Three friends, drinking beer, at a table covered with money. Why leave the photo by the body? A warning from Bobby Tanner or Jason Ritchie? A warningtothem? You’re next? More likely a red herring, or a misdirect. No one would be so stupid.
Either way, Chris will need to have a chat with Jason Ritchie. And hopefully his team will find their missing man, Bobby Tanner.
Actually, their missing men, thinks Chris, tipping the last of his crisps into his mouth.
Because who took the photograph in the first place?
18.
Donna motions for her two visitors to sit. They are in interview suite B, a boxy windowless room with a wooden table bolted to the floor. Joyce looks around her with the excitement of a tourist. Elizabeth looks at home. Donna has her eyes on the heavy door, waiting for it to swing shut. The moment it clicks into place, she looks straight at Elizabeth.
“So you’re a nun now, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth nods quickly, raising a finger to acknowledge that this is a good question. “Donna, like any modern woman, I am any number of things, as and when the need arises. We have to be chameleons, don’t we?” She takes a notepad and pen from an inside coat pocket and places them on the table. “But Joyce takes the credit for that one.”
Joyce is still staring around the room. “This is exactly like you see on television, PC De Freitas. How wonderful. It must be so much fun to work here.”
Donna is not sharing in the sense of awe. “So, Elizabeth. Have you had a bag stolen?”
“No, dear,” says Elizabeth. “Good luck to anyone trying to steal my bag. Can you imagine?”
“Then can I ask what the two of you are doing here? I have work that needs finishing.”
Elizabeth nods. “Of course; that’s very reasonable. Well, I’m here because I wanted to talk to you about something. And Joyce was here for shopping, I presume. Joyce? I realize I haven’t asked.”
“I like to go to Anything with a Pulse, the vegan café, if you know it?”
Donna looks at her watch, then leans forward. “Well, here I am. If you want to talk, go ahead. I’ll give you two minutes before I go back to catching criminals.”
Elizabeth gives a light clap of her hands. “Excellent. Well, first I will say this. Stop pretending you are not pleased to see us again, because I know that you are. And we’re pleased to see you again. This will be so much more fun if we can all just accept that.”
Donna does not reply. Joyce leans into the tape recorder sitting on the table. “For the purposes of the tape, PC De Freitas refuses to answer but is attempting to hide a slight smile.”
“Secondly, but connected to that,” continues Elizabeth, “whatever it is we are keeping you from, I know one thing for certain, it isn’t catching criminals. It is something boring.”
“No comment,” deadpans Donna.
“Where are you from, Donna? May I call you Donna?”
“You may. I’m from South London.”
“Transferred from the Met?”
Donna nods. Elizabeth makes a note in her book.
“You’re taking notes?” asks Donna.
Elizabeth nods. “Why so? And why to Fairhaven?”
“That’s a story for another day. You have one more question before I leave the room. Fun though this is.”
“Of course,” replies Elizabeth. She shuts her notebook and adjusts her glasses. “Well, I have a statement, really, but I promise it ends with a question.”
Donna turns up her palms, inviting Elizabeth to continue.
“This is what I see, and I know you’ll stop me if I misspeak. You are in your midtwenties, you give the impression of being clever and intuitive. You also give the impression of being very kind, yet very handy should a fight erupt. For reasons we will get to the bottom of, almost certainly a doomed relationship, you have left London, where I would have thought the life andthe work would have suited you to a T. You find yourself here, in Fairhaven, where the crime is minor and the criminals are petty. And you are pounding the streets. Maybe a junkie steals a bicycle, Donna; maybe someone drives off from a petrol station without paying; maybe there’s a fight, over a girl, in a pub. Goodness me, what a bore. For reasons that are not of importance, I once worked in a bar in the former Yugoslavia for three months, and my brain was screaming out for excitement, for stimulation, for something extraordinary to happen. Does that sound familiar? You are single, you are living in a rented flat, you have not found it easy to make friends in the town. Most of your colleagues in the station are a bit old for you. I’m sure that young PC, Mark, has asked you out, but there’s no way he could handle a South London girl, so you had to say no. You both still find it awkward. That poor boy. Your pride won’t allow you to go back to the Met for a good while, and so you’re stuck here for the time being. You’re still the new girl, so promotion is a pretty distant prospect, added to the fact you’re not all that popular because, deep down, everyone can tell you’ve made a mistake and you resent being here. You can’t even quit. Why throw away these years on the force, the tough years, just because of a wrong turn? So you strap on the uniform and you turn up, shift after shift, teeth gritted, just waiting for something extraordinary to happen. Like, perhaps, a woman who isn’t a nun pretending her bag has been stolen.”
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow at Donna, looking for a response. Donna is utterly impassive, utterly unimpressed. “I’m still waiting for the question, Elizabeth.”
