They lay in a languid tangle of limbs, a pair of champagne flutes within reach but for the moment disregarded as they gave each other the history lessons of their past. As he listened to Terry’s tale of her childhood, Steve luxuriated in the sense of having been swept out of the mundanity of his life.
When the shrill note of his mobile phone cut through Terry’s gentle ironies, it was a dislocating wrench back into his former life. “Shit,” he swore savagely, even as he was disentangling himself from her.
She chuckled. “Ignore it. You’re off duty.”
“I can’t,” he said angrily, crossing the room in a handful of long strides and abruptly grabbing the phone from the dressing table. “There’s too much on. Bloody thing.” He hit a button and barked, “Preston here.”
“Steve? This is Sarah Duvall.”
Steve stifled his exasperation and backed up to the edge of the bed, where he flopped down. “What can I do for you, Sarah?”
“Have I caught you at a bad moment?”
“No, it’s fine.”
Duvall registered his clipped tones, knew it wasn’t fine, but pressed on regardless. She wasn’t about to allow Steve Preston’s convenience to come between her and her objective. “I wanted to ask if you thought Dr. Cameron would be open to a formal approach from us to liaise on the Lester murder.”
Steve glanced uneasily at Terry. He felt faintly uncomfortable talking about Fiona in front of her. It felt almost incestuous. “I don’t see why not. The problem is with the Met, not in general. What was it you were after, specifically?”
“As you know, we’ve got a confessor in custody. But I’m having peculiar problems with checking out his authenticity because so much of the detail of the crime comes from Lester’s book. However, I think he could be tied to the letters. What I want to try for is linking him to the letters, then linking the three murders, especially if we can establish that Shand and Elias also had letters. I thought Dr. Cameron could look specifically at the letters and the flyer he distributed at the press conference, then she could review the evidence in the other two cases to see if there’s linkage. With three cases to go at, we’ve got more chance of turning up some witness evidence, or something else that would either tie in the confessor or eliminate him.”
“I’d have thought it was worth trying,” Steve said cautiously. “And there’s no better person for that kind of job.”
“I don’t want to wait till morning,” Duvall said. “Have you got a home number for her?”
“I think you’d get a better response face to face than over the phone.” This wasn’t the time to tell Duvall that her phone manner wouldn’t ingratiate her with a woman who was already predisposed to dislike her because of Duvall’s reluctance to provide protection for Kit and his fellows.
“A home address, then?”
Steve cast a quick glance at Terry, who was curled on one side, watching him with a smile. For a brief moment, he considered going through to the other room to avoid any chance of Terry recognizing her supervisor’s details. The instinct to confidentiality was bred in the bone, but he realized that if he was going to stand any chance of making this relationship work, he had to let her into his life. He took a deep breath and recited the familiar address. Terry’s eyebrows rose and her expression changed to one of curiosity. Steve ended the call and tossed the phone back on the dressing table.
“I won’t pry if you’d rather I didn’t, but I couldn’t help recognizing Fiona’s address,” she said.
Steve got back into bed and stretched out his arm to pull her into his embrace. “You heard about the guy who confessed to Georgia Lester’s murder at the press conference?”
“I saw it on the news, yes.”
“Well, City of London want to consult with Fiona about it. They think he’s a strong suspect.”
“And they want to establish linkage with the other two crime-writer killings, is that it?” Terry’s interest was piqued and she shifted so she could prop herself up on one elbow.
“That’s right. She’ll jump at the chance. Apart from anything else, it might reassure her that they’ve got the right person and she can stop worrying that Kit might be next on the hit list.”
“Of course. That’s why she’s been right off the planet the last couple of days.”
“It didn’t occur to you that Kit might be a target?”
“What can I say? I’d sort of forgotten about Kit. I’ve only met him once. Plus, Fiona never talks about her home life. And really, nobody’s been talking the serial killer angle up much. The papers all made out that there was no connection between Drew Shand and Jane what’s-her-name.” She shook her head crossly. “God, how could I be such a dummy? She must have been off her head with worry.”
Steve sighed. “She’s been as near as Fiona ever gets to frantic. We had a row over it yesterday. She was angry because she was the one who actually came up with the idea of searching Smithfield, but neither City nor the Met could commit to protecting Kit.”
Terry frowned. “Oh Steve, that’s bad. Torn between the personal and the professional. What a shit of a time you and Fiona must have been having. Worried stiff about Kit and ending up going head to head with each other.”
“It’s not been easy,” he acknowledged. “At least it looks as if Kit is safe now, for which I am profoundly grateful. The guy’s my best mate, and if anything had happened to him, I don’t know how I would have coped. The only thing is, I’m afraid it’s really screwed things between me and Fiona. She’s not a woman who forgives easily.”
“She’ll come round in time,” Terry said with breezy confidence. “Especially if you do a bit of serious grovelling. She always responds well to a good grovel, in my experience.”
Steve shook his head. “It’s going to take more than that this time, I think.”
Terry cuddled into him. “All my hard work, getting you relaxed, and now you’re wound up like a spring again.” She reached for the bottle of massage oil. “There’s nothing for it. You’re just going to have to put Kit and Fiona out of your mind and lie down and take your medicine like a man.”
Steve managed a smile as he shuffled on to his stomach, feeling his muscles fluttering as she straddled him. “Whatever you say, Doctor.”
“I’m not a doctor yet,” she said. “Just think how much better I’ll be when I’m qualified…”
He groaned as her hands, slick with oil, began to massage his shoulders. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.”
“We’ll work up to it gradually, soldier.” Her strong fingers kneaded the powerful muscles of his back, erasing all thoughts of Sarah Duvall and even Fiona Cameron from his mind.
Fiona was in the kitchen making coffee when the doorbell rang. Frowning at the unexpected interruption, she walked down the hall to check the spy hole in the door. The chances were it was some hack who had decided that he needed to try Kit for a juicy quote for the morning’s paper. If it were, Fiona would take great pleasure in blowing him off. One thing was certain. No friend would have called round this evening without checking ahead by phone first.
To her surprise, Fiona recognized the person on the doorstep, though what Detective Chief Inspector Sarah Duvall was doing there was beyond her. Muttering, “Hell and damnation,” under her breath, Fiona opened the door. “DCI Duvall,” she said.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your evening,” Duvall said stiffly, as if apology were a stranger in her mouth. “But I hoped you could spare me some time.”