by Frank Smith
He forced himself to get out of the chair and walk over to the window. The sun was well up, and a few strands of mist above the river were fading. Listlessly, he wandered back to his chair and sat down.
He was all by himself. He’d had the locks changed to keep Julia out. She and Sebastian were staying in a motel on the far side of town until they could sort something out, but there was no way he was going to let either of them back into the house. Betty Jacobs was still coming in through the week, but otherwise he was on his own. He couldn’t even work. He’d been locked out, too. His office had been taken over by ‘temporary staff’ sent in from Westminster while he was on ‘gardening leave’, the euphemism used when a government member was being sidelined for one reason or another.
He looked at the clock again. Twenty to seven. Still a bit early … ‘Oh, to hell with the time,’ he muttered as he took out his phone. Sunday or not, Richard should be up by now. He scrolled to the number and jabbed with his thumb. Ringing …
‘Richard! Ha! Sorry to call so early, but I’d like to come out … No, I mean now. I can be there in an hour. I want to talk to you and Eloise … about Michael.’
Tregalles looked up at the sky. It had been a nice weekend, busy running around in the car on Saturday, but the cool winds they’d had earlier in the week had died, and Sunday had been warm and spring-like.
He gathered up his tools and put them away in the garage, then came back to admire his handiwork once again. He’d been doing a bit of weeding – well, quite a lot, actually – and the garden was looking the better for it. Audrey would be pleased.
He stood there in the sun, letting his mind drift, and, as always, it drifted to work and the news from Forensic on Friday, confirming that the saliva on the pillow used to suffocate Justine Delgado was indeed that of Julia Lorrimer. It had been a good way to end the week, and, good lawyers or not, they would have a hard time getting around that.
He chuckled softly to himself as another memory surfaced. Funny how things happened, he thought. His daughter Olivia needed new shoes. ‘They don’t have the kind I really like anywhere here in town, Dad,’ she’d explained earnestly, ‘but they do in Tenborough, so can we go, Dad? Please?’
‘Why not, love?’ Audrey said. ‘She does need them. It would make a nice run out, and we could stop and have lunch in the garden at that restaurant by the river.’
They’d driven to Tenborough yesterday. He and Brian stayed in the car while Audrey and Olivia went into the shoe store. Brian was nattering on about a friend of his at school, when Tregalles saw two women come out of a shop called Gabrielle’s. Arms linked, they were both carrying bags bearing the shop’s name, and they were giggling over their purchases like a couple of schoolgirls as they crossed the street and got into a cream-coloured Mercedes.
‘Well, well, who’d have guessed it?’ he’d muttered softly to himself. He could hardly believe it, but there it was: a very different Lydia Bryant … and Loretta Hythe. So, another little mystery solved. Not that it was any of his business, but he was glad he’d seen them together, because he’d found himself wondering from time to time which man in Parkside Place was Lydia Bryant’s lover. Now he knew, but he felt no obligation to mention it at work. None of their business anyway. Well … not really, but the insurance company might be curious.
He mentally changed gear as he made his way into the garage and took off his gardening shoes. It had felt good to be partnered with Paget again. He’d been annoyed at first, when Paget had taken over; resented him butting in, until he realized he actually felt more comfortable in that role than he’d felt for months. Like an old horse putting on a familiar harness, as Audrey was fond of saying in similar situations.
And then there was the problem of Molly, he thought soberly. He liked Molly; she was good to work with, but he wished she’d move on. Since passing her sergeant’s exams, he’d felt as if she were breathing down his neck, and the thought suddenly occurred to him, that, if he became an inspector and Molly was still there, would the powers that be decide it would be more economical to keep Molly and force him to look for another posting? Audrey certainly wouldn’t like that, and nor would he. Maybe going for promotion this year wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Tregalles looked at his watch. Time to go in, he decided. And time to have a serious think about his future.
Molly Forsythe turned the TV off. Ten o’clock. It would be five o’clock the next morning in Hong Kong. David would still be in bed, so there was no chance of an email tonight. Only ten days to go and he would be here. Well, here in Broadminster, but he and his daughter Lijuan would be staying with his aunt and uncle, Ellen and Reg Starkie. He’d said in his emails that he was hoping to spend some time with her, but Molly couldn’t help wondering how that would work. David would probably have an itinerary mapped out for Lijuan, and the Starkies were sure to have plans as well. And maybe there were relatives in other parts of the country they would have to visit. That could take time, and with her uncertain work schedule …
Molly squeezed her eyes shut. What will be will be, she told herself firmly. Time to go to bed. She was to be first up with the CPS team the next morning, so she needed to be sharp. She would be facing lawyers, and you could never be too careful with lawyers.
Ten days …
It was almost midnight before she went to sleep.