The Administration Series (66 page)

But I hope you'll understand that I can't rush into something now. Thank you for being so understanding last night, and for suggesting that a letter might the easiest way for me to let you know what I decided about us. It has been, and your kindness is, again, so much appreciated.

Yours with love, and friendship,

Jillian

Mike Belkin looked up distrustfully as he finished reading the note aloud. "And if I get my admin to run it through the system and verify the sender's signature?"

Toreth gestured expansively round the coffee room. "Go right ahead. It'll probably save me time later. I've got a dozen more people to collect from and some of them are bound to be suspicious, welshing bastards, too."

"Okay, I believe you. I should know better. 'Your kindness in the days after George's death'?" Belkin snorted in disgust. "You set it up, didn't you?"

"Pays to plan ahead, if you know what I mean."

There was general grumbling from the seniors gathered round Toreth — he caught the odd word that sounded like 'cheating' — but most were already reaching into their pockets. Chevril, sitting at the other end of the coffee table, was the only one smiling; he'd refused to risk a cent on the strength of Gina Lewis's virtue, and was obviously reaping the satisfaction of an unopened wallet.

"Fifty, wasn't it?" Belkin sighed, then handed over the folded notes. "And I thought I'd be safe by asking for written evidence."

Hepburn shook his head. "And having to do her on the day of the funeral, too. What did you do, slip something in the sherry?"

"I don't make you take the bets, I just take your money." Toreth pocketed the notes and grinned. "That everyone? Tell you what, I'll buy you all a drink this evening to celebrate. In memory of good old George."

"The useless tosser," Belkin added. That produced some laughter, but most of the seniors were still smarting from their losses. Looking round, Toreth decided it would be a good few months before he'd be able to pull another stunt like that. But they'd forget. They always did.

Half-past ten. Watches were checked, coffee mugs drained, and the group broke up, the paras heading back to their offices and interrogation rooms for the rest of the morning.

Back in his office, Toreth read the message for the thirtieth time. It had been waiting for him when he'd arrived at work, but he'd left it, hoping vaguely that it might have gone away by the time he'd had coffee and collected his winnings.

'Sorry to decline, but I'm spending New Year with the family. However, you are welcome to come with me. Let me know yes or no as soon as you can.'

His first impulse had been 'no'. Which, he supposed, was why it was a mail and not a call.

December was never Toreth's favourite time of year. Someone had already tacked cheap and nasty decorations up in the coffee room, and the shops were full of holiday crap, had been for months. Now this unappealing invitation: a New Year holiday spent with someone else's family.

Toreth tried to imagine introducing Warrick to
his
parents. His mind slid away from the sheer awfulness of the concept, so instead he imagined fucking Warrick in their flat, good and loud. That was easier to think about, and the idea of his mother's face the next morning almost made him smile. That would really give the bitch something to complain about.

But happy as that idea was, he was avoiding the issue. Unusually, he felt the need for advice, so he called Sara in and showed her the message.

"Do you think I should go?"

She read it and frowned. "What the hell are you asking me for?"

He sighed. "Forget it."

"No, sorry. I, er . . . yeah, why not? Dillian's a laugh, and she makes the rest of them sound okay."

That was a surprise. "I didn't know you knew her that well."

"I've been out with her. Well, with Cele, actually, but Dillian was there a couple of times. She's okay. Anyway, why not go?"

"It just seems a bit . . ."

"A bit what?" Sara rolled her eyes. "God Almighty, not again. It's just an invite for New Year — he hasn't bought you a bloody ring."

He stared at her in bemusement. She was in a bitch of a mood about something. Come to think of it, she hadn't been in the coffee room earlier. "What the fuck's wrong with you?"

"Oh, nothing." She looked down at her hands. "Bad evening. Bad morning. Bad breakup in between. Basically not a good time to see happy people. Especially not happy people acting like idiots."

"No need to take it out on me — I only asked a fucking question. Forget I ever mentioned it." He reached out and touched the screen, and the message disappeared. "Do you want to go out somewhere tonight?" He saw the refusal coming, so he added, "Just you and me. I'll buy." It would give him an excuse to get away from the others after only one round.

