Page 20

chapter twenty

The pub was nice.

Gabriella didn’t have a wide experience with English pubs, but the King’s Arms was clean, had decent seating, and the noise was kept to a low murmur.

James returned to the table with a pint for himself and a shandy for her, and she wondered, as she took a sip, why she didn’t just ask for lemonade, because she didn’t like the beer half of the shandy. She only ordered it because it was what most women her age drank.

“Is the man you’re looking for here?” she asked.

James shook his head. “The publican hasn’t seen him tonight. But he says he’s usually in at least once a night, so we might as well have dinner here, and see if he arrives.”

He settled in opposite her. The booth they’d managed to get was cozy, the wooden back high, which gave the illusion of privacy. She studied his face.

He looked tired. And worried.

She knew he couldn’t tell her much about his work, but she wondered what was weighing on his mind so much.

“I’m sorry I can’t be off the clock. I really need to speak to this person.” James’s mouth formed a grim line. “I just missed you, and knew if I didn’t ask you to dinner, I wouldn’t see you tonight.”

“I missed you, too.” She hadn’t ever missed anyone who wasn’t a family member before. It was a strange feeling. “I have a lot to tell you, but let’s wait until after you’ve got your man.”

“What news?” He suddenly focused on her, leaning forward, hands reaching to hold her own.

“A lot,” she said, curling her fingers around his. Between her father, and Mr. Jaguar, and the dead woman in the skip, a lot had happened since she’d last seen him.

“Tell me.” He looked up at the bar and back at her.

She decided to go with the least personal of her news, and most likely the most relevant to his own work. “Did you hear about the woman found dead at that church in Kensington?” she asked. “I was walking past when the construction worker found her.”

He went utterly still. “What woman found dead at a church in Kensington?”

She leaned back, but kept her fingers around his own. “She was thrown into a rubbish skip. They’re redoing the church roof, and the worker was up a ladder, throwing down bricks, when he saw her.”

“And you were there?” James’s hold tightened.

She nodded. “The tradesman called me to help him. I called Constable Evans and then waited with the vicar for a while.”

“Did you see the body?” James asked. “Could you see how she’d died?”

“It looked like she had a bad head wound, but the worker had thrown bricks down moments before he saw her, so I don’t know which injuries were from that, and which ones were from whoever put her in there.” Gabriella could see this news was shocking to James. “You didn’t know about it?”

He shook his head. “But I’ve been out all day, interviewing people, or trying to.” He leaned back himself. “It’s possible the information is on my desk.” He released his hold on her hands and rubbed his hair. Since summer had faded the blond strands were a darker gold.

She thought he looked a little rough—stubble obvious on his cheeks and chin, his tie askew and his gray eyes hooded.

He was agitated about the woman found in Kensington. She could see it in the way he gripped his pint. She guessed if he could have, he would have paced up and down and asked her more questions.

The publican set their food down in front of them, steak and chips for James and chicken parmigiana for her. She had been delighted to see it on the menu, thinking it was a solely Australian adaption of the Italian aubergine dish.

As soon as the food arrived, James relaxed a little, and studied her dish with interest.

“Is it what you thought it would be?” he asked.

“So far,” she said. “It looks right. I’ll let you know if it tastes right.”

As she cut into it, the publican came back and leaned closer to James. “Clark just came in. He’s at the bar, with the navy jacket.”

James gave a nod of thanks. He had made sure he was sitting where he could see the bar, and as the publican moved away, he studied someone behind Gabriella’s shoulder. She wanted to turn her head and look, but decided it was probably better she didn’t.

“Go, if you need to,” she said.

James shook his head, but he was eating faster than he had been. “I’ll let him relax a bit, get a pint in him first.”

Gabriella held out a fork of chicken parmi and offered it to James. “This is the real deal. I’ll bet you they have an Australian back in the kitchen.”

James looked at the fork in surprise, as if no one had ever offered him a bite of their dinner before, and then leaned forward to sample it.

“It’s good,” he admitted, his eyes going from the now-empty fork to her mouth. Then his gaze flicked back to the bar, and his face changed. Became harder.

He slid out of the booth. “He’s leaving.”

“That was a quick pint,” Gabriella said, but James just shook his head and hurried toward the door.

Unable to resist, Gabriella turned to see what was happening, and caught sight of James’s tall figure, head and shoulders above most of the other patrons, as he headed out.

He wouldn’t want her there for whatever words he was about to have with Mr. Clark, and she had only eaten about a third of her dinner, so she turned back to her food, taking her time, enjoying the soft murmurs of conversation around her and the odd shout of laughter from the bar.

