Under a Silent Moon: A Novel (29 page)

“And her abstaining for the duration of the case?”

“Two to one.”

There was a brief silence. Then something else occurred to Sam. “What about me?”

This time Ron kept his eyes on the road ahead. “What d’you mean, Sarge?”

“Come on, Ron. What’re my odds?”

It took him a while to pluck up the courage. “Last time I checked, twenty-five to one.”

That was a consolation, at least—her odds were better than Hamilton’s. One very small victory for the girls.

13:52

Lou spent a moment checking her face in the mirror on the sun visor. Her hair was a bit tangled, so she ran a brush through it, squirted a bit of her handbag-size bottle of deodorant under her top, ran her tongue over her teeth. She gave herself a stern look in the mirror.

There was no getting away from it. It was like an itch that wouldn’t go away. Something in that kiss—the long, long kiss that had gone on for half an hour and had felt like thirty seconds. The way he’d touched her hair. Damn it. Would he turn out to be an utter shit like Hamilton?

With a deep breath in she put her hairbrush away and straightened her jacket. Time would tell.

Inside, a long bar ran along the back wall, with oak tables and benches interspersed with low sofas and coffee tables. Beside the roaring fire two high-backed fireside chairs stood as though guarding the warmth.

He was there already, at a small table, a pint of what looked like cola in front of him. He stood up when he saw her, and when she went over he kissed her cheek as though they were friends meeting up for lunch and they hadn’t seen each other for ages. Which, perhaps, was a fair assessment of what they were actually doing.

“Hey,” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll get you a drink. What would you like?”

“Just an orange juice. I’ll get it.”

“Go on,” he said. “Pretend you’re not my boss for a minute.”

“All right, then. Thanks.”

She watched him heading for the bar. Jeans, today, of course, and a blue hooded top with a stylized design on the back in white, formed out of two ice hockey players crossing sticks. Under it the words
Briarstone Jaguars
. She turned her attention to the menu: typical pub fare, but a few unusual offerings as well.

It looked as though the Sunday lunch rush was coming to an end. Not many tables free, but a lot of empty plates and people sitting back in their seats.

Jason brought her drink. “You decided?”

“I think the venison sausages,” she said. “I’m intrigued.”

He went back to the bar to order the food.

The barmaid had dark hair, short, with red streaks through it. Lou wondered if that was Frances Kember.

“I missed you last night,” Jason said, sitting back down opposite her. “I don’t think I can wait until the case settles down.”

She felt her stomach do a little flip. She tried to smile, tried to make light of it. “Hmm. It’s very distracting.”

For a moment it was eye contact, nothing more, but the tension between them was electric. He smiled, a slow smile, stretched out a foot under the table and laid it against hers, just gentle pressure.

“I guess this isn’t really the place, is it?”

“Not really.”

“Later? Tonight?”

She hesitated. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Last time I did this with someone from work it all went horribly wrong.”

“Hamilton?”

She nodded, returned the pressure of the footsie game under the table.

“Sometimes you need a bit of time off, eh? What we’re doing is important, but so is this.”

“Let’s see what the rest of today brings, okay? My head’s buzzing with it at the moment. That’s why I thought it would be good to get out of the office for a bit.”

He looked up, past her head. She turned to see the barmaid bearing two platefuls of food. “Here you go,” she said, putting the plates down on the table between them.

“Thanks,” Lou said. “This looks great, thank you. Is Ivan around?”

“He was about to go to the cash-and-carry.”

“Would you ask him if he can spare us a minute? That would be great.” She handed over a business card.

“I’ll send him out.”

“Thank you.”

When she had retreated into the back, Lou gave Jason a look. His foot was still pressed gently against her ankle. She liked it being there. Just having this contact with him made her feel good. Now, of course, she wondered what it would be like. Going to his house, late, straight from work—or would she go home first? Get changed? Or maybe he would come over to hers. She would have to tidy up a bit, change the sheets. The thought of what might follow was a delicious one.

“How was hockey?”

“Oh, good. We won.”

“Did you score?” she said, and then instantly regretted it.