She hesitated, then shrugged. "Yeah. Yeah, sure." She looked up and smiled faintly. "Thanks."

On her way out she said, "Go do the family thing. You might even enjoy it."

So, on the strength of that, he said yes.

After he'd sent off the reply saying yes, he nearly sent another saying no. He decided the most relaxing way to spend the next few days would be simply to pretend that it wasn't going to happen.

Consequently, Toreth felt almost surprised to find himself sitting beside Warrick as the SimTech car drove them through New London.

He'd been seriously delayed at work (not his fault, but that didn't matter), and although he'd been able to give Warrick plenty of warning, it made an inauspicious start to the trip. There had been another bad moment when he'd come down from his flat into the chilly afternoon air and seen the presents stacked in the back of the car. He had something for Warrick, which he'd bought weeks ago, but he hadn't even thought about anyone else.

"I didn't buy anything," he'd said.

"Bought, wrapped and labelled. I'll send you the bill when we get back."

He should've known that Warrick's efficiency would be up to the job, but he'd had a fleeting feeling of disappointment at not having an excuse to back out.

Rather than sit with nothing to do, Toreth had brought some work along. As he was officially on holiday, it wasn't anything too taxing, but he managed to pass the time easily enough in assessing interrogation transcripts from trainee sessions. He'd volunteered to do it because he liked to keep an eye on the upcoming juniors. This year's intake was shaping up quite well. He made a note of the names of a few of the more promising recruits. After New Year he'd see about wangling their assignment to his team during their hands-on training, to take a closer look at them.

Even with full traffic guidance on the crowded roads, the New Year exodus slowed their progress. But eventually, deep into the suburban hinterlands of New London, they moved off the motorway. In the combination of street lighting and a light evening mist, the endless expanses of housing looked vaguely sinister.

"How much further?"

Warrick looked up from his own screen, where he was reading something technical-looking. "Mm?" He glanced out of the window. "Oh, nearly there. Few minutes."

Toreth looked out of the window as well, trying to remember if he'd ever made it to this particular area during any of his investigations. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Warrick looking at him and smiling.

"What?" Toreth asked.

"Nothing. I can't believe you're here."

Toreth laughed, sounding nervous even to himself. "Me neither."

"I owe Sara an apology, you know. She said you'd do it. I told her you'd disappear at the last minute. I did wonder, to be honest, when you left the message saying you were going to be late."

Toreth felt a glow of satisfaction, not much spoiled by the fact that Warrick was almost certainly saying it precisely for that effect. "So you don't know me as well as you think."

"Apparently not."

The car made another turn, into a narrower street lined with large houses, not flats. They were tightly packed, but they had spaces for private cars and a hint of small gardens behind. It looked very middle-class suburban and respectable and not at all somewhere Toreth felt at home.

"What are they like?" he asked.

"Like? Well . . ." Warrick hesitated, and it occurred to Toreth that
he
might have grounds for unease as well. That made him feel a little better.

"They're fine," he continued. "They're — ah. You can see for yourself soon. We're here."

It wasn't until Dillian opened the door that Toreth wondered how many people 'family' was. He was moderately sure that Warrick's father was dead, and he remembered Warrick mentioning a niece during the Selman case, so presumably Dillian wasn't his only sibling, but beyond that he had no idea. It had all been in Warrick's security file, of course, but he'd long forgotten the details. It wasn't the kind of thing that interested him. He ought to have asked, or looked up their files, but he hadn't done either. Warrick didn't as a rule offer up unrequested information.

Dillian looked delighted to see Warrick, and then somewhat less pleased to see Toreth standing next to him.

"Come in." She gave Toreth a polite peck on the cheek and then a warmer hug to her brother. "We were wondering where you'd got to."

"Sorry," Warrick said. "Unavoidable delay."

Dillian looked at Toreth, but didn't say anything. The last couple of times Toreth had seen Dillian, which had been brief enough meetings, he'd gained the impression that his continued presence in Warrick's life was becoming unwelcome.

