‘They’ll rustle you up some beans on toast. But you’re not.’
‘How would you know about my eating habits? And, you know what, I can hear you perfectly.’
‘There was chicken defrosting in your kitchen when I came round. What? Did you say something? I’m getting really bad static.’
‘I’ll be with you in twenty minutes, Detective. Order me the fish pie.’
She is late, as he’d known she would be. He knows that road in all weathers, all traffic conditions. When she walks in, blue hair windswept, cheeks bright pink with the cold, the conversation in the bar lulls. Condensation has formed on the wine glass he has waiting for her. She gives it a quizzical look.
‘Recycling bins just outside the cloakroom,’ he tells her. ‘You seem to favour Sauvignon Blanc.’
‘I don’t drink when I’m driving.’
‘That’s 125 millilitres. Even someone of your size will stay under the limit. Trust me, I used to be a traffic cop.’
She sits. Her coat stays on. She lifts the glass. When she puts it down again, the level has significantly reduced. ‘Thanks, I needed that.’
‘Thought you might. Food will be five minutes. So, let’s get the work stuff out of the way: what did you want to ask me?’
‘Have you come across someone called Sirocco Silverwood? Almost certainly not her real name.’
He pulls a face. ‘Can’t say I have, but anyone cautioned or charged would have to give their real name, not the one they use when they’re doing the turn at kids’ parties.’
‘I’m not sure you’d want this lady anywhere near young children. She’s either an habitual fantasist or borderline psychotic.’
Pete sips his pint while Maggie fills him in on her short, but weird, conversation with the woman claiming to be Hamish Wolfe’s true love.
‘She’s not the only one,’ he says when she’s done. ‘Wolfe gets more mail than the rest of Parkhurst put together. Anything else?’
‘Yes, a possible sighting of the real killer, carrying a body into Rill Cavern after Hamish had been arrested.’
He puts his glass down.
‘And now I have your full attention.’ She’s watching him, bright blue eyes combing his face for anything he might give away. He says nothing, but finds Google Earth on his iPad and sets it to show the relevant area around Cheddar. He takes his time, does a couple of mental calculations, then shakes his head at her.
‘It’s fifty metres from Gossam Cave, where Odi and Broon were camping, out to Rill Cavern where they allegedly saw someone carrying Myrtle’s body.’
‘It’s too far, isn’t it?’
‘Almost certainly. In the dark, only one witness, the other asleep. And I know those two.’
‘Odi and Broon?’
He reaches out for his pint. ‘Yeah, they sleep rough in the square here sometimes. They drink to keep out the cold. Can’t blame them, but it doesn’t make them reliable witnesses.’
‘Will you talk to them?’
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Yes,’ he adds, when the look on her face says she’s not sure she believes him.
The food arrives, the bustle of the waiter interrupts their conversation for a few minutes. Pete nods at the food. ‘I’d eat it while it’s hot.’
She doesn’t need telling twice, tucking in with enthusiasm. ‘I’ve been reading up on the Wolfe case,’ she says.
He becomes conscious of a tightening in his chest. ‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘When did you know you had him?’
Pete has answered this question many times. ‘We had the means of identifying our killer when we found hair and carpet fibres on Jessie Tout’s body. The hairs especially. Canine DNA is as unique as its human equivalent. At some time close to the point of her death, Jessie came into contact with Wolfe’s Dalmatian, Daisy.’
‘But at the time, you didn’t know which dog?’
‘No, it was the sighting of Wolfe’s car at the petrol station that really did for him. Once Ahmed the cashier put two and two together and checked the CCTV footage, it was all over.’
‘No trace of Myrtle in the car though?’
‘He’d had time to clean it.’ Pete finishes his food and puts his fork down. ‘So, are you his new lawyer? Do you and I have to become sworn enemies?’
‘I’m sure that wouldn’t be necessary, but no. That weird and wonderful bunch have nothing. I doubt I’ll hear from any of them again.’
Chapter 18
THE LETTER IS waiting for Maggie when she gets back. This one, for the first time, has been directly addressed, rather than sent via her agent. This one looks different. The stamp, HMP Isle of Wight, for one, isn’t quite the same as on his previous correspondence. The paper is different too. So is the handwriting. It was posted two days ago.
Chapter 19