“Not yet,” he said, and winked.

Christ.

“Sorry,” he said. “I keep making you blush.”

She was about to answer but caught sight of a man approaching them.

Ivan Rollinson was slender, with dark hair, an aquiline nose, and crystal-clear green eyes.

Lou introduced herself and Jason; they shook hands, and Ivan sat down with them. “I’m assuming you’re the one in charge,” he said. “I wondered if you’d come.”

Lou gave him a smile. “Thank you for sparing us a minute.” She pulled her notebook out of her bag. “I wanted to see if there might be anything else you might have recalled about Polly’s visit on Halloween evening.”

He shrugged. “I said everything to your officers who came here. She was waiting for someone. Then she left.”

“You said she was dressed up that night,” Lou said.

“Yes.”

“Did she often come in here dressed up?”

He gave a sort of smirk. “Only when she was meeting women.”

Lou looked up from her notebook. “She met people in here a lot, then? Women and men?”

He nodded. “She was in here once, twice a week. Tuesday night was the first time she didn’t meet somebody here.”

“Always different people?”

He shook his head. “Same ones. Maybe—eight, ten different people.”

“Were these people you knew?”

“Some of them.”

“Would you tell me their names?”

He didn’t reply.

“Mr. Rollinson. It’s vital that we make contact with all of Polly’s friends. I’m quite sure nobody who was a friend to Polly would want to keep information from us. And I can assure you that none of them will know that the names came from you.”

He considered this for a moment. Then: “Nigel—the man who owns the stables? She had a drink in here with him once or twice. They seemed to have a laugh, you know? As though they came from work. She was in her riding boots and jodhpurs. And Flora. She came in here a lot with Flora. At first she was in jeans. Then she was dressed up.”

“She dressed up for Flora?”

“Like I say, only for the women.”

“When was the last time she was in here with Flora?”

He shrugged. “More than two, three months.”

“Anyone else?”

He gave a deep sigh, looked up again as though the answer might be printed on the ceiling. “An older man, with gray hair. He lives in the village, comes in here with his wife sometimes.”

“You know his name?”

He shrugged again. “No. The last time with him was two months ago, maybe longer.”

“Thank you. Mr. Rollinson, do you know who the last person was you saw Polly with regularly?”

“There was a younger man, maybe three, four times. She was here with him last week and the week before. And a woman a few times.”

“Can you describe her?”

“Older—maybe forty, fifty? Fair hair. Very attractive, smart. Looked rich. But Polly always paid.”

“And you didn’t recognize her—didn’t catch a name?”

He shook his head. “It was only twice, I think. In the last three weeks or so. I don’t believe she lives in the village.”

“And you haven’t seen her since?”

“No.”

“Or the younger man?”

He shook his head.

“Can you describe him?”

Rollinson was starting to look bored. “Young. He wore jeans, like he worked on the farm too. I thought he was another one from the stables.”

Lou noted this down in her book. “Did you get the impression that any of these people were particularly special to Polly? As though one of them were a boyfriend, perhaps?”

“Or a girlfriend, you mean?” He smiled again. “No. It was like they were
all
her best friend. She used to laugh a lot, always seemed to be having a good time, but she never drank alcohol. I asked her once what was her secret, and she said she was high on life.”

There was a pause. Rollinson seemed deep in thought, no doubt remembering Polly the way she was, all beauty and sparkle. “The woman—the fair woman? The last time I saw them here, I think they had a disagreement.”

“When was this, can you remember?”

“Two weeks ago, more. Polly was in here and waited for her for about half an hour. She was chatting to Frances, the barmaid, and then to another one of the locals. They were playing darts and Polly was helping them keep score.

“The woman came in, and Polly left what she was doing without a word, and went to sit next to her. The woman hardly spoke, acted as though Polly was not there most of the time. And Polly was smiling at her, trying to get her to look. They had a few drinks, and then the woman got up and left, and Polly followed, a few steps behind.”

“You thought they had had an argument?” Lou asked.

“Something like that. One minute Polly was happy and laughing and joking, the next she was looking at this woman as though begging her forgiveness for something.”

