The Summer Without You (45 page)

‘Thank God for that! I was freaking out with worry. You don’t know how hard it’s been being so far away from you when you’ve had all that crazy shit going on.’

‘I’m fine. Honestly. Things have quietened down completely. It’s just beaches and beer on the porch.’

‘Since when did you start drinking beer?’

‘Since . . . since about three days after I got here. Hump’s been on a mission to turn me into a proper American girl.’

‘You have picked up a bit of an accent, actually. Just now, when you said . . .’ A sound in the background made Matt turn his head. ‘Bugger, I’ve got to go.
Dinner’s ready,’ he said reluctantly.

‘Oh. Well, I guess I should investigate the severity of Greg’s hangover.’

‘Don’t envy you that. Sounds like it’s going to be bad.’

‘Mmm.’ Bad wasn’t going to be the half of it. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you too. Just six more weeks.’

‘Forty-two days!’ she clarified excitedly.

‘We can do this thing.’

‘Yes, we can.’ She nodded firmly.

‘Bye, baby.’

‘Bye.’

He kissed the screen. She leaned in and kissed hers, slightly self-conscious as she remembered the last time she’d done this, inadvertently, in the studio not with him.

When she opened her eyes, the screen was black again. She fell back on her pillows, staring up at the ceiling and picking over the conversation, relieved they hadn’t fought this time. It
had been a good conversation, one of their better ones. Not one of their best, admittedly. Something had felt a little . . . flat? But that was probably just the last traces of the argument
dissipating in the air between them. It would be gone the next time they spoke. The slate was clean again.

She pushed herself up from the bed, determined to start the day brightly. It was going to be an awful one for Greg, that much was certain, and if nothing else, she could take over from
Hump’s nightshift. He could probably do with a couple of hours sleeping in his own bed. Poor guy – for someone who’d retired from medicine, he still spent a lot of time putting
people back together again.

She padded downstairs, everything still quiet in Bobbi’s room. She stopped in the hall at the entrance to the sitting room, looking in on the two overgrown men, sleeping with their legs
hanging over the armrests on opposite sofas. Greg didn’t appear to have moved from where he’d fallen last night, a towel and a washing-up bowl strategically positioned below him on the
floor – mercifully, still unused, although the alcohol fumes hung in the air like pea soup.

She walked to the front door and opened it, closing her eyes as the breeze swept in like a welcome visitor, freshening the house. She stepped out on the porch just as a police car raced past,
its siren off but blue lights flashing.

No doubt it was responding to a house alarm, she thought, stretching – just as another police car shot by. And then another.

She frowned. That was no house alarm. Dropping her arms, she walked briskly down the porch steps and out through the front gate, standing on the small green and looking towards the beach.

But it wasn’t there that the district police were congregating.

She watched in mounting apprehension as one patrol car after another, and then an ambulance too, sped in silence towards the pristine greens of the Maidstone, where a bright yellow privacy
screen was being erected – at the tee to the first hole.

Ro blinked back at the police detective sitting opposite her, wishing she could stop wringing her hands together, her jigging ankles knocking the washing-up bowl still by her
feet and making the detective look down at it with sporadic flashes of irritation.

Mainly the police officer was watching her closely, now that he had ascertained she was the nearest thing he had to a witness. ‘Let’s go through it one more time. Tell me what
happened from the moment you woke up.’

Ro took a deep breath again, feeling the pressure of getting it right. ‘I had had a . . . bad dream –’ lie: it had been exceptionally good, actually ‘– and I woke
up suddenly. I got up, walked to my window and looked out. A car was parked outside the house and it gave me a shock as it was turned on suddenly—’

‘So you didn’t see anyone actually getting into the car?’

‘No.’

‘So they could have been there for some time.’

‘I suppose so. Maybe.’

‘All night, even.’

‘Why would someone sit in a car all night?’ Ro frowned, before giving a little gasp. ‘You mean they could have been spying on us?’

‘Why would anyone spy on you?’ the detective countered.

‘Well, that’s just the thing – I don’t know. We’re so . . . boring.’

The detective looked down at the bowl by her feet again; Greg’s dinner suit was still strewn across the coffee table.

