by Diane Saxon
‘Yeah.’ She agreed. She had no idea. What the hell? Who was so precise? Didn’t you engage someone in conversation, figure out you quite liked them, check out their body to make sure it wasn’t repulsive, do the whole jiggy-jiggy after the third date to see if you were compatible and then go from there? She’d obviously been doing it wrong all along. Proof positive in the fact that she was currently single. Perhaps she should get the dating app.
Aware of the silence, she raised her eyebrows at Ryan to encourage him to continue. ‘What else?’
‘Tall – I like tall women, five eight to ten.’ It sounded more and more like a crime profile. ‘And… slim.’ He squirmed in his seat, gave a self-conscious shrug. ‘I like them slim, so I input athletic.’
She didn’t want to show her ignorance, but she had to know. ‘You can be that specific?’ She’d rather they had a brain and a personality. Preferably a sense of humour would help. Maybe a dating app wasn’t for her.
‘Absolutely.’
‘You input athletic and you get an athletic woman?’ Amazed, she gawped at him, blown away by the fact that she had no idea. What the hell was athletic?
No one had ever suggested a dating app to her. She straightened her spine and rubbed the back of her aching neck, her muscles protesting. Perhaps no one dared to suggest it.
‘Well, you select a choice. Athletic, average, a few extra pounds, and curvy.’
She glanced at her notes, circled her writing so Mason picked up on it as he glanced at the notebook. ‘You chose ginger, brown eyes, tall and athletic.’
‘That’s right. Oh yeah, and aged between twenty and twenty-five.’
‘Okay.’ That didn’t quite jibe but was reasonably close. Jenna flicked the page over on her notes. ‘The victim was twenty-eight.’
He puffed out a breath, his cheeks taking on a flush. ‘Yeah. Her profile said she was twenty-four.’ His lip curled.
‘She lied on her profile?’ Horrified, Jenna glanced up at him. ‘People do that?’ Why in hell’s name would you lie if you were seeking a relationship with someone?
‘Yes.’ His lips tightened and that pink flush deepened.
A sneaking suspicion crept in and she leaned towards him across the desk and pinned him with a direct gaze. ‘Did you lie on your profile, Ryan?’
He cleared his throat before he answered. ‘Yes. Everyone does to a certain degree.’
‘Mmm-hmm. A certain degree. What degree did you lie about, Ryan?’ A touch of disappointment edged her voice. She’d never expected Ryan Downey to tell lies. He always seemed too honest for his own good.
The fast blush darkened his cheeks. ‘My age.’
Interested, she tapped her fingers against her lips as she studied him. ‘How old did you say you were?’
‘Twenty-five.’
Jenna squinted at him. Interesting, but not relevant at this stage. Except it meant that her young police officer had the ability to dodge the truth. Something she may have to consider in the future.
She ran her fingers through her thick hair, pushing it back from her forehead while she studied what she’d written. The moment she let go, her hair sprang back into her eyes. Damned if she had time to get it cut, but she’d ring Teresa at A-Head in Newport and make an appointment. Popular, though, it would be a miracle if she could grab an appointment. She should have done it the last time she’d been there. Perhaps they’d have a cancellation. She certainly wouldn’t consider going elsewhere. Most hairdressers frightened the bejeezus out of her. But Teresa, she knew she could trust.
She blew out little puffs of air as she stared at her notes, dragging her mind back to the present.
‘So, your profiles matched, and you decided to meet.’ She stared into his eyes when she asked the question. ‘Was this the first time you’d met?’
‘Yes.’ There was no hesitation, no avoidance of truth, of that she was sure from his direct eye contact.
‘Tell me what happened.’ She really didn’t want to know, cringed inside a little at being exposed to the detail, but it was necessary. She didn’t want Ryan’s sex life in her head. Just the mere thought of Ryan naked made her brain shut down.
Aware of Mason shifting next to her, she suspected he was of the same mindset.
