‘So he’s shot in a forest, the crossbow is gone, she’s in a cinema.’
Edward nodded at Kim’s summing-up. ‘Did you say paranoid?’
She craned in to hear the question. ‘Could he have been a drug user? I would be if I was a doctor. The crossbow is the weird thing.’
Edward tilted his head quizzically.
‘Well, she bought it for him “to kill rabbits”, which sounds quite North Devon, but it was missing after the murder.’
He wrote on the scrap of paper he balanced on his knee. The marks were legible, but only just.
He kills self, someone finds body and nicks crossbow
‘Why was he wearing a white suit near an airfield?’ asked Kim. She shrugged. ‘Sorry, it just occurred to me.’
Insurance payout?
‘I didn’t ask. There won’t be one if she’s a suspect.’
Grimacing, he wrote:Murder fo sho.
It was not looking good for Wendy Wrigley. He pulled an iPad from the wall socket where it was charging and detached the Apple pencil from the side. The screen shone. He scribbled quickly and handed the tablet to her.
Been trying to work out where doc died
‘Near an airfield. That’s all she said.’
Spoke to pilot who saw him
‘Did he help?’
Edward pursed his lips and tilted his head sideways, as if to say no, not really. He typed again.
Would like to go see
‘She said she’ll go with you.’
Edward looked at Kim. She noticed, as if for the first time, the slate green of his eyes below his ragged fringe. The pupils were dilated but the outer ring of hard colour shone like gemstones. She felt a thrill in her stomach which she knew was love. She would never love him more than she did now, so why did she insist on being apart? She wanted him in her life, but she needed space. She hated herself for that contradiction.
‘Do you care enough to get into this?’
He took the Apple Pencil again.
Hate injustice
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘No messing. Well, our Wendy hasn’t been to the place where her husband died, so I guess it’s down to us to find it …’ She was about to search for a news cutting on her phone when a message alert flared on the screen with the subject headerThirdfield/Slater-Glynne.
‘Oh, cripes,’ she blurted. Edward looked concerned. ‘Office rubbish,’ she shrugged. ‘Two weird people wanting a beautiful flat. Came yesterday. Just not sure I want them on the books. The most beautiful Indian lady you’ve ever seen, and a squat blond guy with red shoes. Fishiest couple ever.’ She felt she was talking too much. ‘What’s that?’
Kim was pointing at a picture on the TV, which looked to be a DVD image on pause. Lines of electronic snow rolled down the screen.
He did a moment’s theatre, a flash of the hand by his forehead, halfway between nervous tic and military salute.
‘Is that your Columbo impression?’
An embarrassed shrug.
‘You were watching Columbo. You are an idiot. A wonderful idiot. Idiot green.’ He looked puzzled, because she said that just for herself. ‘Shade of paint. Ignore me. Please get your voice back soon.’