‘Have you noticed anyone acting suspiciously outside the house? Anyone taking an unusual interest in you?’

Ro swallowed hard as Ted Connor flashed into her mind. He had taken an unusual interest in her last night – there’d been no doubt about it. She was worried he’d picked up on
her suspicions, that she’d given herself away somehow; Matt always said she wore her emotions on her face, that she was as easy to read as a book. But he couldn’t possibly be involved
in
this.
Even she didn’t think that. Her mind couldn’t go there. ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No one.’

The detective stared at her for a long moment, as though wondering whether to believe her. ‘So you don’t know how long the occupant had been in the car for?’

‘No.’

‘And you said the car was a Porsche.’

‘Yes, a navy one. Soft-top.’ She sat a little straighter, pleased she had caught this detail.

‘But you didn’t get anything of the licence plate?’

‘Well, no, I wasn’t watching it for that.’

‘But you were watching it?’

She shrugged. ‘It just drove slowly down to the junction and turned into Old Beach Lane. I was quite surprised that the driver would bother to drive such a short distance from here when
it’s just a few minutes’ walk.’

‘And what happened after the car turned into the lane?’

‘Well, I figured if he was play—’

‘He? Why did you assume the inhabitant was a male?’

‘I don’t know.’ She swallowed nervously. His questioning style was intimidating, making her question her own mind. ‘My flatmate’s boyfriend had stayed over. I
automatically assumed it was him. He drives a Porsche and it would make sense for him to have parked outside.’

He blinked at her and she sensed he didn’t appreciate her making assumptions. ‘Continue.’

Ro tried to remember her train of thought. ‘Uh . . . so . . . oh yes, I figured if he was playing golf, I’d see him on the first tee in a couple of minutes. So that’s when I
got my laptop and started trying to Skype my boyfriend while I waited.’

The police officer looked at her through interested eyes that made her nervous. ‘And why were you so intent on seeing your housemate’s boyfriend play golf?’

Ro’s eyes flicked upstairs. Bobbi was still sleeping. Hump and Greg had been relegated to the kitchen by another police officer as soon as Ro’s status as a ‘witness’ had
been identified on their door-to-door enquiries. ‘Because I . . . I was being nosy. She hadn’t introduced him to us yet and I was curious about him. He was older than—’

‘How much older?’

Ro wrinkled her nose. ‘Fifty-one, I think she said?’

‘And—’

‘Well, to be honest, I thought maybe the reason she was reluctant for us to meet him was because he was married, had a family. I was worried about her getting hurt. She’s not as
tough as she makes out.’

The detective watched her, his eyes moving side to side over her face like he could fathom the truth from her freckles. ‘So you assumed that any person you saw coming out on the first tee
might be him. Do you know for a fact that your housemate’s boyfriend stayed here last night? Did you see him?’

‘Well, no, I didn’t actually see him myself. If I had, I would have known what he looked like, wouldn’t I?’ The detective’s eyes clouded at her flippancy.
‘But I heard him upstairs,’ she added quickly. ‘Bobbi told us it was him.’

‘How do you know he didn’t leave later in the night?’

She exhaled, weary now. ‘I don’t. Greg, our housemate, had had too much to drink –’ her ankle kicked the washing-up bowl lightly ‘– and we were all trying to
help him onto the sofa here. We heard someone upstairs. Bobbi said it was Kevin and we told Bobbi we didn’t want some stranger seeing him like that.’

‘Greg’s the one with the bloodshot eyes in the kitchen?’

Ro nodded. It wasn’t vodka that had done that, although there’d been no time for broken hearts this morning – even one as destroyed as Greg’s. ‘I went to bed
straight after we’d got Greg sorted. Hump stayed down here with him. I fell asleep immediately and didn’t hear a thing until I woke up this morning.’

‘Can you be sure it was a bad dream that woke you?’

‘It was a very . . . shocking dream, yes. It took me a couple of moments to recover from it.’

‘But could it have been a sound – such as the front door closing, car doors closing?’

‘I think it was definitely the dream. It frightened me awake.’

The officer nodded, not remotely interested in pursuing a conversation in dream psychology.

‘Let’s go back to what happened when you called your boyfriend.’

