‘Normal nervousness at a visit from the police, or more than that?
‘Couldn’t rightly say after all this time. Could have been normal nervous, could have been more.’
She swallowed her irritation and persisted. ‘But which would you go for if you had to?’
He wasn’t to be moved. ‘Like I said, I really can’t say. Ma’am.’
She gave up. Perhaps he didn’t like being questioned by a woman – there were still some like that, mostly older PCs like this one, or maybe he was still niggled at the fact she’d been in the shop when they’d searched it… She thanked him and went back to her flat.
In the afternoon, she phoned Herry and he told her about the SCRUB meeting and what Roland had said afterwards about the attack.
‘Did you believe him?’
‘I think so. I would have done for sure if he hadn’t been such a shit earlier.’ Another pause. ‘D’you still think it’s connected?’
‘I honestly don’t know. But like I said, I don’t like coincidences.’
She phoned round her team. Nothing new. Rang Brigg again. Ditto.
*
Next morning, Tuesday, she was wondering about calling Craig to lay the ground for seeing him again when her phone rang… and she somehow knew it would be him.
It was. He asked if she’d recovered from Saturday, told her he’d heard nothing from his boss yet, then asked if she like to have a meal with him. ‘A meal out,’ he added, ‘As in not a covert seduction job at my place. Although I can cook,’ he further added.
She giggled, said, ‘I’d love to. When were you thinking of?’
‘No time like the present – what about tonight?’
‘All right.’
‘Shall I pick you up, or meet you there?’
‘There. If you’ll tell me where there is.’
‘Where there is…? Oh, the eatery, you mean? I thought the Quorum, in Broad Street. D’you know it?’
‘I can find it.’
‘I’ll see you there, then. Seven?’
Business of course, she thought as she put the phone down, but it was still nice to asked out by an attractive male. And Craig was attractive, she realised… Why? What made him attractive?
He wasn’t tall, if anything, he was a bit on the short side… As was she, of course. Nor was he that good-looking, slightly monkey-faced, if anything. But he was both funny and fun - and that was quite a lot.
He was also rather sexy…
‘Business,’ she told herself aloud.
*
She phoned round the team again. Nothing.
In the afternoon, she called Brigg and told him about seeing Craig and finding a way to look round his house.
‘Well, be careful,’ he said, ‘make sure your panic button’s on.’ They all had panic buttons on their mobiles, and she told him she would.
‘I think we need a face-to-face,’ he said. ‘I’ll come to you tomorrow, around midday. Can you arrange for Smith to be there?’
She could, and rang Herry as soon as they’d finished.
Later, she thought about what to wear in the evening. She’d always been in jeans or leggings when they’d met before, so a skirt or dress – not that she had a great selection down here. She took a long, hot shower, then tried what dresses she had, eventually opting for a dark blue.
It was less than a mile, so she walked. It was dusky, but there was still a band of light in the west – evenings drawing out... the snow had all gone and it was quite mild.
Broad Street was indeed broad and the Quorum about half way along, tucked discreetly between two larger buildings. Inside was further discretion, discrete lighting and dark wooden panels, and she hadn’t had time to decide whether it was contrived or genuine when she saw Craig coming over from the bar.
‘You found it, then?’
‘Well, I’m here.’
‘So you are.’ He grinned. ‘What would you like to drink?’
She had a glass of red wine. He was drinking white, she noticed.
‘Did you walk? he asked.
She nodded, and he said, ‘So did I. Most civilised way to travel, when it comes down to it.’
‘Depends how civilised the street population is,’ she said.
He grinned again. ‘Yeah. It’s not too bad here – early evening, anyway. Is London as bad as they say?’
‘In parts. Mostly not.’
They chatted easily for a few minutes, then a waiter came and told them their table was ready.
The main body of the restaurant was pleasantly filled without being crowded. It had the sort of cosmopolitan feel that reminded her of Brown’s. They sat down and studied the menu for a few moments.
‘What are you having?’ she asked. ‘You know it here.’
‘Snails, then grilled turbot,’ he said.
She leaned forward. ‘What are snails like, honestly? I’ve never plucked up the courage to have them before.’
‘A bit like shellfish, I suppose. D’you want to try one of mine?’
‘No, it’s time to leap. I’ll have the rack of lamb to follow, though.’
After the waiter had gone, he asked about her parents. She told him how her father had been a genuine cockney, but her mother was from Essex. ‘A noble lineage,’ she added.
He laughed. ‘What did he do – your father?’ he asked.
‘A lathe operator in the railway works – until he got made redundant.’ She told him how he hadn’t been able to find another job, lost heart and how it had soured the family atmosphere. ‘What about you?’
‘Mum and Dad were both teachers, so I had it pretty cushy, really.’
‘Posh school?’
‘Grammar – if you call that posh.’
‘Some would.’
‘Do you?’
‘Posher than mine.’
The snails arrived, in a tangy red sauce. He showed her how to grip the shell with the tongs and winkle them out. She cautiously tried one.
‘What d’you think?’
