“Detective Inspector Timothy Peel.”
“Scotland Yard?”
“Devon and Cornwall Police.”
“You’re a long way from home, DI Peel.”
“So I’ve been told,” he said.
26
Bloomsbury Tavern
She was dressed in a pair of jeans and an oxford button-down shirt, the sort of attire she might have worn while on assignment in the Horn of Africa. She was not someone, thought Gabriel, who spent much time fretting about her appearance. She had mouths to feed, lives to save. Not for the first time, he wondered why she was friends with someone like Alice Winter.
Peel went over to the bar to fetch the drinks, leaving them alone for a moment. Phoebe Chadwick regarded him across the table. “Why you, of all people, Mr. Allon?”
“It would take all evening to explain.”
“Try.”
He gave her an abridged version of the story—that he had agreed to a request from Edward Knight to quietly investigate his wife’s mysterious disappearance, that he had tried and failed to secure her release, that he was now working with the Metropolitan Police to determine what had happened to her.
“In that case,” asked Phoebe, “why is your assistant a country policeman from the southwest of England?”
“I’m afraid that would take even longer to explain.”
Peel returned to the table with three pints of Guinness. Phoebe took a draught from hers, then asked, “How much do you know about me?”
“I know that you and Alice were at Cambridge together, and that each summer you go on a week’s holiday with two other university friends, Sophie Maxwell and Ella Burns. In case you were wondering, it was Edward who footed the bill for that enormous place on the northern coast of Ibiza.”
“That’s Edward’s lot in life,” replied Phoebe. “But please go on.”
“On the fifth evening of your stay, the Tuesday, you and Alice quarreled during dinner at a restaurant called La Casita. You dined alone at the villa on Wednesday evening and returned to London the next day aboard a commercial flight.”
“All true,” she replied.
“When did you learn that Alice was missing?”
“The Saturday morning.”
“Who told you?”
She lifted her gaze toward the ceiling in thought. “I believe it was Sophie.”
“She’s the solicitor?”
“Correct.”
“How did she sound?”
“Quite matter-of-fact, if you must know.”
“Do you recall your reaction?”
“Truth be told, I wasn’t terribly worried either.”
“You assumed that she’d spent the night with someone else?”
