Almost Love (17 page)

Chapter Twenty

Tim had just spent an hour making a half-hearted attack on his in-tray. Extreme ennui made him go in search of coffee, as much for the exercise as the end result. He hoped he had covered all the urgent items pending, because he wanted to arrange to spend the afternoon at the cottage with Jane Halliwell.

As he rounded the corner to the corridor that led past the interview rooms, he came upon a group of people bunched together. They were completely obstructing his route. He saw immediately that one of them was Andy Carstairs. Andy had just opened the door to the interview room and was trying to shepherd the others in. As Tim walked closer to them, he saw that Gary Cooper was also one of the party. He was holding a small black boy by the hand. A very large black woman – presumably the child’s mother – was holding his other hand. She was flanked by an equally large woman with a china-doll complexion and white-blonde hair brushed back off her face. This woman was perhaps the most incongruous of the whole group. She was dressed in a kind of peasant bodice, which was cut low on her protuberant bosom, and a floor-length skirt that might have been fashioned from a horse-blanket. Her large, broad feet were shod in black lace-up boots. Tim had never seen her before, he was sure of that. Bringing up the rear were a wily little man with a lined face and thick, unruly hair that stuck out at right angles from his head in silvery tufts and a rather flabby middle-aged man with sad brown eyes and a placating expression. He was dressed much more casually than all of the others except the boy. No prizes for guessing who he is, thought Tim. He has ‘social worker’ written all over him.

Andy Carstairs continued to hold open the door for this motley group until he had ushered them all in. Tim caught his eye.

“Interesting bunch you’ve got there, Andy,” said Tim, sotto voce. “Presumably it’s the kid that’s in trouble? Are you sure you’ve gathered enough people to support him? What’s he done, anyway?”

Andy smiled at the sarcasm.

“Not my fault that we need all of them,” he said. “The copper is extra – and would probably actually rather be somewhere else. He’s already spent the night looking after the kid. But the kid’s traumatised by what’s happened to him and he’s rather taken a shine to PC Cooper, so we’re hoping that he’ll be able to help us get some sense out of him. You can guess why the others are there: child-friendly solicitor, child-friendly educational psychologist, child-friendly social worker, and the kid’s mother. It won’t be my fault if he doesn’t get off.”

“But get off what? Either he’s done something serious, or you’ve got a real sledgehammer and nut situation there.”

Andy Carstairs looked guilty.

“Superintendent Thornton made me promise not to bother you about it. He says he wants you to focus exclusively on the lady archaeologist.”

Tim guessed immediately.

“He’s not here on drugs charges by any chance, is he?”

“Not exactly – look, sir, I have to go now,” he said, as the elderly man’s head poked round the door. “I’ll tell you more later – confidentially, if that’s all right with you.”

Tim realised that the old man was watching him, so he nodded and walked on. Inside he was seething. It was one thing having Thornton remove him from a drugs case because he thought his time could be spent more profitably (and even if Tim disagreed with this, he had already realised that there was a lot more to the McRae disappearance than trying to find a confused old lady who had somehow wandered off); it was quite another to tell him that his hunch that there was a major drugs cartel operating in the area was a figment of his imagination if there was clear evidence to the contrary. There could be few other explanations for Andy Carstairs’ having assembled all those people in an interview room and provided police protection for the child the night before. He was annoyed with Andy, too. Did he think that Tim would be stupid enough to believe that it took six adults to question a juvenile about some petty offence? ‘Not exactly’, indeed! He would ask Andy what his game was at the first available opportunity.

As he entered the canteen, he almost collided with Superintendent Thornton. This was a surprise. Thornton was rarely to be encountered in such egalitarian surroundings; he preferred to get the women in his detail to wait on him. Less surprising was that when he met Tim’s eye, he looked away again in a decidedly shifty manner.

“Ah, DI Yates,” he said, quickly recovering his composure and eyeing Tim severely. “Did you receive my press release?”

“No, sir,” said Tim. “But I’ve only just left my office. If you’ve sent it, I expect it will be waiting for me when I get back. I’ll turn it round as quickly as I can.”