Ro brightened. ‘Oh well, he picked up, which was nothing short of miraculous. He’s in Cambodia, you see. Really dodgy connections. Half the time I can’t get him.’

The police officer nodded again, bored by her diversions. ‘And?’

‘And so I started talking to him.’

‘Were you still watching for the man to appear on the golf course?’

Ro frowned, concentrating hard. ‘Yeah . . . Oh! No, wait, I’m getting it wrong. I saw the two men come out onto the first tee
before
my boyfriend picked up.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

The detective scratched out something in his notebook with a suppressed sigh. ‘What did they look like? Could you give me a physical description?’

‘Well, not in any detail. It’s too far to see clearly from here. I could just see that the taller man was wearing red trousers and a panama.’

‘A panama?’

‘It’s a hat.’

‘I know what a panama is, ma’am.’

‘Right, yes, of course you do.’ Ro shifted position on the sofa.

‘What about the other man?’

‘He was shorter, bald – from what I could see, anyway – and wearing a bright green jumper.’

‘That’s it?’

His tone suggested she had failed in some way and her shoulders slumped. ‘I’m afraid so.’

‘What were they doing? Were they talking? Did they appear to know each other?’

Ro hesitated, trying to think back. It had all been so innocuous, fractions of moments she had barely registered, even
with
her curiosity piqued about the possibility of finally seeing
Kevin. ‘They just came over on a golf buggy and one of them started, you know, crouching down and looking at the slopes or whatever. You know, like they do in the Masters and
stuff—’

‘Which one?’

‘The bald one.’

‘And the other one?’

‘He was getting out his clubs.’

The detective’s eyes narrowed and Ro got the impression he was holding his breath. ‘And then what?’

‘Well, that’s when my boyfriend picked up and we started chatting.’

‘That exact moment?’

‘That exact one, yes. He gave me a bit of a fright, you see. I hadn’t realized he’d picked up.’

‘You didn’t see anything further on the green?’

Ro shrugged, feeling thoroughly useless. ‘No. My boyfriend wanted to see the dress I’d worn last night, so I left the window to show it to him and then I flopped on the
bed.’

‘Flopped?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ She nodded vigorously and bit her lip.

‘And then?’

‘And then we finished chatting and said goodbye, and I went downstairs to see how Greg was doing. It stank of booze down here, though, so I opened the door first to let in some fresh air,
and that’s when I saw the police cars going past. I ran back in and woke up the boys, and then you started knocking on all the doors. And now here we are.’ She shifted position, on
tenterhooks to know what all this was really about. She’d told him hers; now it was only fair he told her his. ‘Can you tell me what this is about now? I know it must be bad. I mean,
the tent – I’ve seen those on the telly. They only go up when . . . when there’s . . .’ She swallowed hard, unable to get the words out. She’d been so focused on
trying to help she hadn’t allowed herself to think about what had actually happened.

The officer closed his notebook. ‘We’re investigating a homicide at the Maidstone Club.’

Ro sucked in her breath, feeling her blood pool at her feet. Oh God. Oh God. ‘You mean . . . he d-died?’

‘Someone died?’

They both turned to find Bobbi standing in the hallway, tying her dressing gown around her, her face puffy with sleep, but her dark eyes already slitted suspiciously.

The police officer stood up. ‘Detective Bryant, ma’am. We’re just making some routine enquiries for a live investigation. Could you come in here, please, and take a seat? I
need to ask you some questions.’

‘What’s happened? Who’s died?’

‘There’s been a homicide at the Maidstone.’

‘The
Maidstone
?’ Bobbi spluttered, almost laughing from the shock of it, as though the idea of anything so messy happening there was inconceivable.

‘Take a seat, please,’ he repeated, standing until the smile died on her lips and she walked in slowly, silently, her dark eyes moving between Ro and the policeman. She sat down on
the sofa beside Ro, their legs touching. Ro felt a strong urge to reach out and take Bobbi’s hand, but she didn’t. She didn’t dare.

‘What is your name?’ the detective asked Bobbi, sitting down himself and opening his notebook again.

‘Bobbi Winkleman.’

‘I understand you had a guest last night,’ the policeman began.

Bobbi’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Has my
mother
sent you?’