‘And?’
‘He promised to think about it. Realistically, given how busy he was, it’s unlikely to happen this side of Christmas. I can also put an ad in the local paper and instigate a social media campaign. It will take a lot of sorting through, though, and I can’t help questioning how much good it will do. You weren’t convicted of killing Zoe, remember?’
Hamish clears his throat. ‘Speaking of Zoe, DS Weston asked me a question today. Will you answer him for me?’
‘Of course.’ She doesn’t like that he knows Pete is coming round this evening. Doesn’t like that the two of them have been discussing her, although she knows that it is inevitable.
‘Please tell him the answer is no. I have no idea where the body of Zoe Sykes is. It makes no odds how many maps of Somerset’s cave system I look at, I can’t do more than scores of searches have already. And if, by some extreme coincidence, Zoe is found, no one will ever believe me innocent again. Which reminds me, how are you doing on that front?’
Wolfe will get ten minutes, at most, to call her. Already two of those minutes are gone.
‘I don’t need to believe in your innocence,’ she says. ‘Just to convince others of it.’
Outside, the wind is high and her garden is full of scurrying movement: the bending and swaying of trees, the shivering of bushes.
‘Pity,’ he is saying. ‘It would be nice to have someone believe in me who isn’t either my mother or bonkers. So, is he picking you up? If he’s booked the Crown then not only is he a cheapskate but his intentions are unlikely to be honourable. He lives just upstairs, you know.’
‘DS Weston is bringing round your files. He’s going out of his way to be cooperative. But if you can’t think of a better use of our time than juvenile banter, please carry on.’
From the street there is the sound of a car pulling up. Not quite seven o’clock. Why are the police always on time?
‘Can you give him another message?’ Wolfe says. ‘Tell him no male over the age of fifteen wears Lynx.’
Footsteps are crunching along the gravel drive. She doesn’t want to be caught talking to Wolfe.
‘You must be out of time. If you can book the same slot tomorrow I can fill you in with any progress. Goodnight, Hamish.’
‘Driving home for Christmas?’ Pete slings his coat over the back of the nearest chair and looks across the table at the map of Bristol and the surrounding area. Maggie is over by the Aga. A cream-coloured apron is tied over her clothes and her hair has been swept up into a ponytail. The domesticity looks completely out of character. As does the fact that she is, quite clearly, flustered.
‘Drink?’ she offers.
‘You’re mellowing,’ he tells her.
‘Beer’s easier than coffee.’ She sidesteps to the tall fridge and stands in its light for a second. When she turns back, she has a bottle of Stella Artois in one hand, a glass in the other. ‘Dinner’s almost ready,’ she says.
‘Thanks, hope you didn’t go to any trouble.’
‘Least I could do. I really wasn’t expecting to get the files so quickly.’
Pete’s eyes fall back to the map. ‘So, where are we going?’
‘I’m glad you asked. I think we could work together on this one.’
‘Unless I’m missing something, we’re on opposite sides. How is our mutual friend, by the way?’
‘You’ve seen him more recently than I. Which reminds me, as his lawyer, I’m entitled to be present at all future meetings. Please don’t forget again.’
‘I’ll enjoy the company. Something I want to ask you, though. If you’re not convinced of his innocence, why have you taken on his case?’
She pretends to think. Already he’s learned when the thinking process is real, when it’s faked. Pretend thinking involves a cute pout, a sideways glance. Real thinking is less pretty, a deep frown, a downward curve of the mouth, a blank stare into the middle distance. ‘Maybe I’m falling for him,’ she says, and the pout turns into that cat-like smile.
‘You’re far too smart.’
‘We wouldn’t be the first convicted murderer and representing lawyer to enter into a romantic relationship.’
‘Is he coming on to you?’
‘Are you?’
He looks at his coat. ‘What am I doing here, Maggie? Why am I drinking your lager and getting increasingly enthusiastic about the lamb stew I can smell in your oven? And what’s the map of Bristol for?’
She reaches behind for a glass of white wine. ‘We’re going to find the computer that the killer used to cyber-stalk the three women.’
‘We are?’
‘If you really believe Hamish is guilty, it’s as much in your interest as it is in mine. You find the computer, there’s some forensic evidence to link it to Hamish—’