“No need for that – I’m really just showing it to you as a courtesy, for information. No time to be lost, you see. I’ve already sent it to the main newspapers.”

Tim’s pale complexion flushed scarlet.

“But I thought that you wanted me to approve it?”

“I should have appreciated that if you’d been there, certainly; but, as I say, time was of the essence. I want to avoid having the press pack here if I can. No time for them at present and I don’t want anyone to let something slip that we don’t want to get out. Much better to keep them informed at one remove.”

Tim decided not to retort; it would only take his mind off more important things. On one level, he could even concede that Thornton was right. The Superintendent had overcome his embarrassment now. He was still barring Tim’s passage to the canteen.

“What are your plans for today?”

“I’ve been catching up with some desk-work. I want to spend the afternoon at Helpston with Claudia McRae’s companion.”

“Good idea!” The Superintendent was a little too ready with his approval.

“Incidentally, sir . . .” said Tim.

“Yes?”

“Do you know anything about what’s going on in the large interview room this morning?”

“What? Oh. I believe that DC Carstairs is dealing with a young offender.”

“Not drugs-related, is it?”

“Now don’t start on that tack again, DI Yates. You’ve got enough to do without bothering with DC Carstairs’ workload. I recommend that you get off to Helpston as soon as you can. I don’t want Roy Little breathing down my neck.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Tim had intended to ask Juliet to accompany him and Jane Halliwell to Claudia McRae’s cottage, but at the last minute he changed his mind and decided that he would go by himself. He could not explain his reason for this, especially not to Juliet, who had been carrying out mundane enquiries to support the investigation for practically the whole of the previous two days and was understandably miffed to have been denied this more interesting task. But he had an uneasy feeling about Jane – she was almost too good to be true, yet oddly inauthentic; and, although Juliet had found the short film that showed Jane at some kind of right-wing meeting, he knew that she did not altogether share his concerns about her. Juliet normally had a sharp eye for detail and a finely-tuned sense of mood and integrity. He told her that he had every confidence in her ability to pick up on unusual reactions that Jane might display. Nevertheless, he wanted to observe Jane for himself as she entered the cottage for the first time since her return. He also wanted Juliet to try to find out more about the passengers on the Norwegian cruise and, if possible, to establish whether Jane had gone ashore for any length of time. And there was more work to be done with Forensics.

“You are so much better at all that nitty gritty stuff than I am,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “You know that I’d only lose my temper.”

Juliet frowned, but managed the ghost of a smile before she walked away.

Tim had no sooner left than the telephone on his desk began to ring. Juliet knew that eventually it would divert to either the desk sergeant or to Tim’s mobile, but since she was near she decided to answer it.

“Good afternoon. Detective Inspector Yates’s telephone.”

“Hello, who is that?” asked a pleasant female voice with a slight foreign inflection. Juliet recognised it immediately.

“Katrin?” she asked. “Is that you? It’s Juliet Armstrong speaking.”

“Yes it is me. Hello, Juliet. Where is Tim? I really want to speak to him.”

“Unfortunately he’s just left. You could try his mobile.”

“I have done that. I think it’s switched off – it’s going straight to message mode.”

“That’s probably because he’s on his way to meet a witness. He’ll be driving to meet her now – he should be with her in half an hour or so. Unless he turns the phone on briefly to collect any messages before he reaches her, he’ll probably not be able to respond for a couple of hours. Can
I
help you in any way?”

“No,” said Katrin uncertainly. Juliet thought that she sounded close to tears. “Not unless he gets in touch with you before I can reach him. If he does, will you let him know that I need to talk to him?”

“Yes, of course. I hope that nothing’s wrong?”

Juliet heard a strangled sound before Katrin rang off abruptly. She held the receiver in her hand for a few moments, before replacing it carefully. She had met Katrin only a few times – she was based at Holbeach police station, where the South Lincs force’s small research unit had been set up – but she liked her tremendously. Tim’s entire team were united in liking his wife and appreciating his good fortune in having married her. They were such a warm and well-suited couple that their happiness seemed to rub off on to other people. But Juliet reflected now that Tim himself had been unusually taciturn over the past few days and had lost his temper on a couple of occasions. She had put this down to the stresses of the Claudia McRae case, but now she suspected that there might be a more personal reason. She hoped with the deepest sincerity that nothing had gone wrong with the marriage. She considered leaving a message on Tim’s mobile to tell him that Katrin was trying to contact him, but thought better of it. Katrin herself was certain to have left a message, so further prompting from Juliet was likely to be seen as interfering.