‘Not bad…’
He poured her more wine and asked if she thought she’d stay in Exeter. She said she hoped so, partly because she liked what she’d seen of the city, but also because she rather liked BTA –
‘What, even after Saturday night? Not to mention that last meeting…’
She laughed. ‘Yes, even after all that. Talking of BTA,’ she said, thinking it was time she got down to business, ‘I heard on the news this morning that they’re increasing the overseas aid budget – did you hear it?’
Had the slightest look of wariness come into his eyes?
‘Yes,’ he said lightly. ‘Maybe this bunch have got a conscience after all.’
‘Unless they’re doing for purely political reasons.’
‘Well, they are politicians,’ he agreed. Then, ‘So you think that we’re maybe halfway tolerable? BTA…’
‘Yeah,’ she said, then wrinkling her nose – ‘Maybe halfway, anyway.’
‘Well, there were certainly some whackos at the meeting.’
‘Yeah,’ she said, then hesitated as though deciding whether to go on… ‘Although I still don’t know what to make of Hannah…’
He waited for her to go on.
‘I know you say, Oh, that’s just Hannah… but her attitude, her aggression, did make me wonder whether to stay at one stage…’
He said, ‘She does have reasons for her aggression.’
‘Ahh.’
‘Why ahh?’
‘I usually read that as code for some sort of abuse.’
‘That’s very perceptive of you,’ he said. ‘Personal experience?’
She was puzzled for a moment, then said, ‘Oh, you mean my ex. That wasn’t really abuse. He just dominated me.’
‘Isn’t that abuse?’
Rebecca laughed. ‘That would make a hell of a lot of relationships abusive – not many are really equal, are they?’
Craig shrugged. ‘I can think of one that is. Marc and Hannah, becaus
e he knows how to absorb her aggression. They both get what they want from it. Truly synergistic.’
‘But she was in an abusive relationship before Marc?’
‘Something like that,’ he said.
Time to back off…
She said, ‘What about you, Craig?
He leaned forward, chin on palm – ‘What about me?’
‘I find it hard to believe you haven’t been married, or at least in some sort of relationship.’
‘I’ll take that as flattery.’ He sat up, took some wine. ‘I was married,’ he said. ‘She died.’
‘…Oh, I’m sorry. How long ago?’
‘Four years.’
‘What happened? Sorry – don’t tell me if you don’t want to.’
‘Illness. I’d rather not say any more if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not.’ Suicide… ?
At this rather opportune moment, the main course arrived.
Her rack of lamb was delectable – as good in its way as Hannah’s Stroganoff. She said so, and asked how his turbot was. The same, he said. He poured more wine and they ate in silence for a few moments.
Back to work. She said, ‘What about Sophie, where does she fit in?’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, she tends to agree with Hannah about everything – follow her line, anyway, and yet it’s you she flirts with all the time…’
‘What, you think she should be flirting with Hannah?’
‘No! I mean, she evidently likes you even though she doesn’t agree with you.’
‘The sign of a well-balanced and civilised personality, I’d say.’
‘Yeah, yeah…’
He grinned wickedly. ‘We’re not having an affair, if that’s what you’re getting at…’
It occurred to her that he was thoroughly enjoying himself, ebullient even, and she wondered what had brought it on… Being with her? Oh, don’t be so wet…
‘No, it’s not that,’ she said… ‘it’s just… well, she always seems so friendly and chatty, and yet she can’t wait to be gone. Has she got a boyfriend?’
‘No idea.’
‘Sorry, I’m being nosy again…’
‘Mm. No, I mean, you’ve got a point,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘She never gives anything away about herself, never has. She’s committed enough to BTA, very dedicated, but other than that, I really don’t know much about her.’
‘I wasn’t surprised to learn she was a social worker.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
‘Her views, and her efficient way of handling things – people.’
‘You are an observant person, aren’t you?’ he said.
She grinned back at him. ‘Just nosy...’
Probably enough digging for the moment if she wasn’t to get him suspicious, so she asked him about his job (it’s a job) what he did outside of work (reading, walking) whether he had family (mother and sister in Bristol).
By the time they’d had pudding (apple pie and custard) and coffee, she was surprised to find that nearly three hours had passed. She offered to go Dutch on the bill, but he refused.
‘I’ll walk you home,’ he said when he’d paid.
‘No – you paid for the meal, I pay for the taxi. I’ll drop you, then go home.’
‘All right.’
They waited outside for it. She made a roll-up and lit it.
‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ he said.
‘I don’t much, but I like one after a meal. Is it a problem for you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m an ex-sinner myself.’
‘They’re usually the worst.’
‘Not me.’
‘Good.’
The air was still soft, more like autumn than February. They chatted
easily until the taxi arrived.
They were maybe halfway to his house when a car shot out in front of them – the driver trod his brakes and they were slammed against their belts.
‘Are you all right?’ Craig asked, putting his arm round her.
‘I think so…’
‘Stupid fucker,’ the driver said as the offending car sped away. ‘Sorry, Miss – you two OK?’
‘We’re fine,’ Craig said.
And so they were – somehow their arms had found their way round each other and she’d known that instant that she was going to stay the night with him.
They reached for each other again the moment the front door shut.
