'Are you saying it's my fault?'
'What?'
'I don't know. Everything. This.'
She looked at him, held his gaze, then slowly turned her head away, reaching into her pocket for her cigarettes.
'Kate…'
'What now?'
'Nothing.' The admonishment frozen on his lips.
'You want to take a walk?' he said several long moments later.
'Not specially.'
They continued to sit. Summers appeared lower down the path, walking in the direction of the bandstand, circling round.
'You and Rob, you're still…?'
'We're going to back off a little. Just, you know, chill for a while. Rob needs some time to sort himself out, get his shit together.' She smiled. 'He comes out with stuff like that from time to time. Getting your shit together. Like it was the sixties or something.'
'What's happening to him?'
'With the police, you mean?'
Elder nodded.
'He'll be charged with possession. Then probation, most likely. That's what they're saying. Get a – what is it? – Community Punishment and Rehabilitation Order. A hundred hours of community service and a couple of years in a drug rehab programme.'
'He's happy with that?'
'He doesn't have a lot of choice.'
'And you?'
'What about me?'
'What are you going to do?'
Katherine held the smoke in before releasing it slowly into the air. She was going to give it up. She was. Maybe for Lent. 'I've started seeing my therapist again.'
'You have? Katherine, that's great. I'm pleased. That's really good news.'
'Okay, okay. Don't go crazy.'
He knew he shouldn't ask, but went ahead anyway. 'I don't suppose you've thought any more about college? School?'
'One thing at a time, Dad, right?'
'Okay, I'm sorry.' Something about her expression reminded him of when she had been ten or eleven, scarcely grown, and he felt his breathing change, his chest constricting close above his heart.
Katherine stubbed out her cigarette. 'I did go and talk to someone at Clarendon. There's an open-access programme for AS level that didn't look too bad.' She sprang to her feet. 'Come on. Before you get all gooey and overcome. Let's catch up with Rob.'
'All right.'
Summers was sitting in the centre of the bandstand, leaning back against the wrought-iron railings, writing in a notebook.
'Just look at him,' Katherine said. 'He's such a poseur sometimes.'
'If you did go to Clarendon,' Elder said, 'start studying again, where would you live?'
Katherine grimaced. 'Mum's threatening to redecorate my room.'
'Maybe come summer you might even feel like running again.'
She shot him a quick sideways look. 'Not before I can walk, okay?'
Elder called in on Resnick before catching his train back down to London. Both Bland and Eaglin were trying to outdo the other in apportioning blame, offering information in exchange for a better deal.
Framlingham had asked him to attend a meeting with the Chief Crown Prosecutor about the case against Mallory, which was under continuous review. While the circumstances of Maurice Repton's death were straightforward, at least as far as the Crown was concerned, those surrounding what had happened to the Tremlett twins were less so.
The bodies of two young females had been found beneath one of the cellars, covered by quick-setting concrete. Both corpses were badly burned. It looked as if they had been placed down there and then set fire to, using petrol, presumably in an effort to destroy them beyond recognition. But even as the fire had blackened and torn apart some of their skin, other parts it had preserved. Several fingerprints were still partially clear. Moreover, a comparison of their teeth with their dental charts made identification certain.
Pinpoint haemorrhages behind Judy Tremlett's eyes suggested that she had died from strangulation; a subdural haemorrhage around her sister's brain led the pathologist to conclude that she had died from a fractured skull. In neither girl was carbon monoxide present: they had been dead when the fire had been started. Small, small mercy.
Mallory was still denying responsibility for both deaths or any knowledge of how they had occurred.
Officers from CIB were continuing to question him about a number of investigations in which he had been involved, prosecutions which, for various reasons, had failed; also several robberies which had so far remained unsolved. And Mallory, of course, was happy to string things out, feeding a little information here, a little disinformation there, all the while playing the system, delaying what was still, in all probability, inevitable.
When the meeting with the Crown Prosecutor was over, Framlingham insisted on buying Elder a drink and he was happy to accede. He was catching the sleeper back down to Cornwall later that evening and a call to Karen's mobile had been diverted to her office phone, where he had failed to leave a message.
'I'm not asking you,' Framlingham said, 'to move back lock, stock and barrel. Start another career. You're through with that, I understand. But what I'm saying is, be flexible. Give us four months of the year.'
'No way.'
'Come on, Frank. The winter, for God's sake. You don't want to spend that down there, surely?'
'Don't I?'
'Frank…'
Elder smiled and shook his head. 'Look, no promises, okay? Nothing definite, nothing set. We'll stay in touch. If there's anything you think I might be really interested in, suitable for, give me a call. I'll say yes or no.'
Framlingham held out his hand. 'Can't say fairer than that, I suppose.'
On the kerb, he fished into his pocket and took out an envelope with Elder's name on it. 'Had a call from that Shields woman this morning. Heard I was seeing you. Biked this over. Asked me to be delivery boy.'
Elder stuffed the envelope out of sight.
'Safe journey, Frank. Take care.'
There were still a good twenty minutes to go before boarding and Elder bought a coffee from the Costa by platform 1, sat down at one of the tables outside and took out the envelope. When he opened it, a ticket slipped loose on to the table top. Dee Dee Bridgwater at the Jazz Cafe. A Saturday in March. Karen had written on the back: A bit of a long shot, but if you happen to be in town…
Elder drank some coffee, stuffed the ticket back inside the envelope and tore them both in half, regretting it the instant it was done.
'Idiot,' he said and an elderly woman, going past with a suitcase on wheels, turned her head and smiled.
The ticket was in two pieces but taped together it would probably be okay. He pushed the halves down into his top pocket, just in case.
There were still ten minutes before his train.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks are due to my editor, Susan Sandon, for reading the manuscript with her usual sagacity and for suggestions without which the finished book would be a lesser thing. My thanks go also to my agent, Sarah Lutyens; to Justine Taylor at Random House (UK) for holding a more than steady fort; to Mary Chamberlain for precise and sympathetic copy editing; to Mark Billingham for providing the answers to certain crucial questions at crucial times; to Sherma Batson and Sarah Boiling for reading earlier versions of the manuscript; and finally to everyone at Random House for their friendship and support.
John Harvey