As the door closed behind them, half a dozen children spilled into the hallway, heralded by a thunder of footsteps on the stairs and a shrieking chorus of "Uncle Keir!"

Toreth looked round in what was nearly a bid to find an escape route only to see Dillian standing in front of the door, watching him with a slight smile. He must have looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

Fortunately, the initial target of the attack was Warrick, who seemed remarkably unperturbed by it. After a short while, though, the presence of a stranger registered and the group clustered together for mutual protection. Six pairs of inquisitive eyes fixed on Toreth.

"Who's
he
?" demanded a girl of about six, who looked as if she would grow up to be a clone of Dillian.

"'He' is a friend of mine," Warrick said. "And 'his' name is Val Toreth."

Her eyes widened. "He can't be. That's
my
name!" she exclaimed, somewhere between delight and indignation.

"I shall endeavour not to get the two of you mixed up. Although that means I shall have to call you Valeria."

The girl frowned. "No." After a moment's consideration she decided, "He can be
Uncle
Val."

Toreth didn't look at Dillian, who sounded to be having trouble breathing.

Warrick handed his bags to Dillian and picked the girl up, provoking a chorus of disappointment from the others. "I think that sounds like a very satisfactory solution," he said seriously, then addressed the rest of the flock. "Now, we really ought to go and say hello to the grown-ups. Why don't you show me where they are?"

The pack closed in around the three adults as they went down the hallway.

"Did you have to say that?" Toreth muttered, trying not to trip up over any of them. Valeria hung out of Warrick's arms, practically upside down, pulling faces at the other children.

"Trust me, it's far, far better than letting her think you don't like it."

"If you tell Sara, I'll kill you. And her." Although he might have to kill Sara anyway for talking him into this.

Warrick grinned. "I wouldn't dream of it."

They reached a half-open door, and Warrick deposited Valeria back into the seething horde. To Toreth's intense relief, Dillian shepherded them away somewhere and relative silence fell. Now he could hear voices from beyond the door.

When they entered the room, he couldn't decide if it was better or worse than the earlier scrutiny. The looks weren't quite as intent, but there was a lot more knowledge behind them. Who he was, what he did for a living, and what he was doing here, with Warrick. He wondered what Dillian had told them.

There were far more people in the room than he had expected. Some of them were easy to place, like the woman who stood first and came over to greet them. She had greying dark hair and a determinedly friendly smile, and she simply had to be Dillian's mother. It was like looking at an age-enhanced picture in a long-standing open arrest file.

"Keir, darling." She hugged him, and he returned it warmly. "We were starting to wonder if you were going to make it."

"I'm sorry. Unavoidable, but we're here now." He let her go. "Mother, this is Val Toreth."

"It's wonderful to meet you, Val." She took his hand in both of hers. "I'm Kailynna Avens, but please call me Kate. Let me introduce you to everyone."

The rest of the introductions went past in a slight blur, and Toreth concentrated on getting the more important names stashed in his memory. Slightly to his surprise (and relief), he recognised two of the faces: Asher Linton and Cele. Asher smiled at him, and Cele waved and winked when Kate said her name.

"I'm afraid it must be a little intimidating, meeting us all at once like this," Kate said at length.

"Not at all," Toreth lied.

"Good. I'm so sorry we haven't met before, but it's a long way, I suppose, and Keir's always so busy and, well . . ." The sentence trailed off and Toreth noticed Warrick's pained expression. "But you're here now," Kate finished decisively. "Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"

Please, God, yes. Just give me the whole fucking bottle. "That would be lovely, thanks."

She reeled off a surprisingly long list of options and he picked something to fit in with the drinks he could see in evidence around the room. After supplying the gin and tonic, Kate disappeared somewhere with Warrick.

Toreth braced himself for a barrage of questions about his life and work, but it didn't happen. The conversation simply returned to what he presumed had been in progress when he entered. At the same time, he didn't feel particularly excluded. The family seemed to be content to let him join in or not, as he pleased.