Page 11

11

Sunday lunchtime

For the second time in an hour, the break room was silent with shock. Eddy spoke first.

“With the best will in the world, ma’am, we know Patsy. She’s not a killer.”

“I didn’t say she was, Eddy, and please don’t ma’am me. I said she had to be considered as a suspect for the reasons I outlined. I will make arrangements for a formal interview with someone who doesn’t work with her.”

“But,” Eddy said, “we were with her.”

“For every single moment?” Ravensbourne asked, almost certainly knowing that the answer had to be no .

“For most of the evening,” Charlie said. “And Dylan said Unwin left after dinner. If we nail those times down, I’m sure Patsy will be in the clear.”

Ravensbourne gave him one of her signature pats on the arm. Charlie felt the reverberations throughout his body. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “It would be useful to know what time Unwin died, to make a proper timeline. Hector is doing the autopsy later this afternoon and I suggest you go and observe. Eddy and Mags can start trying to find the elusive Jeff Britton.”

Charlie treated the ‘suggestion’ that he might observe the post mortem of the man who had been his colleague as the instruction it certainly was.

Ravensbourne stood up, feeling in her pockets for cigarettes and lighter.

“Walk me out, Charlie,” she said.

Once in the tiny car park, happily shaded by an out-of-control sycamore tree, Ravensbourne lit up and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke out with a great sigh.

“You look like shit,” she said. “I need you at the top of your game. You’re not stupid. Patsy could have killed him. Anyone can kill anyone in the heat of the moment, and fuck only knows there are a lot of heated moments this week.” She gave a twisted half smile at her pun. “Have you ever been jealous, Charlie? It’s the worst feeling in the world, and people kill over it. You’ve been a copper long enough to know that.”

Charlie began to protest, but she gripped his arm, thankfully with the cigarette-less hand. “I’m not saying she did it, I’m saying she could have done, and if you start by ruling her out completely, you won’t do a proper job. Evidence not instinct on this one. Either clear her or convict her; anything else and her life will be hell anyway. Rumours, and talk of no smoke without fire. ”

Was that fair? He didn’t know. Ravensbourne had backed his instincts in the past. She knew Patsy, if not as well as he did. Jealousy was corrosive, and love could kill, and having killed, drown in despair and grief at what it had done.

“Boss,” he started.

She turned towards him, but he shook his head. “It’s nothing.” Because that was a thought he wasn’t going to share. Or not until he’d had time to turn it over and look at it from every angle.

“Right, go home, have a shower and a nap, and get over to the post mortem. Hector said he’d do it at five, so make sure you get there in plenty of time.”

“Patsy is grieving, boss. She’s not putting on an act, I’m certain of it. I’ll do what you say and keep an open mind, but I don’t want her …” what he wanted to say was bullied or harassed because he knew there were plenty of detectives who would love to take a shot at a young, attractive, newly-minted constable with a non-standard love life. His meaning must have shown on his face.

“Calm down, Sir Galahad. The Chief Super owes me a favour. He can talk to her, and he can meet at her house in Llanfair. Will that do?”

Charlie slumped against the police station wall, feeling the heat stored in the bricks. Chief Superintendent Mal Kent would treat Patsy with courtesy and respect, even as he turned her inside out searching for inconsistencies in her story. Patsy might not be the easiest of colleagues, but she was part of his team, and she was vulnerable and hurting. Charlie wanted to keep her safe.

“Thank you,” he said.

Ravensbourne lit another cigarette from the stub of the first one. “I really am packing the ciggies in when this case is done,” she said. “Now, go home, and let me get on.” What she was going to get on with, she didn’t say.

Charlie made his way out of the shady car park into the street. Heat radiated from the pavement and the buildings alongside, sapping what was left of his energy. His legs felt as if they had been encased in stone, barely able to bend and move. The walk home was short and flat, and for the most part, shaded, but the heat had become palpable, a pressure pushing Charlie towards the ground, making his feet drag and his hands swell. Only the thought of a cold drink, straight from the fridge, a shower and even a ten-minute nap, kept him going.

Please let them all have gone to the beach. I can’t deal with any more aggravation.

He was out of luck. As Charlie stumbled up the path, Tom opened the front door. But there was no sound of teenager music rattling the window frames, nor any girlish chatter floating down the stairs. A small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless.

Tom held out his arms and Charlie all but fell into them, then pulled away.

“I stink and I’m filthy,” he said.

“So?” Tom asked, and pulled him into the house, kicking the door shut behind them. “Drink, dinner, shower? You can stay the night if you like.” But he was smiling, so there was that.

“I’ve got to go out again,” Charlie said.

“Not without some proper food,” Tom replied.

“Yes, without food. I’m going to an autopsy. But I’d kill for a cold drink and a shower.” He felt himself sagging internally. Tom would look after him. Tom always looked after him. Except when he was too busy looking after his daughters. Yes, Charlie knew all about jealousy, and about the guilt that came with it. How had his relationship with Tom, celebrated only a few months ago in front of all their friends and family, changed into this? He was angry. Angry at the heat, at a stupid murder, at Tom, at himself for not being able to act like an adult. Then his phone rang, and he got angrier.

“HQ say that another bunch of anti-immigrant protestors are on their way to Llanfair,” Ravensbourne said.

“Then HQ had better send some bodies to deal with them,” Charlie snapped. “Ring Alun Evans MP. He might actually be able to do something about it. Because I sure as hell can’t.”

There was an ominous silence, followed by the sound of Ravensbourne clearing her throat. “Sorry, Charlie, what was that?”

“I meant to say that I’ll watch out for the protestors, boss,” Charlie said.

“That’s what I thought,” Ravensbourne said and ended the call.

Great. Now I’ve lost Ravensbourne’s support. Anything else I can mess up today?