‘We met at twenty hundred hours at, umm…’ he hesitated, nerves riding high. ‘The Liquor Lab on Southwater. Had a drink together.’ Ryan raised his hand, scratched his cheek, uncomfortable as much as Jenna. ‘She’d already been drinking. She’d had far too much and all she spoke about was the break-up with her ex. What a supreme arse he was.’ He dropped his head and sighed. ‘She was really nice. And wistful. I felt sorry for her. I had one drink. She had three more. Violet Unicorns.’
Jenna raised her eyebrows, she’d never heard of a Violet Unicorn, didn’t want to ask. Instead she asked a relevant question. ‘Who paid?’
Confusion stole over his features and then cleared. ‘We went Dutch. Each round.’
‘How did you pay?’
He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘She paid cash for the first two rounds, and then card. I used Apple Pay each time.’
Jenna nodded, took a note and then raised her head to look at him ‘Then what?’
‘I noticed she was a lot older than me.’ His shoulders gave a bony jiggle. ‘And there was no way she was ready to move on and start another relationship. I realised straight away, but it would have been impolite to have just left. She seemed such a nice lady, it would have been wrong to have left too early.’
Twenty-eight. Hardly ancient, but he had Jenna feeling her own age.
‘I felt sorry for her. She needed looking after. She didn’t want a date, she wanted a shoulder to cry on. I could tell we weren’t compatible, so after a decent amount of time, I decided to call it a night. I put her in an Uber and sent her home.’ He blew out a breath.
‘An Uber?’ she questioned, a dash of hope brightening her mind. ‘Who paid?’
‘I did.’
An unreasonable relief rushed through her. Thank God. ‘So, you have the details on your phone?’
As though it suddenly occurred to him, Ryan’s eyes lit up and he slid the phone back towards him and placed his thumb on the bottom to activate it as he gushed his own relief in disjointed sentences. ‘I’ve got it. I never thought. I was worried about her. She stumbled as I put her in. The driver said he’d look after her.’ He swiped his finger over the screen and handed it to Jenna. Everything she needed was there.
‘For the record, DC Downey has given me his phone with evidence of the details of the Uber journey he booked for Marcia Davies last night. A digital image will be taken and it will be entered into evidence, but, for the record…’ she took a long breath in, ‘it states the passenger was picked up at 2148 hrs and dropped off seventeen minutes later at 5 Brook Avenue, Lawley, which,’ she flicked a couple of pages back on her notepad, ‘I confirm is the address of the victim. Uber information confirms one female passenger. Registration Number of the cab was DY17 NLM and the driver’s name Trevor Lockley.’ Her gaze met Mason’s. ‘Trevor Lockley.’ Murderer, the thought flickered through her mind, or the last person to see Marcia alive? ‘Let’s pay him a visit. Unlikely as the perpetrator, having given all that information, but he may be able to tell us something.’
A small shudder of relief passed through her. That let Ryan off the hook, provided the driver verified what Ryan had told them.
She tapped her pen on the desk while she considered what other information she needed from Ryan.
Mason shifted, his chair legs scraped under his weight as he leaned forward and Jenna gave a brief nod of acquiescence. ‘DC Downey, was this the last you saw of Marcia?’
Good call.
‘No.’
Jenna’s blood ran cold as she stared at Ryan. What the hell had he said? ‘Go ahead, DC Downey.’
‘The next time I saw her…’ he blew out a breath, ‘was this morning. She was dead.’ His breathing became short and shallow.
Jenna g
lanced around to locate the nearest bin, but they no longer kept them in the interview rooms. Health and safety. In case you were coshed by one. Or tripped over it. She could only pray he didn’t throw up again. The green tinge had been replaced by pink, but you could never tell. Despite this, relief flowed through her. That was it. All they needed from him to show that he wasn’t involved.
He sucked in another loud, gusty breath. ‘I didn’t recognise her at first.’
He didn’t need to say any more, but he continued regardless, and Jenna could hardly gaffer-tape his mouth shut in front of the Federation Rep.
‘When we met last night, she was really pretty. She didn’t wear much make-up. I’d hazard a guess at minimal.’