Chapter 21
He dropped her near the city centre the next morning and she walked back to her flat. Inside, she scribbled down everything she could remember that might be relevant (Hannah’s abuse, the enigma of Sophie, Craig’s dead wife etc.) then made herself a coffee and a roll-up.
Then she had a shower, brushed her teeth and changed, and afterwards, another coffee while she thought about what had happened.
No regrets. It wasn’t the same as last time, she hadn’t compromised anything, and anyway (she smiled to herself) it had been a while – for both of them, she suspected…
She’d woken to find him leaning on one elbow, his eyes, monkey bright, studying her face. He kissed her softly, touched her softly…
‘Won’t you be late?’ she whispered.
‘Yeah, I rather think I might…’
Later, he asked if she wanted to shower before him and she said she’d have one back in her flat.
While he showered, she threw on her clothes and went quickly round the house; the upstairs (spare bedroom, tiny loft hatch) then the dining room, kitchen and utility. She had a quick look in the back garden, but it was little more than a yard with no outbuildings. So, no hidden lab, not that she’d thought there would be.
So, where did it all leave her, she wondered now?
He might not be involved, but Hannah and Sophie were a different matter... and Marc – the fact that the three of them had been in a militant group together in London was suggestive.
But Marc and Craig were quite close, weren’t they?
So why had she been invited to dinner? A put-up? Possible, as things had turned out… Sophie and Hannah sussing her out because they suspected her?
But why should they? They couldn’t know where the composition of the egg shell had led...
Although you could argue that they’d suspect anyone who’d turned up just when she had… But in that case, why take her onto the committee? To keep an eye on her? But of course, Hannah hadn’t wanted to take her on…
She was going round in circles.
What about it being Hannah and Sophie, with the lab side worked by Mary Broomfield in Bath?
A wave of tiredness washed over her and she sat back in the armchair for a moment and closed her eyes…
To be woken an hour later by her mobile –
‘Becca? Hi, it’s Naomi... are you OK?’
‘Fine, just groggy. How’ve you been getting on?’
Well, she’d joined Open Door, Naomi told her, but hadn’t been to any meetings yet, so hadn’t had a chance to meet Mary Broomfield. She had, however, phoned the Chair, Di Elliot, and managed to find an excuse to invite herself round for coffee and a chat...
‘Oh, well done – what was she like?’
‘Refreshingly normal, although very outspoken on the right of people from Africa to come over here.’ She went on, ‘There’s a meeting tomorrow night, so I’ll see if I can get to know Mary then – if she goes.’
Rebecca told her to keep in touch, then phoned round the rest of the team. Nothing to report.
*
Brigg arrived at 12.15 and Herry shortly afterwards. Herry looked a bit better, she thought, although still pale. At least the bandage had gone.
She’d made a chart showing her suspects in the order of suspicion, together with whether she’d searched their home for a hidden lab:
Suspect House Garden
Hannah (& Marc) Bell Clear Clear
Sophie Rene Rented flat
Mary Broomfield ?
Emma (& W
ill) ?
Ron Young Clear Clear
Alan Shearing Clear Clear
Malcolm North Rented flat
Craig Holland Clear Clear
‘How clear is clear?’ Brigg asked. ‘Not a hundred percent, I take it?’
Rebecca shrugged. ‘There’s always the possibility of something outlandish we’ve overlooked,’ she said. ‘But… take Hannah and Marc’s house for instance – I’ve looked in every room, and Greg’s checked the garden. There was a loft, but the trapdoor isn’t big enough.’
‘How big’s the house?’ Herry asked.
She described it and he shook his head.
‘A loft in a house that size wouldn’t be big enough,’ he said. ‘A basement might be, though.’
‘We’ve checked with the local authority,’ Brigg said, ‘and none of them have one.’
‘What if they’d dug one?’ Herry said with the ghost of a smile. ‘Didn’t Fred West do something like that?’
‘That’s the kind of outlandish I meant,’ Rebecca said.
‘And you’ve looked at all the other properties?’ Brigg asked her.
‘Sophie lives in a first floor rented flat, as does Malcolm, which I think makes them a lot less likely. Alan, Ron and Craig’s houses I’ve had a good look around, and we’ve also checked the gardens and sheds.’
‘Craig’s the one you were with last night?’
‘Yes,’ she said. She knew Herry was looking at her, and to her annoyance, she felt herself flush. She hurried on, ‘Herry and I got into the basement under the charity shop. That leaves just the flat above it, Will and Emma’s, to eliminate.’
‘Tell me again why you’re so bothered about that,’ Brigg said. ‘I mean, it’s a first floor rented flat, like the others you mentioned, and the police have already had a look round it.’
‘Because the lease for the whole building is held by BTA,’ she said, ‘and I thought the place was ideal as soon as I saw it. Also, whenever I’ve raised the idea of moving the shop, there’s been a chorus of howls saying they couldn’t possibly put Will and Emma out a home.’
‘Not entirely unreasonable, if they’ve got a baby.’
‘I still want to eliminate it,’ she said.
‘Fair enough. Which leaves us with the house owned by Mary Broomfield in Bath. Is there any chance of Naomi having a look?’
Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral Page 50