“My feeling is that I’d like to link Spence to Travell’s Timber Yard. If we can prove that they owed him money or that they’d had a disagree—”
“But what’s yourinstinct?”
“My instinct is not to trust my instincts. I prefer to deal in facts.”
“That’s a politician’s answer.”
“Forgive me, sir, but I’m not quite sure I understand the qu—”
“I’m only putting you on the spot,” Gardam interrupted, “because I value your opinion. You’re unique, Helen—both at Southampton Central and in the force. No one’s got your track record when it comes to bringing these complex investigations to a successful conclusion. You did it with Ben Fraser, with Ella Matthews and more besides...”
Gardam had tactfully not mentioned Helen’s sister, but it was clear that she was included in this list of Helen’s “achievements.” Her new boss had clearly done his homework on her.
“So I’m interested to find out how your mind works,” Gardam said, not missing a beat. “I want to know if your gut is telling you that Spence is capable of these crimes.”
Gardam’s gaze never wavered for a second. His eyes were fixed on her, as if she were a rare breed or curiosity. In the hushed, darkened interior of the viewing suite, his close attention made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.
“He’s certainly capable of it,” Helen replied evenly. “The question is whether he has the imagination to pull off this sort of crime. And in the absence of a confession, only patient and diligent detection will tell us that.”
It was a polite but firm full stop to the conversation. Helen had had a long day—with the scrapes and bruises to prove it—and she had no appetite to undergo an interrogation of her own.
“We’ll just have to wait and see, then, won’t we?” Gardam said, rising finally, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. “Let me know what you find out.”
“Straightaway.”
“Now, it’s late, so why don’t you get off home?” Gardam said, crossing to her. “Can I give you a lift anywhere? I’m heading your way—”
“Thank you, but I’ve got my bike, so...”
“Of course, the famous bike. Solo traveler, eh?”
“Something like that,” Helen replied.
“Well, I won’t keep you, then,” Gardam said, laying his hand gently on her arm, “and my thanks again. You did well today, Helen.”
Helen acknowledged the compliment and departed quickly. As she opened the door, she caught McAndrew staring right at her—her junior was clearly intrigued by the interview from which she’d been sopointedly excluded. Helen nodded at her, then hurried off down the corridor. She could feel the color rising in her face, which made her feel foolish and flustered, like she’d been caught out in some way. She walked on purposefully, keen to escape into the anonymity of the night. But all the while she could feel McAndrew’s eyes on her, which made her wonder: was Gardam watching her too?
29
Charlie crept into the darkened room, taking care not to make a sound. Jessica was breathing heavily, her little sinuses still blocked with cold, and she had only just gone down, despite the late hour. Secretly Charlie had hoped she would be up when she arrived home, so she could say good night to her properly, but Steve had done his job well, stroking and singing her to sleep. Despite her tossing and turning, she looked content now, blissfully unaware of the world around her.
“How long did it take you?” Charlie whispered.
Steve had joined her and both were now gazing down at their slumbering daughter.
“Two to three hours,” Steve answered evenly. “She was pretty cross.”
“Sorry.”
“It was okay. Though I must have gone through my whole repertoire of nursery rhymes at least three times.”
“I’m glad I was out, then,” Charlie said, teasing. Steve raised aneyebrow but didn’t respond. Then he crossed the room and, having doused a tissue with a generous measure of Olbas oil, laid it gently in Jessica’s cot. Immediately the room was filled with the comforting scent of eucalyptus.
“Come on, we’d better hit the hay,” Steve whispered. “There’s no telling when she’s going to be up again.”
Charlie nodded. He was right, of course, but she hadn’t seen her all day and suddenly she didn’t want to leave. Steve moved to the doorway but lingered on the threshold, waiting for Charlie to follow. A brief flash of irritation shot through her—it seemed she wasn’t in control at work or at home now—but then common sense prevailed. She was knackered and needed a shower, so, relenting, she bent down to kiss her good night.
“Don’t.”
