5

After leaving the police station, Adrian was in no mood to go home alone.

Instead, he drove across town to his restaurant. The surge of joy he usually felt upon entering his dream business was tonight absent as he stepped through the wide front door. Rachel had helped him pick out the design before the restaurant had opened.

It was obvious that the restaurant had been decorated by a child; a nautical style had prevailed after all of their discussions on themes, colours and decorations. Large rope nets were draped from the thick wooden beams and hung down several of the walls too. Inside the nets, large decorative fish, crabs, lobsters and starfish were placed above the tables.

The placemats and napkins on the tables were decorated with fish, and other ocean motifs, and the floor, mainly glass, gave the illusion of being filled with water because of blue spotlights that shone from around the skirting boards.

The walls, painted sea-blue, were decorated with large grey dolphins, playing with strands of seaweed, or leaping from the waves. The long bar at the back end of the main room was decorated like a boat, with portholes through which various drinking glasses were visible, and a bar top decorated like the decking of a ship.

"Adrian!" His manager, Tom, hailed him as he came through the door. "You managed to come in then."

"How's everyone?"

"They're getting on fine. That new chef's a bit better now; I think Ben had a quick word with him."

"I told you he just needed to settle down," Adrian said.

He ran a hand through his hair, and headed for the bar.

"Hi, Freddie. Double vodka and coke, please."

Freddie, the barman, quickly handed Adrian his drink.

"Rough day?" Tom asked, sitting down next to Adrian.

"You've not heard?" Adrian asked. He sighed heavily. "Rachel was kidnapped this afternoon."

Tom, in the middle of a sip of lemonade, accidentally spat his mouthful onto the bar.

Freddie hastily wiped up, apologising profusely to the customers sat at the other end of the bar.

"Have you called the police?" Tom demanded.

"No, I didn't bother, actually. I thought I'd let the guy keep her." Adrian rolled his eyes at Tom.

"Do you know who took her?"

Adrian shook his head.

"Who's on the case?"

"Marafioti. Dom Marafioti. He comes in here regularly, apparently."

"I know him," Freddie said. "Tall bloke, long hair, leather jacket."

Adrian nodded.

Tom and Freddie exchanged a look.

"What?" Adrian asked. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing," said Tom innocently. "He just... seems like your type."

Adrian blinked in surprise, realising what they were suggesting.

"Oh... I didn't realise he was... Doesn't matter," he said quietly. "Another one, please, Freddie."

Adrian handed the barman his empty glass, and quickly received another one.

"It's hardly the right time for me to be thinking about... that," he said firmly.

"Do you want me to call you a taxi?" Freddie asked gently.

"In a while." Adrian replied. "Give me a couple more of these first."

He tapped his second empty glass sadly.

"I'll go and call Marafioti," Tom muttered to Freddie.

Adrian was surprised an hour later to see Marafioti walk into the restaurant, spot him in the corner, and come over to the bar.

Adrian turned to glare at Tom.

"Can't a guy get drunk in his own restaurant anymore?" He growled.

Tom held up his hands apologetically.

"Come on, Adrian. Let's get you home." Marafioti slung Adrian's arm across his broad shoulders and heaved him to his feet.

"Killjoy," Adrian said darkly, but made no protest as Marafioti half-carried him out to his car.

In a sober state, Adrian would have fully appreciated the gleaming Aston Martin in front of him.

Marafioti slid him into the front seat and drove him home.

"I can walk, you know," Adrian slurred, when Marafioti helped him towards his front door.

"I know," said Marafioti mildly. "Come on."

He opened the door and let Adrian go through to the living room.

"Any chance you know anything new?" Adrian asked.

Marafioti shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Adrian."

Adrian collapsed on the sofa, running a weary hand over his eyes.

Marafioti sat beside him, his blue eyes worried.

"How can you afford an Aston Martin on a policeman's pay?" Adrian asked glumly.

"Rich parents," Marafioti answered. "They died a few years ago."

"What did they do?"

"Marketing and selling medical supplies. What about your parents?"

"A nurse, and an absent father," said Adrian dully.

He sighed heavily.

"Go to bed, Adrian," Marafioti said firmly. "I'll let you know the minute we have something."

Adrian stared at Marafioti for a moment, his eyes sharp, despite the alcohol, before he shrugged.

Marafioti headed towards the front door as Adrian closed his bedroom door, paused, heaved a sigh and went back over to the sofa. He grabbed a woollen blanket that was draped across the back of one of the armchairs and settled down for the night.