Hard Evidence

'You think me capable of murder?'

Wendy sighed again, blinking the tears out of her eyes. 'Yes, Jack, I do.'

It was light outside as the sun sank slowly in the west, and although it had been far hotter during the heart of the day, the heat still hung heavy in the air. Inside Kate's hallway, however, it was cool and dark. The doors leading to the kitchen and the dining room and the lounge were all closed, and the stained-glass window on the front door was darkly coloured. The floor was laid with original Victorian tiles, a geometric mosaic in red, green and cream. A spilling of light through the stained glass spattered ruby colours on the hall floor like a splash of old blood. But in the corners and the depths it was dark.

Kate walked up to the front door, jangling her keys through to the right one, and slipped it into the keyhole. With a practised flick of her wrist she turned the key in the lock and opened the door. She was about to step inside when she felt a cold trickle run up her spine. She turned back to the road behind her and checked the approach to the house. She had had a feeling she was being watched ever since she left the pub, and even though the road was deserted she couldn't shake the feeling off. She was a medical doctor not a clinical psychologist, but given the circumstances, she knew that a certain amount of paranoia was justified.

She shivered slightly and turned back, bending over to pick up the mail that was scattered on the doormat. She straightened up and closed the door, distracted as she flicked through the envelopes, then a movement caught her eye and she looked up, her heart hammering in her chest as she saw a large man step out from behind the coat stand. Her knees buckled and she screamed in genuine terror.

28.

'For God's sake, Jack, what are you doing here?'

'Waiting for you.'

'You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack.'

'Sorry.'

Kate blinked at him, astonished. 'Is that it? Sorry!'

'I didn't mean to scare you, but I had to make sure you were alone.'

'What the hell are you doing here anyway? How did you get in?'

'You keep your back door key hidden under a pot in your garden. Not wise.'

'You were arrested. Shouldn't you be in jail?'

'I didn't like the idea.'

Kate shook her head. 'You better come in, make yourself at home.' The words seemed ridiculous given the circumstances.

She led him down the hallway, opening the door at the end to the kitchen. Delaney followed her in and looked around. 'Nice.'

A stone-flagged floor, high ceiling and a conservatory that had been added to make a dining area. The late evening sunlight spilled in through French doors leading to a well-designed and very well-maintained garden. Kate picked up a large kettle from the hotplate of her Aga and filled it with water at her original butler's sink.

Delaney called out to her, 'Have you not got something a little stronger?'

Kate put the kettle down and opened a cupboard, taking out a bottle of single-malt whisky. 'No Irish, I'm afraid.'

'That's okay. Maybe I'm starting to appreciate what the mainland has to offer.'

Kate picked up two glasses and carried them across to the farmhouse table that Delaney was sitting at. She poured out a couple of hefty measures and clunked her glass quickly against his. 'Slainte.'

'Yeah.' Delaney took a quick swallow and smiled gratefully at Kate.

'What did you do, Jack?'

'I escaped.'

'How?'

'I throttled Eddie Bonner. Made him crash the car.'

Kate took a swallow of her whisky, winced a little, and then took another.

'Do you think that was a good idea, all things considered?'

'I had to do something. I didn't murder Jackie Malone.'

Kate looked at him for a beat. 'Did you sleep with her?'

Delaney looked back at her, surprised by the question, then shook his head. 'No. I didn't sleep with her.'

'Just good friends?'

'Not even that. I just looked out for her now and again. I could talk to her.'

Kate nodded sympathetically. 'She's certainly landed you in a whole world of trouble.'

Delaney shook his head again. 'Not Jackie. Whoever killed her has put me in the frame for it, and that is something they are going to live to regret.'

'I know you didn't kill her, Jack.'

Delaney finished his whisky and Kate picked up the bottle to pour him another.

'And what makes you so sure?'

'You told me you'd spent the day at your wife's grave.'

'I did.'

'Did anyone see you?'

Delaney shrugged. 'Not that I'm aware of.'

'Other mourners? Someone who runs the place?'

'I don't know, Kate. I wasn't really in a state to notice much.'

'So you have no alibi?'

'No.'

'And no clue as to who really murdered Jackie Malone or Billy Martin, or Alexander Moffett?'

'None at all.'

Kate took a sip of her drink and looked at him sympathetically. 'Then you really are in the shit, Jack.'

Delaney finished his second glass. 'Neck high.'

Chief Inspector Diane Campbell leaned forward to look at the film that was playing in miniature on her laptop computer. A Victorian front room. Thick curtains drawn over lace nets, a small gap throwing a golden shaft of diffuse sunlight into the room. A piano with old photos in silver frames on top of it, the floor plain dark wood but polished so it shone, with a single faded rug. Dark furniture in the background, a display case on thin sculpted legs, a sideboard with broad gothic doors. A jardinière stand with a white ceramic pot on it, but no flowers.

And music playing. 'Pie Jesu'. Campbell licked her dry lips as a young girl walked into shot. She was around nine years old and you could see she was nervous. She walked slowly towards the camera wearing a simple white dress with ribbons in her long dark hair. She stopped and knelt down like a supplicant, opening her mouth into an oval. A dark-suited figure moved in front of her and then gestured off camera. A young boy, only just in his teens if that, walked into shot. A pretty boy, with long dark curly hair, dark eyes and red lips.

The girl and the boy looked at each other as the man held his arms out like a Louisiana missionary and spoke with a dead man's voice.

'It's time to make some beautiful music, children.' The voice of Alexander Moffett.

There was a knock on the door and Campbell's heart leapt in her chest. She quickly closed her laptop and called out, 'Come in.'

Bonner came through the door. Campbell looked at him angrily. 'Do you have any good news for me, Sergeant Bonner?'

'I don't, ma'am.'

Campbell's temper rose as she shouted back at him. 'Then find him, for Christ's sake. Bring him in, Eddie. I don't care how and I don't care in what condition. We clear on that?'

'Ma'am.'

Campbell fixed him with a long, cold look. 'I'm not going down on this alone, Sergeant. If I go, you go with me. This is your fuck-up, you sort it. You hear me?'

'Loud and clear.'

'Get the fuck out of my office then.'

Bonner left, pulling the door hard behind him. Campbell looked at her laptop and folded her hand into a tight fist.

Kate poured a splash more whisky into Delaney's glass and a last measure into her own. She looked at Delaney, her voice slurring a little now, a smile tugging the corners of her lips and mischief definitely dancing in her eyes.

'What made you think you could trust me? Coming here?'

Delaney smiled, the strain showing in his tired eyes, but enjoying her company.

'Woman's intuition.'

Kate laughed, a musical laugh. 'Oh yeah. Yours?'

'Yours.'

'Pretty sure of yourself.'

'And they're not going to look for me here, are they?'

'Why not?'

Delaney leaned forward. 'Because everyone knows we can't stand the sight of each other.'

'People change.'

'Like hell they do.'

And the smile was in his eyes too. He leaned forward and Kate tilted her chin upwards, her lips warm and parted. And they kissed.