“And the last night you saw her. Halloween. What time did she leave?”

“I told the other one. It was late—half past eleven. Something like that.”

“On her own?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Ivan.”

He returned her smile, standing up. “You’re welcome. Come again.”

“We will,” Lou said.

She was still thinking through Polly’s various assignations at the Lemon Tree as she followed Jason out into the car park. The light felt unbearably bright after the cozy shadows of the interior and she felt in her bag for her sunglasses. No sign of them—they must be in the car. “Well, that was nice,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, hands in his pockets.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“For sure.” There was something in the way he said it that made Lou alert.

Behind them, two couples exited the pub, the women laughing about something. Lou moved closer to Jason, close enough to be able to whisper: “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer, watching as the doors slammed on a Land Rover and a BMW.

“Get in.” Lou unlocked her car and went round to the driver’s side of her car. When he climbed into the passenger side she turned in the seat so she was facing him. He was staring resolutely ahead at the hedge. She waited patiently.

“So,” he began, “when you said we should meet for lunch—I was kind of hoping it would just be the two of us.”

“I don’t understand—it
was
just the two of us.”

“Nah. That was you, me, and the job.”

“I
am
on duty,” she said, making an effort to keep her voice even.

“Still,” he said. “Is this what it would be like?”

“Yes,” she said. “If we’re lucky. On some jobs I might not get to see you for days on end. You should get your head round that right now or else there’s no point carrying on.”

He looked at her then and for a moment she saw emotion in his eyes that she hadn’t been expecting. Then it was gone. He shrugged, smiled, cupped her cheek, and kissed her.
That’s better
, she thought, breathed in, moved closer to him so that he could kiss her again, harder this time and now she didn’t care if anyone was in the car park watching. Another minute and she didn’t care about the job, either.

From her bag, Lou’s phone bleeped.

She was so lost in his kiss she barely noticed, but Jason pulled back. He looked into her eyes, stroking his fingers down her cheek, over her chin, down her throat, lightly caressing her skin until he got to the neckline of her sweater.

“Can I see you tonight?” he asked. “Please.”

“I’ll try my best.” At least she was being honest—there was nothing Lou hated more than empty promises.

“You’d better get that,” he said. “I’ll see you later, Louisa.”

He kissed her again, quickly, fiercely, and then opened the door and got out.

She pulled the phone out of her bag and looked. There was a text from Sam. They were on their way back from Norfolk. And a voice mail from Paul Harper, the CSI who had been at the quarry yesterday.

It was time to head back to the real world.

5X5X5 INTELLIGENCE REPORT

Date:
Sunday 4 November 2012

Officer:
PC 9921 EVANS

Re:
Op NETTLE—Liam O’TOOLE

ECHR Grading: B / 1 / 1

Database searches, employment records and Voters indicate the former tennis coach at the Morden Golf and Country Club was Mr. Liam James O’TOOLE DOB 1/5/1980.

Andrew HART, General Manager at the club, confirms Mr. O’TOOLE had been employed as a tennis coach at the club, from June until he left unexpectedly last week. He was expected to turn up for work on Thursday, but failed to put in an appearance. A letter of resignation was received on Friday morning, postmarked Briarstone. Letter has been seized for forensic examination, special property number CL/0004562/12.

Mr. HART confirmed that both Mr. and Mrs. FLETCHER-NORMAN were members of the club. Mr. FLETCHER-NORMAN regularly played golf. Mrs. FLETCHER-NORMAN had previously been an enthusiastic golf player, but in recent months had switched to playing tennis. She had been having tennis coaching sessions with Mr. O’TOOLE (at a cost of £45 per hour) twice or three times per week. Mrs. FLETCHER-NORMAN had a scheduled coaching session with Mr. O’TOOLE in the afternoon of Wednesday, 31 October, and this was the last appointment that day.

Mr. HART would not discuss rumors relating to the relationship between Mrs. FLETCHER-NORMAN and Mr. O’TOOLE. He did, however, say that Mr. O’TOOLE was particularly popular with female members of the club and he had received numerous complaints about his sudden and unexpected departure.