Jenna tugged at her bottom lip. Men had no idea. She knew some who believed their girlfriends were au natural when they had their eyebrows tattooed on, false eyelashes and fake tan, but because they didn’t wear scarlet lipstick, it was considered natural. Jenna couldn’t be bothered with all that shit. She was what she was. The occasional scarlet lipstick function aside.
She frowned as she studied Ryan. Perhaps he wasn’t so out of sync.
‘And when you saw her this morning?’
‘It wasn’t the same make-up.’ He closed his eyes as though he could pull up her image. ‘She didn’t wear blue eye make-up last night. It was tawny. I noticed it emphasised the colour of her eyes. She had really pretty eyes. Melancholy, but pretty.’ He nodded as though he confirmed it in his own mind, his mouth pulling down with regret. ‘Her cheeks just had that shimmery stuff on.’
‘Highlighter?’
‘Yeah, and a bit of bronzer.’
Turned out Ryan knew what he was talking about after all. Who knew he was a make-up guru? Who knew he had any idea what colour tawny was?
Jenna glanced sideways at Mason. His face had gone blank, his eyes glazed over. No guru there. Shades of any colour way beyond his reach.
She turned her attention back to Ryan and dreaded asking her next question. ‘Anything else you feel we should know, DC Downey?’
‘Yeah.’ He steepled his fingers together and pressed them against his lips. ‘I only saw her briefly this morning before I…’
‘Had to leave the room.’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded his agreement. ‘But she hadn’t been wearing red lipstick either. She didn’t seem like a red lipstick type of person to me. She was too quiet, and heartbroken. Why would she put that make-up on herself after she’d returned home from our date? It looked like a child had painted it on.’ He gave a delicate shudder. ‘It wasn’t right. Like someone had slapped an insult on her face.’
Jenna leaned back in her seat, proud of his perception. ‘No. It isn’t right.’
Now wasn’t the time to discuss the case. There would be time enough later. Right now, she needed to end the interview. She checked the time and reeled off the information she needed to bring the interview to a close.
Ryan scraped his chair back and came to his feet as Jenna switched the tape off, regret twisting his lips. ‘Perhaps if I’d taken her home, she wouldn’t be dead.’
Mason fell in behind him as he opened the interview room door so Ryan could go to his dad. He placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and imparted the most chilling thought. ‘Perhaps if you’d taken her home, you’d also be dead.’
10
Tuesday 4 February, 11:35 hrs
With the few patrons in the coffee shop, it wasn’t difficult to pick out his date. The washed-out strawberry blonde was hardly the vibrant redhead she’d advertised herself as on her dating app. A faded version of her photograph, skin not as milky white on first inspection.
He hesitated at the window of the little local coffee shop he’d deliberately suggested instead of meeting in Telford town centre where there were plenty of CCTV cameras scattered around.
She thought his suggestion was sweet. Sweet, for Christ’s sake! Naïve cow.
He studied her for a moment longer. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t the exact description of what he needed. Just a dim reflection of the woman he thought he was going to meet. Still, there was something about her. A quiet, unassuming attractiveness.
Mind made up, he pushed the hood of his raincoat back and stepped through the doorway into the welcome warmth of the old-fashioned coffee shop.
The woman raised her head, pitiful hope fluttering through her eyes, and came to her feet in an instant, a vibrant smile plastered on her face. A mouth more lovely than he’d realised. He focused on it, staring hard at the curve of her lips. The things she could do to him with that mouth. The upward curve of it straightened out and hesitation flitted over her face, making him realise how intense his contemplation had been.
He took a step back, put his hand on his chest and hit her with his best boyish smile. ‘Wow, I’m sorry. You knocked me sideways then. Your photograph really doesn’t do you justice. What a radiant smile you have.’
Her eyes cleared, the smile kicked back up and an attractive dimple winked in.
Confident he’d turned the situation around, he stepped forward and offered his hand. ‘Ellie, I assume?’
‘Gareth, it’s good to meet you.’ Her voice held a melodious huskiness beyond the maturity of her years.
With a double handed greeting, he enfolded her icy fingers in his warm hands, all the time smiling into her pretty hazel eyes. She’d not lied about them. They were beautiful. He held on a second longer than necessary to register his interest in her, but not long enough to make her uncomfortable. Gently does it.
