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James stepped closer, nodding to Gennaro Moretti, the café owner who he’d interviewed earlier.
“Yes, Detective Sergeant Archer.”
“You here to ask more questions?”
“Just looking for people who might have noticed the car or the man before. He was here quite often in the last three weeks at least. And more likely in the evening or late afternoon than the morning. So I’m hoping someone who’s around this time of day might have something to tell me.”
“Ha.”
James wasn’t sure if the exclamation was an excoriation or agreement with the logic. The bobby from this morning had been surprised the man had understood any English—he’d been under the impression he couldn’t speak a word.
That was clearly incorrect. James wondered if the misunderstanding had been deliberate.
“You have a picture of him?” Gennaro asked. “I couldn’t see well this morning—there was a lot of blood.”
“Yes.” James took out the photograph the pathologist had sent over of the victim with the blood washed off.
Gennaro held it, frowning. “Yes. He comes in maybe two or three times.”
“Did you catch his name?”
Gennaro shook his head. “He orders wine and drinks with his friend, then goes.”
“His friend?” James felt the surge of adrenalin, the start of the hunt.
Gennaro gave a shrug. “Not so interesting, that one. Brown suit, slicked-back hair.”
“Light hair, dark?” James asked.
“Brown.” Gennaro said. “I think.”
“If you remember anything else, you can phone Scotland Yard and leave a message for me.”
Gennaro gave another snort. “The little girl, she was all right?”
“Little girl?” James asked.
“The parking fine girl.” Gennaro’s tone was impatient.
“You called us for her,” James remembered. “She was upset?”
Gennaro shot him a pitying look. “Of course. She is young girl. Looking at dead body.”
James thought he was probably underestimating Gabriella Farnsworth. “I spoke to her this afternoon. She’s holding up.”
Gennaro gave a snort of disgust. “Such a one should not be walking streets in that horrible uniform. She should be making beautiful babies.” He gestured his hands, as if to indicate the world had gone mad, and turned back into the café.
His words caused James to do what he’d been trying to avoid doing since he’d met Gabriella Farnsworth.
Think of her and sex.
The sensation was heady.
He tried to shake it off. Gabriella Farnsworth was a material witness, and therefore off-limits until this investigation was over.
He started walking toward the still-open clothing boutiques, hoping to find more fruitful hunting grounds. Hoping to get the picture of Gabriella Farnsworth, naked, hair loose around her shoulders on the pillow, out of his head.
chapterfour