‘God, she’s good,’ Kelly said.
‘Thought this might be interesting too,’ Fin said. He handed them a magazine which featured a piece about the Rydal Caves original and there was an accompanying photo that wasn’t in the Hampton-Dent magazine. It was of Hank Hampton beaming and standing close to Angelina in front of the painting.
‘They met,’ Kelly said. ‘I need to get access to his bodyguards. They might all wear Mercedes baseball caps but I doubt it.’
‘There was only one in the footage,’ Emma said.
‘Kevin Streeting?’
Emma nodded.
‘HQ isn’t budging on protecting their special status as VIPs. The embassy is stalling and my hands are tied. Technically, Tilda Dent invited me to Dow Bank House so I could just turn up. Emma, do you want to come back now or with Fin?’
‘I’ve finished; we can all go together,’ Fin said.
‘Right, I’m getting out of this suit, I’m dying. Meet you out front in ten minutes? I need to make a phone call.’
Kelly left and ripped off the protective coverings from her body and rolled them up as she left the house, placing them in a black bag in the back of the forensic van.
She must call Johnny to arrange his visit to see Lizzie this week. Her pulse quickened unexpectedly and she realised she was looking forward to seeing him, as if he had gone away for a weekend trip and was coming back to her bed.
Stop it, she told herself.
As she went back to the car a shape caught her eye and she peered across the road to an old barn. The figure darted behind it and she ran across the road, trotting around the grassy patch to where she’d seen the individual.
Round the back she saw a person walking quickly away.
‘Stop!’ she shouted. ‘Police!’
He carried on walking, head down, hood up, hands in pockets. Perhaps it was a sullen youth with nothing better to do, but something told her to not let him go. She followed him and caught up with him. He turned and confronted her behind the post office where they sold a local author’s crime books that were very good; she’d read them all.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She’d seen him before, but only on a screen. In a photo. But in the flesh, he was unmistakable.
‘Joe Folly,’ she whispered under her breath.
She felt her lanyard blowing across her chest and she stilled it with one hand and pushed her hair away from her face with the other.
‘You’re a difficult man to find.’
She studied him. His face was unmistakable, but it was broken. She saw pain, anguish but also anger, rage…
‘You came back to be close to Angelina’s home?’
‘You’re the detective,’ he said quietly. ‘Forgive me, I don’t trust many people,’ he said.
It was a curious introduction, but Kelly understood. These people were paranoid. She looked about.
‘There’s no one here,’ she said.
‘You’re here.’
‘Your Instagram post. You posted a picture of the lake.’
‘You recognised it?’
‘Of course. This is my backyard. What are you doing here, Joe Folly?’