As he dropped his hands to his side, he glanced at the table she’d selected, and the half full cup of coffee.
With an injection of regret, he lowered his voice to instigate a subtle intimacy, not so much to appear like a creep, just a touch, enough to assess her receptiveness. ‘I’m sorry if I kept you waiting, can I buy you a fresh cup?’
‘No.’ She fluttered her hand over the coffee. ‘This is just fine. It’s okay, it’s my fault, I arrived early.’
She was an apologiser. That was good. Because it would all be her fault in any case.
He pulled a chair out for himself and indicated for her to sit back down.
‘Let me buy you cake, at least.’
‘I shouldn’t.’ She placed her hand on her gently rounded stomach. ‘I’m trying to lose weight.’
Although she’d lied on her description – she favoured the curvy rather than athletic – it didn’t bother him.
With a long, slow, deliberate rake of his gaze down her body, he raised one eyebrow and quirked her a smile. ‘You don’t need to lose weight. You’re perfect as you are. What I’d class as a real woman.’
A pretty pink flush stole up her neck and into her cheeks.
He watched with amusement as she stumbled around for a reply, her blush deepening the pale, freckled skin.
The waitress stepped up to their table and the temptation to tell her to fuck off almost got the better of him. He pulled in a breath through his nose and picked up the pretentious little menu, with a dozen items listed, in front of him, as though they couldn’t see what was under the glass counter in front of them in the tiny little excuse of a shabby shop.
‘How about the triple chocolate rocky road, glazed marshmallows with the dipping pot of melted chocolate sauce and a hint of chilli?’ The glow in her darkened eyes told him he’d hit the mark. Women and chocolate. It made temptation easy. ‘And I’ll have the lemon drizzle with raspberry jus.’ He couldn’t resist giving them their full description as laid out on the menu.
Attentive, he leaned closer to Ellie, the scent of her freshly washed hair wafting over him, sweet and heady. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Well…’
‘Go on, be a devil.’ He kicked out a husky laugh. ‘Have another. It won’t kill you.’
She raised her hand and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I’ll have a latte, then. Just a small one.’
He closed the menu and without looking at
the waitress handed it to her over his shoulder with a dismissive flick of his fingers as she took it from him. ‘I’ll have a cup of Earl Grey tea.’ He hated the stuff, but to keep up appearances, he’d swallow battery acid.
Ellie fluttered with pleasure while he refused to take his gaze from her. He forced his muscles to relax. Turning slightly sideways in his chair, he draped his arm over the back and crossed one leg over the other to create a casual appearance.
Not difficult to engage her in conversation, he managed to allow the bullshit that came from her mouth to go over his head as he waited a terminally long time for the fucking waitress to get her arse in gear. She just needed to serve fucking tea and cake on the second-hand mismatched plates, cups and saucers and not treat them like they were fucking antiques, instead of her dead grandmother’s rejects. Instead, she tucked long wisps of grey hair into her preposterous white bonnet and washed her hands twice before she dried them on the pretentious tea towel, cross-stitched with dozens of bloody ugly hens. Her swollen ankles spilled over flat black shoes, she shuffled along the floor as her drab black skirt wafted around her calves and the smell of lavender permeated the air with every slow move she made.
Temper rising, he clenched his jaw as he waited for the ageing woman to serve them, all false smiles and lame conversation he couldn’t be bothered to engage in. He leaned away from her and forced an indulgent smile for the sake of Ellie, who chattered some nonsense about the weather to the slag of a waitress like she meant something to her. Why didn’t she let her get on with her job and serve someone else? No wonder it took so fucking long.
As the waitress eventually sauntered off, like she had all the time in the world, he took up the ostentatious little cake fork and weighed it in his hand, surprised at how heavy it was. He flipped it over, registering the silver mark embossed in the handle.
‘Nice.’ Difficult to give up the habits of his former life, he considered slipping it into his pocket as he walked out, but instead smiled at the woman opposite. ‘Classy.’