"What does that mean?"
"The outboard wasn't on it when it capsized."
Galbraith waited for him to go on, and when he didn't, he made impatient winding motions with his hand. "Come on, Nick. What are you getting at? I know sweet FA about boats."
The big man laughed. "Sorry. I was just wondering what a dinghy like this was doing in the middle of nowhere without an outboard."
"I thought you said it must have had one."
"I've changed my mind."
Galbraith gave a groan. "Do you want to stop talking in riddles, you bastard? I'm wet, I'm freezing to death here, and I could do with a drink."
Ingram laughed again. "I was only thinking that the most obvious way to take a stolen rib out of Chapman's Pool would be to tow it out, assuming you'd come in by boat in the first place."
"In which case, why would you want to steal one?"
Ingram stared down at the collapsed hull. "Because you'd raped a woman and left her half dead in it?" he suggested. "And you wanted to get rid of the evidence? I think you should get your scene-of-crime people out here to find out why it deflated. If there's a blade puncture, then I'd guess the intention was to have the boat and its contents founder in the open sea when the tow rope was released."
"So we're back to Harding?"
The constable shrugged. "He's your only suspect with a boat in the right place at the right time," he pointed out.
Tony Bridges listened to Steven Harding's interminable tirade against the police with growing irritation. His friend paced the sitting room in a rage, kicking at anything that got in his way and biting Tony's head off every time he tried to offer advice. Meanwhile, Bibi, a silent and frightened observer to their mounting anger, sat cross-legged on the floor at Tony's feet, hiding her feelings behind a curtain of thick blond hair and wondering whether it would make the situation better or worse if she announced her intention of going home.
Finally, Tony's patience snapped. "Get a grip before I bloody flatten you," he roared. "You're acting like a two-year-old. Okay, so the police arrested you. Big deal! Just be grateful they didn't find anything."
Steve slammed down into an armchair. "Who says they haven't? They've refused to release Crazy Daze ... my car's in a pound somewhere ... What the hell am I supposed to do?"
"Get the solicitor onto it. That's what he's paid to do, for Christ's sake. Just don't keep bellyaching to us. It's fucking boring, apart from anything else. It's not our fault you went to Poole for the sodding weekend. You should have come to Southampton with us."
Bibi stirred uncomfortably on the floor at his feet. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again when caution prevailed. Anger was bubbling in the room like overheated yeast.
Harding slammed his feet onto the floor in a rage. "The solicitor's worse than useless, told me the bastards were entitled to hold evidence for as long as is necessary or some legalized crap like that..." His voice tailed off in a sob.
There was a long silence.
This time fondness for Tony's friend got the better of caution, and nervously Bibi raised her head. She scraped a gap in her hair to look at him. "But if you didn't do it," she said in her soft, rather childish way, "then I don't see what you're worrying about."
"Right," agreed Tony. "They can't prosecute you without evidence, and if they've released you then there isn't any evidence. QED."
"I want my phone," said Harding, surging to his feet again with crackling energy. "What did you do with it?"
"Left it with Bob," said Tony. "Like you told me to do."
"Has he put it on charge?"
"I wouldn't know. I haven't spoken to him since Monday. He was pretty stoned when I gave it to him, so the chances are he's forgotten all about it."
"That's all I need." The angry young man launched a kick at one of the walls.
Bridges took a pull at his lager can, eyeing his friend thoughtfully over the top of it. "What's so important about the phone?"
"Nothing."
"Then leave my fucking walls alone!" he bellowed, surging out of his own chair and thrusting his face into Harding's. "Show some respect, you bastard! This is my house, not your crappy little boat."
"Stop it!" screamed Bibi, cowering back behind the chair. "What's wrong with you both? One of you's going to get hurt in a minute."
Harding frowned down at her, then held up his hands. "All right, all right. I'm expecting a call. That's why I'm twitched."
"Then use the phone in the hall," said Bridges curtly, flinging himself into the armchair again.
"No." He backed toward the wall and leaned against it. "What did the police ask you?"
"What you'd expect. How well you knew Kate ... whether I thought the harassment was genuine ... whether I saw you on Saturday ... where I was ... what kind of pornography you were into..." He shook his head. "I knew that garbage would come back to haunt you."
"Leave it out," said Harding tiredly. "I told you I'd had enough of your bloody lectures on Monday. What did you tell them?"
Tony frowned warningly at Bibi's bent head, then touched a hand to the back of her neck. "Do you want to do me a favor, Beebs? Hop down to the off-license and get an eight-pack. There's some money on the shelf in the hall."
She rose to her feet with obvious relief. "Sure. Why not? I'll leave them in the hall, then go home. Okay?" She held out a reluctant hand. "I'm really tired, Tony, and I could do with a decent night's kip. You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not." He gripped her fingers for a moment, squeezing them hard. "Just so long as you love me, Beebs."
She tore herself free, cradling her hand under her arm, and made for the hall. "You know I do."
He didn't speak again until he heard the front door close behind her. "You want to be careful what you say around her," he warned Harding. "She had to give a statement, too, and it's not fair to get her any more involved than she is already."
"Okay, okay ... So what did you tell them?"
"Aren't you more interested in what I didn't tell them?"
"If you like."
"Right. Well, I didn't tell them you shagged Kate's brains out."
Harding breathed deeply through his nose. "Why not?"
"I thought about it," Bridges admitted, reaching for a packet of Rizla papers on the floor and setting about rolling himself a joint. "But I know you too well, mate. You're an arrogant son of a bitch with an overinflated opinion of yourself-" he squinted up at his friend with a return of good humor in his eyes-"but I can't see you murdering anyone, particularly not a woman, and never mind she was pissing you off something rotten. So I kept shtoom." He gave an eloquent shrug. "But if I live to regret it, I'll have your stinking hide ... and you'd better believe that."
"Did they tell you she was raped before she was murdered?"
Bridges gave a low whistle of understanding as if pieces of a jigsaw were finally coming together. "No wonder they were so interested in your porno shoots. Your average rapist's a sad bastard in a dirty raincoat who jerks off over that kind of trash." He pulled a plastic bag out from the recesses of his chair and started to fill the Rizla papers. "They must have had a field day with those photographs."
Harding shook his head. "I got rid of the lot over the side before they came. I didn't want any"-he thought about it-"confusion."
"Jesus, you're an arsehole! Why can't you be honest for once? You got shit-scared that if they had evidence of you performing sex acts with an underage kid, they'd have no trouble pinning a rape on you."
"It wasn't for real."
"Chucking the photos away was. You're an idiot, mate."
"Why?"
"Because you can bet your bottom dollar William will have mentioned photos. I sure as hell did. Now the filth will be wondering why they can't find any."
"So?"
"They'll know you were expecting a visit."