“Yes,” Lynley said. “Wouldn’t we both.”
The DI returned to them then. Her jaw was set. She gestured with her mobile and said to the ACC, “It’s murder. Ray, I want that incident room in Casvelyn. I don’t care what you have to do to get it and I don’t care what the quid pro quo is going to be either. I want HOLMES set up, an MCIT in place, and an evidence officer assigned. All right?”
“You don’t ask for much, Beatrice, do you?”
“On the contrary, Raymond,” she replied levelly. “As you well know.”
“WE’LL SORT OUT A car for you,” Bea Hannaford said to Lynley. “You’re going to need one.”
They stood outside the entrance to Royal Cornwall Hospital. Ray had gone on his way, after telling Bea that he couldn’t promise her anything and after hearing her retort of “how true,” which she knew was an unfair dig but which she used anyway because she’d long ago learned that when it came to murder, the end of charging someone with a homicide justified any means one employed to get there.
Lynley replied with what sounded to Bea like care. “I don’t believe you can ask this of me.”
“Because you outrank me? That’s not going to count for much out here in the hinterlands, Superintendent.”
“Acting, only.”
“What?”
“Acting superintendent. I was never promoted permanently. I was just stepping in to fill a need.”
“How good of you. The very sort of bloke I’m looking for. You can step in to fill another rather burning need now.” She felt him glance her way as they proceeded towards her car, and she laughed outright. “Not that need,” she said, “though I expect you offer a decent shag when a woman puts a gun to your head. How old are you?”
“The Yard didn’t tell you?”
“Humour me.”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Star sign?”
“What?”
“Gemini, Taurus, Virgo, what?”
“Is this somehow important?”
“As I said, humour me. Going along with the moment is so inexpensive, Thomas.”
He sighed. “Pisces, as it happens.”
“Well, there you have it. It would never work between us. Besides, I’m twenty years older than you and while I fancy them younger than myself, I don’t fancy them that young. So you’re entirely safe in my company.”
“Somehow that’s not a soothing thought.”
She laughed again and unlocked the car. They both climbed in, but she didn’t insert the ignition key at once. Instead, she looked at him seriously. “I need you to do this for me,” she told him. “She wants to protect you.”
“Who?”
“You know who. Dr. Trahair.”
“She hardly wants that. I broke into her house. She wants me around to pay for the damage. And I owe her money for the clothing.”
“Don’t be obtuse. She jumped to your defence earlier, and there’s a reason for that. She’s got a vulnerable spot. It may have to do with you. Or it may not. I don’t know where it is or why it is, but you’re going to find it.”
“Why?”
“Because you can. Because this is a murder investigation, and all the nice social rules fly out of the window when we start looking for a killer. And that’s something you know as well as I do.”
Lynley shook his head, but it seemed to Bea Hannaford that this movement wasn’t one of refusal so much as one that acknowledged a regretful understanding and acceptance of a single immutable fact: She had him by the short and curlies. If he did a runner, she’d fetch him back and he knew it.
He said at last, “Was the sling cut, then?”
“What?”
“The phone call you received. You came away from it calling the situation murder. So I’m wondering if the sling was cut or if they’ve dug up something else at forensics.”
Bea thought about whether to answer the question and what it would signal to him if she did so. She knew little enough about the man, but she also knew when a leap of faith was needed simply for what a leap of faith meant. She said, “It was cut.”