‘Who’d want to look at that?’ Rick said.
‘Maybe,’ Jake started to say, and everyone waited, ‘… a lion.’
Bemused looks all round.
‘Nice one. Hey, I go for that,’ Rick said, and earned Jo’s approval. He’d remembered her appeal to be civil to Jake. ‘A lion with a computer.’
‘Surreal,’ Gemma said. ‘Comical, though, I must admit. I hope there isn’t a camera outside Jongleurs. I couldn’t get my hair right tonight. I wouldn’t want it on the world wide web.’
‘It looks fine to me,’ Jo said.
‘Liar. It’s like a cornfield a flock of sheep have been through. I can’t get anything right at the moment.’
‘Maybe you’re working too hard.’
‘Tell me about it!’
‘Any news of your boss coming back?’
‘Old Cartwright? He won’t be back.’
‘You sound very definite.’
‘I am. He’s history now.’
‘Wrong,’ Rick said. ‘He could be tomorrow’s news.’
‘I hope not,’ Gemma said. ‘That’s the last thing I want to hear. Ah!’ She started to giggle. ‘I get you. Tomorrow’s news. Wicked.’ She shook with laughter.
This was some kind of private joke between Gemma and Rick. Jake looked as mystified as Jo was.
‘Are you going to let us in on this?’ Jo said.
‘No chance,’ Rick said, so quickly that he almost cut her off.
‘Why not?’ Gemma said. ‘They were here when we first talked about it.’
‘They don’t need to know.’
‘Be like that. I think it was genius. Deserves to be appreciated.’
Rick didn’t want appreciation. He gave Gemma a look that could have drilled through concrete. ‘Let’s change the subject. Did you hear about the woman you found on the beach, Jo? She was American, married to some university lecturer.’
‘Yes, I heard on the radio.’
‘They’re London people. God knows what she was doing half-naked in Selsey.’
‘Being murdered,’ Gemma said.
‘Apart from that.’
‘Obviously she had a lover.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘Get with it, Rick. The husband was away at some conference, wasn’t he? We all know what conferences are for-tax-deductible sex. She thought she’d get a bit for herself.’
‘Who with-one of the locals?’ Jo said.
As always, Gemma had a whole storyline worked out. ‘I doubt if he was a Selsey guy. Some old flame of hers who lived in one of the grander places inland, like Arundel or Petworth. They meet up-the first time in years-and have a couple of drinks and at her suggestion he drives her down to the coast to look at the sea by moonlight, all Mills and Boon, she thinks, but he’s humouring her for old time’s sake. What she doesn’t realise is that she’s lost all the sex appeal she had and he’s lost the desire. When they get to the beach she starts coming onto him, flinging off her clothes. Jo, you and I know what blokes are like about their libido. They go in the sea for a midnight dip and she makes a grab for his popsicle. He panics, gets in a strop and pushes her under, simple as that.’
Looks were exchanged around the table. Gemma’s ‘simple as that’ hadn’t convinced everyone.
‘Even if it happened like you say, she’d fight for her life, struggle like hell,’ Rick said. ‘You don’t drown straight away.’
‘And we know she must have fought because it said in the paper there were marks on her neck and shoulders where he held her down. All the time he’s thinking how am I going to deal with this if I let go? He’s attacked her, tried to murder her. If he stops now he’s going to get done for attempted murder and God knows what. Better to let her drown. Then at least he has a fighting chance of getting away scot free. And he has. He pulled it off.’
‘So far,’ Jake said.
‘You think they’ll find him? They don’t have any clues. It happened in the water, so the traces are minimal.’
‘Now you’re talking sense,’ Rick said to Gemma. ‘The fuzz have two ways of catching criminals. One is through informers. The other is DNA, and there ain’t none.’
Jake wasn’t so sure. ‘Someone will have seen them together.’
‘What, earlier, you mean?’ Rick was still on his best behaviour. He had the grace to give it a moment’s consideration. ‘Maybe. And you think they’ll come forward?’
‘When her picture gets in the papers.’
‘And on TV,’ Jo said, to support Jake. ‘I’m confident they’ll catch up with him.’
‘Personally,’ Rick said, ‘I hope not.’
‘Why?’ Jo said in disbelief. ‘He’s a killer.’
‘One of us, in other words.’
‘Rick, that’s bullshit.’ He’d just lost all the credit he’d been earning. ‘Just because we had a light-hearted fantasy trip the other day about Gem’s appalling boss you can’t lump us in with a real-life murderer.’
‘Can’t I?’ Rick said with a triumphant smile, as if she’d sprung the trap. ‘Face it, we all had ancestors who killed to survive. It’s in the genes, yours and mine and everyone else’s, kiddo.’
‘You’re talking about cavemen?’
‘Survivors. The ones who came out winners. Quit talking about killers as if they’re another species. You may not care to admit it, but you’d take another person’s life if you were driven to it.’ He was in earnest now. This wasn’t idle chat.
‘I wouldn’t,’ Jo said, matching him for seriousness. ‘Those ancestors you’re talking about are prehistoric. Haven’t you heard of civilization? Mankind has moved on. The great majority of us want a peaceful existence. Yes, there are horrible exceptions, but those who commit them are outcasts and should be treated as such. What do you say, Gem?’
‘I say he’s winding you up, sweetie.’
‘I meant every word,’ Rick said. ‘Look in any playground and you’ll see it in action, the little psychopaths bullying, stealing, lying, fighting. We call it antisocial behaviour as if it doesn’t apply to the rest of us, but when he hits me my instinct is to hit him back, not walk away.’
‘Rick, you made your point,’ Gemma said. ‘We’re not going to steal your toys, okay? If you and me are going to Portsmouth, isn’t it time we thought about leaving?’
At Hen’s request, the crime scene investigator who had supervised the search on behalf of Hampshire CID was at Fiona’s house. He was in a bandsman’s uniform, blue with gold epaulettes and a gold stripe down his trousers. ‘I’m a trombonist in the town band and we’ve got a concert tonight,’ he explained.
‘Good of you to come. I won’t keep you long. I gather this job was dusted and done some days ago?’ Hen said after introducing herself.
‘The day after the body was found in the Mill Pond.’
‘Did anything useful come out of it?’
‘Nothing obvious,’ he said. ‘If there was a struggle it didn’t take place in here.’
‘What have you taken away for analysis? Plenty of prints, hairs, and fibres?’
‘As many as we need. Some of her used clothing. I’ll give you the list. We’ve left enough to keep you interested. The computer, address book, phonepad, camera, handbag.’
‘Was she an organised person?’
‘She was an accountant, wasn’t she? The interior was cleaned regularly. Everything had its place. Even the boy’s room is tidy.’
‘Did you find out how long she’s lived here?’
‘Two years, I gather. The place is rented from a firm in Havant. Beautiful location. Probably cost her.’
‘Her life,’ Hen said.
‘Well, yes.’
‘Is there any sign she had a visitor before she was murdered? Cups, glasses, tinnies?’
He shook his head.
‘No break-in?’
‘Only where the plod forced the front door. They left plenty of traces, by the way. No help at all to my team.’
‘Not my plod,’ she said. ‘Emsworth’s. I’m from Chichester, where we flit through a scene like butterflies.’
‘I’d pay good money to see that.’
In fifteen minutes, she and Gary had the place to themselves. The CSI’s zinc dust was everywhere.
‘Talk about leaving traces,’ she said as they entered the living room. ‘Are you any good with computers?’
‘Reasonably,’ Gary said.