Captives

TWENTY-FIVE

They didn't speak all evening.

Julie Gregson had sat looking at the television not really comprehending what she saw, while Gregson himself had continued drinking, flicking through the photos.

She'd looked over at him a couple of times, the expression on her face a combination of sorrow and anger.

Only when the hands of the clock crawled round to midnight did she speak. She asked him if he wanted a hot drink, tea or coffee, before she went to bed.

He shook his head and finished off the Teacher's instead.

'Are you coming to bed?' she asked.

'Soon,' he murmured, without looking up.

She paused in the doorway and ran a hand through her hair, watching as he flicked through the photos again.

'What do you think you're going to find, Frank?' she asked him. 'You've been looking at those damned things all night.'

'Just call it homework,' he said flatly.

'What are you trying to find?'

'Answers. It's my job.' He finally afforded her a glance she would have preferred he'd kept to himself. It was icy as he glared at her. 'But you didn't want to hear too much about my job, did you?'

'Don't start again, Frank,' she said wearily. 'Are you coming to bed? Yes or no?'

'You go,' he told her. 'I'll be up in a while.'

'How many whiskies later?'

He smiled thinly.

'Just go to bed, Julie. I'll handle it.'

'That's just the trouble, Frank,' she told him. 'I'm beginning to wonder if you can handle it any more.' She left him alone.

Gregson heard her footfalls on the stairs, heard her moving about in the bedroom above him. He listened to the sounds for a moment longer then got up and crossed to the sideboard where he retrieved another bottle of whisky. He poured himself a measure and sat down on the sofa once more.

He returned his attention to the photos.