Page 20 of The Dead Come to Stay

“Guess what?” she asked when they returned to the common room. “Struthers says he can lift DNA from the scarf; there was a hair on it. It’s not a match for Foley, appears to be darker. Do we want to get a swab from the colleague he took care of, Trisha Simmons?”

“I’d rather get a swab from Burnhope,” MacAdams said.

Green blinked at him. “You think Stanley Burnhope is the mystery woman? I mean. No judgment. But it’s not his color.”

“ Ava Burnhope,” he corrected, though he would like to have Stanley’s, too—why not? The answer being, of course, Stanley and Ava

would have to submit willingly to a rather intimate ask despite having watertight alibies and friends in parliament.

“You’re serious?” Green asked. “You suspect Ava?”

MacAdams examined the incident board (with now-cold coffee). “Foley has a lady friend, but doesn’t tell anyone about it. They

sneak around. He wouldn’t have to sneak with the secretary, would he?”

“Ah shite.” Green scrunched up her nose. “That’s a bit of a drop, isn’t it? For a woman like Ava? Slumming it, almost.”

“Not impossible, though, is it?” MacAdams asked.

Green chewed her lip. “Okay, I’ll walk with you on this a minute. She could have affairs with anyone, why choose Foley— unless it’s to get under Stanley’s skin. You said he didn’t like the man. But that would still make Stanley the prime suspect, wouldn’t it?”

“Only if he knew about it,” MacAdams said.

“Knowing is the point of revenge affairs, boss.”

MacAdams wouldn’t usually suspect Green of bias, but her responses had a decided lean to them.

“You really don’t want Ava to be involved,” he said.

Green gave him a half smile. “Oh, I think she’s probably involved . Born with a silver spoon, married to money with all the benefits. I just can’t see her stooping. You’ve met her; that’s

not a woman who bends.” Green rubbed her chin. “You haven’t mentioned the other woman in all of this: Sophie Wagner.”

“Fair. And we might have less hassle convincing her for a DNA sample.” He stepped to the board and arranged Sophie’s photo next to Ava and the secretary, Trisha. To the other side was Stanley Burnhope and a bracket for the mystery woman.

What about prints at the apartment?” he asked.

“Most usable fingerprints were Foley’s,” Green explained. “They did lift two marks from the doorknob that aren’t his, but

also aren’t in the database. Oh, and Foley’s aren’t in the database, either, by the way—no previous.” She bit her lip. “There’s

a problem searching his alias for Abington Arms, too.”

“Yes, guitarist,” MacAdams said. Behind him, Andrews—so far quiet—had a fit of giggles. Gridley cleared her throat but didn’t

quite drown it out.

“I know we have to treat everyone as a suspect, but we do have some details for Foley’s lover that might help,” she said, “Evans claims she had dark hair, was probably between eighteen

and twenty-three and didn’t speak to staff. That doesn’t sound like Ava, Sophie or Trisha. Unless—hang on. Do we know how

old Trisha’s daughter is?”

“You don’t mean—” Andrews grimaced in disgust, but Gridley was busy hunting up Trisha’s Facebook page.

“Hey, it’s possible. One reason for sneaking is that the woman is married, yeah. Another is that she isn’t a grown woman.”

“Evans said she was very young,” Green said darkly.

“That would certainly change things,” MacAdams agreed. “It would explain sneaking around. And someone, at least, would have

a motive for doing him in.”

“A father, a brother,” Andrews suggested.

“A mother ,” Green added.

“A sister—hell, an aunt,” Gridley added. “My niece Teresa is of age, but I’d be after any old guy trying to seduce her.”

“All right, all right,” MacAdams interrupted.

“Let’s follow up on Trisha’s daughter and see if we can get a swab of—somebody.

And add possible predation to the board; if Foley went after an underage girl, it’s probably not the first time.

But don’t put too much stock in Evans’s description; the other three women are still in the running.

Now, let’s get back to why he used his real name when he called the Abington Arms.”

“His real name? Ooo, I see. That is odd,” Gridley said, returning to her desk. “If you stay there all the time as Connolly,

why inquire if there are rooms for Foley?”

“Exactly,” MacAdams said, pointing at her. “You’re going to stay in Abington on Friday night. You call the local hotel where

you usually stay and ask if there is a booking under a different name than you typically use. Why?”

Andrews scrubbed a hand through sandy hair and looked hard at the floor.

“Foley must think there is one under his real name for some reason.”

“Good,” MacAdams encouraged. “Keep going.”

“He thinks there’s a booking under Foley but one he didn’t make—because he uses an alias. So, he checks to be sure. Given

the state of his apartment, we already suspected he was on the run from someone. Maybe he thought they’d got the jump on him,

had blown his cover—or were already a step ahead. Of course, there isn’t a booking, so it eases his mind. But not enough.

So he stays somewhere he’s never been instead.”

Green clapped her hands. “I can get into this,” she said. “Foley must suspect he’s been followed. And he’s right, too, since

that someone also murders him.”

“So why not give it up? Go back to Newcastle?” Gridley asks.

“He might have, if he’d found a booking under his own name,” Green offered. “Instead,he books a quiet out-of-the-way spot

just to be safe. Damn. That’s it, isn’t it?”

It made sense. That didn’t make it true. MacAdams paced in front of the board, trying to put it together.

“All right. He’s hiding out at the cottage. He must still plan to meet his woman...?”

“Doesn’t get a chance,” Gridley said. “He arrives and bam , there’s Jo Jones. It’s not safe and secret anymore. He has to leave.”

“In a rainstorm, in the middle of the night,” Green added. “And he ends up not far away in a ditch between eleven and three.”

“Timeline problem,” MacAdams said. He’d forgotten to tell them Struthers’s little secret. “The body was iced. It doesn’t make

a massive difference, but Struthers suggests he must have been killed very soon after Jo last saw him. As in just after eleven or so.”

“With...?” Green asked. “Do we know what the murder weapon is?”

MacAdams did not relish explaining the coconut problem. “Something heavy,” he said, “in a downward blow.”