It was all going beautifully. That policewoman was a godsend. He could wind her up, and the more antagonism that built between them, the more likely she was to charge him with Georgia Lester’s murder. He would have his hour in the sun.
He wasn’t afraid of being found guilty. He was far too clever for that. One way or another, he would walk out of this a free man. And then publishers would be falling over themselves for his work.
He shifted on the thin mattress, making sure he didn’t get too comfortable. He smiled inwardly. For far too long, Charles Cavendish Redford had put up with being slighted, robbed and cheated. Soon, however, that would be history. Soon he would be a household name. Just like Drew Shand, Jane Elias and Georgia Lester.
FOURTY-FOUR
Fiona leaned against the doorjamb of the living room. “Duvall wants to send someone round tomorrow to interview you,” she said. “To see if you remember a bloke called Charles Redford sending you any manuscripts or letters.”
“That’s not why she came round though, is it?” Kit said from his prone position on the sofa.
“No. That was incidental.” She walked into the room and chose the armchair that gave her a view of Kit’s face.
“Charles Redford. He’s the man they have in custody?” he asked. He knew she’d tell him the point of the visit when she was ready. Till then, he was happy to let the conversation go where it was comfortable.
“That’s right. Do you know him?”
Kit’s brow furrowed as he trawled his memory. “I’ve got a feeling he sent me a manuscript a couple of years ago.”
“What did you do with it?”
“What I always do with unsolicited manuscripts. Sent it back with a polite letter saying unfortunately I don’t have the time or the expertise to critique other people’s work and suggested he get an agent.” Kit yawned. “I don’t remember hearing any more from him.”
“You didn’t read it?”
“Life’s too short.” He reached for his glass and tipped the dregs of his wine into his mouth. He waited for Fiona to get round to the real purpose of DCI Duvall’s visit.
“I’m going to Edinburgh in the morning,” Fiona said.
“Drew Shand?” Kit asked.
“Duvall seems to think there’s some value in trying to establish linkage between the three murders. I’m not sure I see the point. They occurred in three different jurisdictions, and as far as I understand the legal principles, you can only try each case in its own jurisdiction. And I’m not sure to what extent each court would allow evidence of the other crimes. But the other police forces involved have agreed to cooperate with the attempt, so they must think there’s some value in it, if only to clear their own books. Duvall appears to reckon she’ll have more chance of nailing him for Georgia’s murder if she can demonstrate a pattern of behaviour.”
Kit elbowed himself upright. “So the info we got earlier was spot on? They’ve got the right man.”
“Duvall thinks he’s a strong suspect. And she’s the person on the ground. There’s certainly little doubt he’s the letter-writer. Duvall says the language is practically identical. And, embarrassingly for me, she reminded me of a case I read about in the US where someone who wrote threatening letters went on to kill half a dozen people. I hold my hand up. I was wrong when I said I didn’t think this letter-writer would escalate into murder.”
Kit grinned. “Can I have that in writing?” Fiona met childish with childish, sticking her tongue out at him. “So when are you leaving?”
“There’s a flight just after nine.”
“I’m glad you’re going. I liked Drew. And Jane. I don’t like to think that whoever killed them is going to get away with it. If anyone can build strong enough linkage to convince a jury, it’s you.”
Fiona sighed. “I wish I shared your confidence. It’s going to be a hard one to stand up.” She looked away. “I’d like it if you came with me.”
“Why? There’s no need, not now they’ve got what’s-his-name behind bars.”
Fiona, who couldn’t quite articulate what was bothering her, shrugged. “I know. I’d just rather you were with me, that’s all.”
“I’ve got a book to finish,” he protested.
“You can work just as easily in Edinburgh. You can sit in the hotel room and write all day.”
“It’s not that simple, Fiona. I’m all over the place. This business with Georgia, it’s doing my head in. It’s all I can do to get the words on the page right now. And that’s sitting in my own office with my own music and my own things around me. There’s no way I’m going to be able to concentrate in a strange place, with chambermaids bombing in and out and nothing to filter out the background shit except daytime TV. I’m not coming, and that’s that.” His jaw jutted defiantly, daring her to disagree.
Fiona ran a hand through her hair in a gesture of frustration. “I don’t want to leave you here on your own. Not when you’re so upset. I can’t give you the support you need if I’m four hundred miles away.”
They stared at each other across the room, each uncompromising in their resolution. Eventually, Kit shook his head. “Can’t do it. I want to be inside my cocoon. Where I belong. Besides, my friends are down here. We’re going to need to get together and raise a glass to Georgia. It’s a rite of passage, Fiona. I need to be here to be part of it.” He stretched a hand out towards her, appeal in his eyes. “You gotta see my point.”
“Point taken,” Fiona conceded. “I was thinking of myself as much as you, I suppose. I’ve been so scared for you, I just want to keep you close, remind myself that everything’s OK again.” They shared a rueful smile, each conscious of the tendency of their work to interfere with the shape they wanted their lives to have.
“How long are you going to be away for?” Kit eventually asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ll probably fly straight on to Dublin and do the Irish end as soon as I’m finished in Edinburgh. Tomorrow’s Friday. I should be in Ireland by Sunday, maybe home Monday night? Any more than that and I’m going to have serious problems covering my teaching commitments.”
“I’ll cook something special for Monday night, then,” he said. “We’ll have a romantic dinner. Turn off the phones, take the battery out of the doorbell and remind ourselves what’s so devilishly attractive about each other.”
Fiona grinned. “Do we have to wait till Monday?”
Fiona stepped off the plane into a grey drizzle. Low clouds obscured the Pentlands and the Ochils, while the rain laid an ashen sheen over landscape and buildings alike. The day had started badly, and it didn’t seem to be improving. Her mind had been on Georgia as she’d grabbed her laptop to pack it in its case. Preoccupied, she’d let it slip from her grasp and it had crashed to the floor, the case splitting open and dislodging the screen. “Oh, fuck!” she’d exploded. There had been no time to deal with it then. Furious with her carelessness, Fiona had opened the cupboard in her desk and pulled out the folder that contained the CD-ROMs and floppy disks she needed to run her programs. She’d shoved them into her briefcase and ran downstairs.