“Oh, God,” she said, as she sat down heavily at her own desk. She had not realised that she had spoken the words aloud until Andy Carstairs looked up.

“Something troubling you?” he said. “Apart from the usual, that is – too much routine work on a case that’s going nowhere.” He grinned to show that he was being sympathetic.

“No; nothing at all, really. Just bogged down, as you guessed. Thanks for asking.”

She turned away, and shuffled through her notes until she had found the telephone number of the ferry company. The number for Forensics was already programmed into her phone.

Chapter Twenty-Two

For the tenth time Alex searched through her wardrobe. She was trying to find something to wear to the dinner of the one-day conference that she was attending with Edmund. The dresses that she usually wore to the Archaeological Society conferences were all too matronly, the frocks that accompanied her to France when she was on holiday with Tom too skimpy for the time of year. She held a flame-coloured backless dress with a halter neck against her for the fourth time.

“That’s a gorgeous outfit. My favourite.”

Alex jumped. Tom had entered their bedroom soundlessly and she had not noticed him.

“You’re not going to wear that for one of your old farts’ dos, surely?” Tom continued, prowling restlessly round the room before he stretched out on the bed. Alex snatched a pile of newly-ironed underwear out of reach of his shoes.

“It isn’t one of their ‘dos’, as you put it. It’s an international conference for society secretaries and officials – people like me. Some of them work for very renowned organisations, so they’re quite eminent, as well as much better paid than I am. I wanted to wear something decent to the dinner – so as not to show myself up, as much as anything.” Even to herself her words sounded feeble and unconvincing. Tom looked at her suspiciously.

“You always look lovely,” he said, after a pause. “And you know as well as I do that most of them
will
be old farts – lecherous ones, in all probability. There’s no need to encourage them by wearing a frock like that. Do you know anyone else who’s going?” he added, with studied casualness.

“Only Edmund,” said Alex.

“There you are, you see!” Tom sounded triumphant, but also relieved. He evidently didn’t regard Edmund as a threat. “The old fart personified. And there’s probably a lecher hiding under all those layers of boring society procedures and archaeological detail, too.”

“Nonsense!” said Alex, attempting a laugh. “You surely hadn’t forgotten about it, though, had you? I’ve written the dates on the planner in the kitchen. I shall be out only for tomorrow night. I get back late on Thursday – too late for dinner,” she added.

“Now you mention it, it does ring a vague bell. In Scotland somewhere, isn’t it? At a fancy golf course or something.”

“Yes. Roundberry. Not my kind of place, really.”

“Well, I daresay you’ll cope. How are you getting there? By train?”

“Goodness, no. It would take forever – and I’d have had to travel today and stay overnight tonight as well, because it starts at 11.00 a.m. tomorrow. Edmund and I are catching an early flight to Glasgow from Luton. He’s coming to pick me up. We’ll leave his car at the airport and he’s booked a hire car at Glasgow.”

“Good Lord! What time does he intend to get here?”

“About 5.00 a.m. We decided that would give us time to get to Luton and park the car in good time. The flight leaves at 8.30.”

“Very cosy,” said Tom. There was no mistaking his tone this time. “Well, it will be chilly up there, so may I suggest that you wear something a little more substantial than that dress, even if the place is centrally-heated?”

“I don’t have time to buy anything new,” Alex said defensively.

“You don’t need anything new! Your wardrobe is bursting with clothes. Let me choose something.”

This time Alex’s laugh was unforced.

“This sudden interest in my clothes is quite overwhelming. You’ve never before given the slightest indication that you take any notice of what I wear.”

“Ah, well, you see, I’m more observant than you think,” said Tom. He sprang to his feet and began leafing through the rail in her wardrobe.