She needed this, she realized. Needed to be around other people, but still able to keep to herself. Just to eat something she didn’t have to make or clean up, and forget about the woman in the skip for a bit.

It would be better if James was still sitting opposite her, but he’d be back.

And she would see whether he was going to take another step closer to getting her into bed.

She sincerely hoped so.

* * *

James followed Larry Clark out of the pub. He had noticed the moment one of the regulars had leaned in to say something in his ear, and Clark’s quick, panicked spin on his chair as he turned to look around.

Someone had told him a copper was in the pub, wanting to talk to him.

It was interesting that his first instinct was to run.

Very interesting.

And annoying, because until that moment, he was having a very good evening with Gabriella.

James stepped out into what was now full blown fog, and heard Clark coughing as he scurried away.

Perhaps he hadn’t considered that James had to know where he lived. Either that, or he wasn’t thinking at all, just operating on panic and nerves. Because he was headed straight for home.

James followed after him, but he didn’t try to hide his footsteps and he moved fast.

Clark didn’t seem to understand he was being chased until a few moments before James grabbed the back of his coat. He gave a final, flailing burst of speed when he realized James was breathing down his neck, but it was too late.

“Mr. Clark.” James didn’t make it a question. “I’ve been looking for you. Detective Sergeant Archer, of the Met.” He pulled Clark back a little, spinning him by the shoulder, and lifted his warrant card. “You in a hurry?”

Clark looked at the card, looked at James, and then swallowed. “No, no. Just didn’t want to be caught in the fog. It sets my cough off something awful.” He coughed again, but James thought this time it was a little forced.

“Well, we can go back in the pub, if you like?” He didn’t want to go back to Clark’s house, as it was at least a five minute walk away, but he accepted that if Clark suggested it, he’d have to agree.

“Can’t we talk here?” Clark asked.

“Sure,” James said, easily. “I’m following up about the report you submitted regarding your wife going missing.”

“My wife—” He wasn’t putting on the surprise.

James wondered what he had thought this was about.

“Oh. Well, I thought she’d gone to her mother’s but then her mother rang up up to chat with her, and we realized she was missing.” Clark was slowly regaining his composure.

And the mother had threatened that she would report her daughter missing if he didn’t, James guessed.

“Any indication that she might have gone somewhere else?” James asked.

Clark shook his head. “After I talked to her mother, I did a more thorough look around, and saw that all her clothes were still in the house, and so was the only suitcase.”

This was looking bad, James realized. “Can you think of any reason why your wife might disappear without leaving word of where she was going?” James asked.

“Hatty?” Clark shook his head. “She kept to herself, except for her bridge evenings, where she’d play with a group at the library.”

“And when did you see her last?” James asked.

Clark looked down at the ground. “Last time I saw her was the day I left for a short trip three weeks ago.”

James’s head lifted. “You only filed a police report a week ago.”

Clark shuffled his feet. “That’s because I thought she was off to her mum’s, see?” He glanced up. “I was a day late coming home from a sales trip, and I knew she would be angry about it. I’d forgotten to let her know that I’d decided to stop an extra night on the way back and meet up with a friend.”

“Name of the friend?” James asked.

Clark hesitated. “Do you really need to know?”

“Name,” James repeated.

Clark sighed. “Just don’t tell the missus when she comes back, all right? She’ll leave me for real then.” He shook his head. “Loretta Smythe.” He gave the address, which was just outside London.

“How long were you away?” James asked. “Including the night spent with Ms. Smythe?”

Clark winced at that. “Five days.”

“And you never spoke to her on the telephone in that time?” James asked.

“No.” Clark pondered. “You’re wondering when she might have gone off, are you?”

“I’m trying to ascertain when your wife was last seen. Can you give me the names of her friends?” James saw the reality of the situation was finally dawning on Larry Clark.

He gave a few names, the library where she met her friends for bridge, and her mother’s name and number, which he read out from a small address book in his wallet. “She speaks to her mum every week,” he said. “So you might have some luck there. Her mother won’t tell me anything.”

Not surprising, James thought. He was thoroughly unlikeable. “Thank you, Mr. Clark. We’ll keep in touch on our progress.”

“That’s it? That’s all you wanted?” Clark still seemed like a man hard-pressed to believe his luck.

“Unless you have something to add?” James asked.

“No. No, no. All good.” Clark tipped his hat and hurried away, the fog swallowing him whole.

James wondered what else he was up to, because he was involved in something. As he was in sales, James guessed he might be selling stock under the table or something along those lines. He shrugged, turned back to the pub, and to Gabriella.