‘Has Nathan contacted your dad yet?’
‘Yes, but currently they’re stuck in the Dolomites. They went to see Étienne’s new hotel project and during their stay there was a heavy storm. A huge mudslide has blocked one of the mountain roads. They’re clearing it as quickly as they can but he’s saying he probably won’t be home until the end of the week.’
‘And what about Luke?’
‘They interviewed him this morning. I’ve just returned from lunch with him.’
‘Well, at least we all have cast iron alibis.’
‘I’m afraid he hasn’t. I’m not sure I should be telling you this, Jodie, and you must swear to keep it to yourself, but he was with her last night on the beach.’
‘I won’t breathe a word, I promise. Oh, Cat, please don’t tell me he’s been trying to help her.’
She heard Jodie expel a heavy breath. Astute as ever, she’d immediately put two and two together.
‘Yes, well you know what he’s like, ever the Good Samaritan.’ She went on to tell her about their conversation over lunch.
‘So his DNA is under her nails. What a mess.’
Cat heard the groan at the other end of the phone. ‘I know. He’s told the police everything and he does realise how bad things look for him. He’s playing the honesty card, Jodie …’
‘Because there’s no other option, is there?’
‘No, and I’m trying not to feel depressed about it, but …’
‘Look, hun, I’m sure it will all be okay. You have to believe that … to have hope.’
Although Jodie was a disembodied voice on the other end of the phone, Cat could feel her comforting hug. ‘Of course it will,’ she agreed, realising the need to be strong for herself and for Luke.
Later that afternoon Jodie called back.
‘Are you busy tomorrow morning? I think you need some distraction and I’ve got just the thing.’
‘Um, let me take a look.’ Cat called up her electronic diary to check. ‘I’ve a three o’clock meet with a bride and her mother but nothing going on in the morning that I can’t move. What had you in mind?’
‘I’d like you to see what I’ve been working on for my winter collection. Get your input, you know, like I always do,’ she teased, ‘and afterwards as a thank you I’ll treat you to lunch in The Smugglers.’
‘It’s a deal,’ Cat agreed, knowing she needed to get away from the hotel and the on-going police presence as they continued to call locals in for interview. ‘What time?’
‘Pick you up at ten thirty?’
‘I’m good with that.’
‘Wonderful. Oh and, Cat, whatever you do, try to stay positive. I’m sure things will be okay.’
Chapter Nineteen
DI Phillips studied the young blond man sitting opposite him. Difficult bastard, he thought. Everyone else had presented themselves for interview within twenty-four hours but it had taken until Tuesday morning to get him here. His father had moved heaven and earth to track him down, only to find him shacked up in some hotel along the south coast with his blonde girlfriend. They both seemed to treat this whole thing as a joke. This was a murder investigation, for heaven’s sake. The girl had been apologetic when he reminded her of the seriousness of the situation, unlike Jordan who now sat smirking at him across the table.
Jordan Hunter was known to local police. In his warped imagination he probably saw himself as a bit of a comedian; someone who liked to liven up the place, especially this sleepy little fishing port. Phillips’ definition was a little more basic: a waste of space and a bloody nuisance. He was young, wealthy and irresponsible. God knows what sort of upbringing he’d had. He caused trouble wherever he went and his father constantly picked up the bill for the damage. Jordan was clever though, he had to give him that. He’d never been done for a traffic offence or been caught drink driving. No, he had three stooges in the form of Daniel Bolitho, Spencer Hart and Ed Rees to take any hit, each one of them more than willing to put their own necks on the block to give the little bastard a watertight alibi. The reason he commanded such loyalty was no doubt because he had something on all three, which meant he could manipulate them. He had also heard rumours of violence connected to Jordan from a couple of years back. Something about a barmaid at one of the local pubs who ended up with a black eye and a broken arm. Of course, it was all hushed up. Said she’d fallen downthe stairs at home, then quietly disappeared back to support a sick mother somewhere in the Midlands. All lies, although nothing could be proved without the victim making a complaint. And none was ever made; Gareth Hunter’s money had probably sorted the problem, buying his son’s way out of trouble yet again.
Jordan had admitted knowing Marika but painted her as someone who had turned into a borderline stalker.
‘She became obsessed with me,’ he said, ‘just because I was friendly. When I first met her I thought she was lonely. I felt sorry for her. Should have kept away, I suppose.’
‘You were seen together,’ Philips countered, ‘on several occasions.’
‘I told you I felt sorry for her, right? All alone in this country. The other girls at the hotel weren’t very nice to her. Yeah, I took her out a few times. I wanted to show her where all the local clubs and pubs were. Help her settle in. But that was it.’ He gave a careless shrug.
