She’d been back at her desk a week, her suspension lifted, though the enquiry had not yet issued its final report. Since her return she’d been lumbered with the most menial jobs and the worst shifts – which is how come, tonight, she was alone in the office. The phone rang as she was standing by the window. She was watching the waves roll in. It was dusk but the sky was still bright blue. ‘DS Gilchrist,’ she said. ‘Look, I’m phoning from Sydney.’ The man’s voice was urgent and shaky. ‘I want you to listen to something.’ ‘Oh yes?’ Gilchrist said, immediately on her guard, especially as the man didn’t sound Australian. ‘Who are you, sir?’ ‘I got this message on my answerphone waiting for me when I got home. Fucking freaked me out, excuse my French.’ ‘What’s your name, sir?’ Gilchrist reached for a pen and pulled a pad towards her. ‘It’s from a bloke I know lives in Hove. You’ll have to listen closely – the tape isn’t very good.’ ‘Sir—’ She heard the muffled beep of an answerphone then this drunken voice, refracted by the phone line.
What do You think about City Of Dreadful Night (2000)?
