Frozen Read Online Free PDF Page B

thinly.
    “I don't need charity,” he said, more gently. “But thank you, Harry. I could do with a lift to the station.”
    We dropped him at the station and saw him to the platform. As we left, he seemed to shrink back into himself, until he was small and grey against the desolate stretches of concrete and iron.
    *
    As we looked for the police station, I started brooding again, this time about Verity's car. Adam's offer to drive it home, and for me to take the BMW, was kind. He loved his car; he had never let anyone else so much as touch it. To let me drive was a humbling token of how much he cared for my well-being. But I realised that I could not possibly accept his gesture. I wanted to take care of Verity's affairs. What else did I have of her? These scraps of her life were my only remaining connection to her. To allow someone else to rummage around in them would have been unbearable. I told him. He was uncertain and unconvinced, but finally agreed.
    When we arrived at the police pound, Adam went to retrieve Verity's car while I wrestled with a pointless mass of forms and releases: insurance waivers, liability disclaimers, declarations of proxy. It took me fifteen minutes, and when I emerged into daylight the car was already outside the office. Adam's backside was high in the air, facing me, his head buried somewhere in the driver's footwell.
    “Hey there,’ I said flatly.
    “Hey, Harry,” he answered, his head still buried in the car. “You took your time.” He withdrew himself carefully, ruefully rubbing his back. In his other hand, he held a bundle of bits and pieces, which he waved at me. “Thought I'd have a poke around, see if I could find anything useful.”
    “And?”
    He passed me the items one by one. “Filofax. Could be handy. Some kind of bum-bag—makeup, I think. Keys.” I recognised the keys; they were for her flat.
    Adam went on, “This postcard, from Spain, it looks like, from...” He held it close and screwed up his eyes. “... I dunno. ‘S,’ whoever that is.”
    I took it and flipped it over: the Sagrada Familia cathedral. Stamped in Barcelona, postmarked two weeks ago. Generous handwriting, big and expansive, looping blue ink: “Wow!!!!! Barcelona!!!! The clothes... the boys... the buildings... the boys...” Then a gap, and then, “Paris, babes, slay 'em or die!!! (By the way, did I mention the boys? Hot hot hot!!!!). Love 'n' hugs, S,” and a heart. The echo of a past life.
    “Sam,” I said. “Verity's business partner. Sam Mandovini.”
    When I looked up, the concern I saw in Adam's face was almost too much for me. He spotted my distress immediately, and pretended to have noticed something fascinating on the far side of the pound. It was at least a minute before I was confident of my voice again. “Thanks, Adam. For everything. I mean it.”
    He peered sideways at me, and grinned shyly. “Friends. What they're for.” He patted me on the shoulder and frowned at me. “Look, I'm not sure you should take her car, Harry. You're still pretty upset and it's only going to remind you. Why not take the BMW? I'll pick it up when I drop this one at your place.”
    “Honestly, Adam, I'm fine. Truth be told, I want to drive it. And I'd probably smash yours, anyway, and then you'd never forgive me.” Her car would smell of her. It would have her things in it. The mirrors would be adjusted for her eyes. The seat would be moulded to her shape.
    “But...” Adam must have seen something in my face. He shut up.
    I gave him a lift to his BMW, a few hundred yards down the road. When I pulled up next to it, he opened his door but did not get out. He just looked at me, worry for me written clearly on his face.
    “She was happy,” I muttered, at last. “She told me. Last time I saw her. She told me she really felt on top of everything, she felt she was getting somewhere at last.”
    A van ripped along the street. It thumped past Adam's half-open door, rocking the car and leaving me reeling