have been reading the cast list of an am-dram whodunit. His evident glee at the situation told Thorne that he was more than willing to play his part but Anne was quick to discourage his interest in the case.

'Come on, Jeremy, I'm sure Tom doesn't want to talk about it. He probably can't, even if he wanted to.'

This was fine with Thorne. He had no need to talk about the case. He wanted to let Bishop talk, and once the boundaries had been established he wasn't disappointed. Bishop was full of stories. He seemed permanently amused, not only at his own patter but at the peculiarity of their cosy little threesome. Again, fine with Thorne. The anaesthetist dominated the conversation, occasionally making an effort to engage the policeman in trite chitchat.

'Where do you live, then, Tom?'

'Kentish Town. Ryland Road.'

'Not my side of London. Nice?'

Thorne nodded. No, not particularly.

Bishop was a witty and entertaining raconteur – probably. Thorne did his best to laugh in all the right places, although he felt clumsy and cack-handed as he watched his fellow diners twirl spaghetti with professional deftness and delicacy.

'… and the two old dears were sat talking about the beef crisis and how they were going to exercise their rights as consumers and stick it to the French.'

'Politics in A and E?' Anne turned to Thorne. 'It's usually non-stop babble about football or soap operas or "I know it's a nasty cut but he's never hit me before, honest."'

'But get ready for the killer…' Bishop drained his wine glass, letting them wait for the punch line. 'I heard them saying how they were going to boycott French fries!'

Thorne smiled. Bishop raised his eyebrows at Anne and they both giggled before saying as one, 'NFN!'

Stifling her laugh, Anne leaned across to Thorne.

'Normal For Norfolk.'

Thorne smiled. 'Right. Stupid or inbred.' Bishop nodded. Thorne shrugged. I'm just a copper. Thick as shit, me.

Anne was still giggling. They'd already polished off two bottles of wine and hadn't finished the pasta yet.

'Somewhere there's a doctor with too much time on his hands thinking up these jokes. There's loads of them, not very nice usually.'

'Come on, Jimmy, they're just a bit of fun. I bet Tom's had to deal with a few JP Frogs in his time, haven't you, Tom?'

'Oh, almost certainly. That would be…?' Thorne raised his eyebrows.

'Just Plain Fucking Run Out of Gas,' Anne explained.

'When a patient is going to die. I hate that one…' She poured herself another glass of wine and leaned back in her chair, retiring momentarily as Bishop warmed to his theme.

'Jimmy gets a bit touchy and squeamish at some of the more ghoulish jokes that get us through the day. Seriously though, some of the shorthand is actually a useful way to communicate quickly with a colleague.'

'And keep the patients in the dark at the same time?'

Bishop pushed up his glasses with the knuckle of his index finger. Thorne noticed that his fingernails were beautifully manicured. 'Absolutely right. Another of Jimmy's pet hates, but by far the best way if you ask me. What's the point of telling them things they aren't going to understand? If you do tell them and they do understand, chances are it's only going to frighten the life out of them.'

Anne began to clear away the plates.

'So better a patient who's in the dark than a JP FROG?'

Bishop raised his glass to Thorne in mock salute. 'But that's not the best one. I get to deal with a lot of JP Frogs, but Jimmy, specialising as she does in lost causes, is very much the patron saint of Bundy's.' He grinned, showing every one of his perfect teeth. 'Totally Fucked But Unfortunately Not Dead Yet.'

Thorne could hear Anne in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. He remembered the smug look on Bishop's face as he'd put the coffee cups in his dishwasher a few days before. He wore the same expression now. Thorne grinned back at him. 'So what about Alison Willetts? Is she a IF BUNDY?'

Thorne saw at once that if he'd thought this would throw Bishop then he was seriously underestimating him. The doctor's reaction was clearly one of undisguised amusement. He raised his eyebrows and shouted through to the kitchen. 'Oh, Christ, Jimmy, I think I'm outnumbered.'

He turned back to Thorne and suddenly there was a glimmer of steel behind the flippancy. 'Come on, Tom, is the moral indignation that was positively dripping from that last comment really meant to suggest that you care about your.., victims, any more than we care about our patients? That we're just unfeeling monsters while the CID is full of sensitive souls like your good self?.' 'Christ, Tommy, what a smug bastard…'

Susan, Maddy, Christine. And Helen…

'I'm not suggesting anything. It just seemed a bit harsh, that's all.'

'It's a job, Tom. Not a very nice one at times and, yes, it's quite well paid after you've slogged your guts out training for seven years then spent a few more kissing enough arses to get to a decent level.' That certainly rang a bell.

'We're paid to treat, we're not paid to care. The simple truth is that the NHS can't afford to care, in any sense of the word.'

Anne put an enormous plate of cheesecake in the centre of the table. 'M and S, I'm afraid. Great with pasta. Crap at puddings.' She went back through to the kitchen leaving Bishop to start divvying it up.

'I always tell students that they have a choice. They can think of the patients as John or Elsie or Bob or whatever and lose what little sleep they get…'

Thorne held out his plate for a slice of cheesecake.

'Or…?'

'Or they can be good doctors and treat bodies. Dead or alive, they're bodies.'

What had Thorne said earlier to Keable?

'Are you going to let him get away with this shit, Tommy?'

'I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Why don't you help me?

Is it him? Is he the one?'

The one question they never answer.

Thorne started to eat. 'So, what do most of your students decide?'

Bishop shrugged and took a mouthful. He chuckled.

'There's another one.'

'What?'

'CID. Another acronym.'

Thorne smiled at Anne as she sat back down and helped herself to a slice. Bishop grunted, demanding the attention of the audience. He'd obviously come up with something wonderful. Thorne turned to him and waited. Get ready for the killer…

'Coppers In Disarray?'

Bishop was the first to leave. He'd shaken Thorne's hand and.., had he winked? Anne led him into the hall to get his jacket, leaving Thorne on the sofa with a glass of wine listening to them saying their goodbyes. Their obvious intimacy disturbed him in every way he could think of. The next part of the evening, whatever that was, would have to be handled very carefully. Their voices were lowered, but there was no mistaking Bishop's low hum of contentment as he kissed Anne goodbye. Thorne wondered how witty and garrulous he'd be with a detective constable's fist halfway down his throat. He wondered how smug he'd be in an airless interview room. He wondered what he'd have to do to get him into one.

He heard the front door shut and took a deep breath. Now he wanted to be alone with Anne and not just because of what she could tell him about Bishop.

She came back into the living room to find Thorne staring into space with a huge smile on his face. 'What's so funny?' Thorne shrugged. He didn't want to get off on the wrong foot by telling her that he'd just come up with his own little acronym for Jeremy Bishop. A highly appropriate one as it happened. GAS.

Guilty As Sin.

'Where's Rachel this evening? Have you locked her in her room with a Spice Girls video?'

'She's out celebrating her GCSE results.'