“Don’t see how. Unless he’s turning in some sort of document to his parole officer, proving he was there. But what would that mean, anyway? He could be going to meetings regular as a saint and bluffing his way through the whole programme, if you know what I mean.”
She did. But Will Mendick with a drinking problem and Will Mendick with an assault conviction put a useful wrinkle in the blanket. She thought about this, about Santo Kerne’s black eye. As she thought, she wandered over to Constable McNulty’s station. She saw on the monitor of Santo Kerne’s computer exactly what she thought she’d see on the monitor of Santo Kerne’s computer: an enormous wave and a surfer riding it.
Damn the man. She snapped, “Constable, what the bloody hell are you doing?”
“Jay Moriarty,” McNulty said obscurely.
“What?”
“That’s Jay Moriarty,” he said, with a nod at the screen. “He was sixteen years old at the time, Guv. Can you credit that? They said that wave measured fifty feet.”
“Constable.” Bea did her best to restrain herself. “Does the term ‘living on borrowed time’ meaning anything to you?”
“It was Maverick’s. Northern California.”
“Your knowledge astounds me.”
Her sarcasm went unnoticed by the man. “Oh, I don’t know much. A bit is all. I try to follow it, but who really has time, what with the little one at home? But see, the thing is, Guv, this picture of Jay Moriarty was taken the same week that?”
“Constable!”
He blinked. “Guv?”
“Get off that site and get back to work. And if I see you looking at one more wave on that monitor, I’ll boot you from here into next week. You are supposed to be dealing with Santo Kerne’s computer, looking for information relevant to his death. You are not supposed to be using your time to channel his interests. Is that clear?”
“But the thing is that that bloke Mark Foo?”
“Do you understand me, Constable?” She wanted to grab him by the ears.
“Yes. But there’s more to this than his e-mail, Guv. Santo Kerne went to these sites and I’ve gone to these sites, so it stands to reason that anyone?”
“Yes. I see. Anyone else could go to these sites. Thank you very much. I’ll go to them myself on my own time and read up all about Jay Moriarty, Mark Boo, and everyone else.”
“Mark Foo,” he said. “Not Mark Boo.”
“God damn it, McNulty.”
“Guv?” From the doorway, Collins spoke. He nodded towards the corridor, from which direction he’d apparently come as Bea and Constable McNulty had been squabbling.
She said, “What? What, Sergeant?”
“Someone to see you below. A…lady…?” He seemed doubtful of the term.
Bea swore beneath her breath. She said to McNulty, “Get back to work and stay back at work,” before pushing past Collins and clattering down the stairs.
The lady in question was in reception, and when she saw her, Bea assumed it was the woman’s appearance that had made Collins sound hesitant about the reference. She was in the process of reading the notice board, which gave Bea a moment to assess her. A yellow fisherman’s hat sat on her head although it wasn’t raining any longer, and she wore a lint-speckled donkey jacket over mud-coloured corduroy trousers. She had bright red trainers?they appeared to be high-tops?on her feet. She didn’t look like anyone who would have information. Instead, she looked like an orphan of the storm.
“Yes?” Bea said. She was in a hurry and she made no attempt to sound otherwise. “I’m DI Hannaford. How may I help you?”