‘That’s a bit of a stretch – they didn’t know each other by all accounts,’ says Harriet.
‘Something about her isn’t right,’ Kim says. ‘Her husband told us he was unexpectedly working at home at four thirty-ish, the time she went to walk the dog’ – at this Kim makes large quotation marks in the air – ‘but he says the dog was lying on his feet the whole time.’
‘Should we question the dog?’ asks Colin.
‘Yeah, let’s ruff him up,’ says Kim, making a little barking sound.
‘Where were the children?’ Harriet asks.
‘At a sports club at the school,’ Kim says.
‘Ross’s next of kin,’ Harriet says to the room. ‘Gareth and Branwen Ross, mum and dad, from north Wales. I sent plod round this morning to notify them, so we should expect them sometime today or tomorrow. In their eighties. They’ll be knocked sideways, so respect and care, everyone, yes?’
In Davy’s periphery, Manon ambles in through the double doors carrying her usual paper bag of pastries and a coffee. She has a rolling gait these days, as well as a double chin, as if someone has attached a bicycle pump to her backside and inflated her. She hails team four across the room, saying, ‘Don’t mind me,’ and Davy can tell she’s wanting to sidle in on the briefing. She’ll perch on a desk and Harriet will be all ears, awaiting her pearls of investigative wisdom. Well, he’s not having it.
‘Boss,’ he whispers to Harriet, nodding in Manon’s direction, ‘shouldn’t we keep it confidential, it is a murder briefing …’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Davy, it’s only Manon. She’ll nod off in a minute.’
‘Who was he then?’ says Manon, breathless. She is smiling at Harriet and Davy can see the vicarious excitement on her face. ‘Your posh stiff,’ she says. ‘Got an ID yet?’
‘Jon-Oliver Ross,’ says Harriet, peering into Manon’s paper bag. ‘Have you got an apricot one of those? Rich banker type, from Lon—’
‘Fuck,’ says Manon.
‘What?’ says Harriet.
‘Fuck,’ Manon says again, feeling behind her for a surface on which to perch or steady herself. ‘He’s Solly’s dad. Jon-Oliver is Ellie’s ex.’
Manon
‘Only met him a couple of times, for like five minutes, but he’d started having contact in the last six months. Wanting to see Solly. That’ll be why he was here – in Huntingdon, I mean.’
Her mind is whirring, too full to listen to what Harriet is saying in reply. She must tell Ellie. Should she just blurt it out? Will Ellie be upset? Does some corner of her carry a residue of love for him, like a cupboard shelf that hasn’t been wiped? Does she harbour faint hopes of a reconciliation? Or will she not care? Perhaps she’ll be relieved that he’s out of her hair.
No, she thinks, Ellie had come round to the idea of Jon-Oliver playing a part in Solly’s life. Visits once a month had been accommodated, though Manon was usually either working or on her way out when they occurred. The thought of Solly brings tears to Manon’s eyes (tears come easily these days) – no chance of a father now. All the potential of that relationship cut down, before it could begin. It is a tragedy for Solly.
The sound of Harriet’s voice becomes louder and clearer as Manon rejoins the present. She becomes aware that the three of them – she, Harriet and Davy – have moved into Harriet’s office.
‘Where’s Ellie now?’ Harriet is saying, pacing behind her desk; coiled spring, hitching at her bra straps. Harriet’s body is sinewy, taut because she’s a ball of constrained movement – a rubber band at full stretch, wanting to ping. Physically, Manon thinks, we couldn’t be more different. I have no inner spring. I am in constant preparation for sitting down.
‘Home with Sol I guess,’ says Manon. ‘They were there when I left for work.’
‘Let’s bring her in for interview,’ Harriet says, half to herself and half to Davy. ‘What can she do for childcare?’ she asks Manon.
‘Childminder’ll take Sol at short notice,’ says Manon. ‘Go easy on her. Look, can I break the news to her? I don’t know how she’ll—’
‘You know you can’t,’ says Davy. ‘You’re connected to the case. We’ll need to keep you away from all future briefings. And you’re not allowed to search the database or ask officers about the case.’
‘He really needs to calm his tits,’ Manon says to Harriet.
‘That’s enough, you two,’ says Harriet.
Manon realises Davy wants to tell Ellie himself so he can watch her, see how she reacts. Everyone close to the victim is a suspect and how they take the news is part of a close-circuit observation that is often disguised as sympathy and support. We are giving you a liaison officer to keep you informed/watch your every move and report it back to the investigation.
‘One more thing, Manon,’ says Davy. ‘Where was Ellie yesterday afternoon and evening?’
‘Am I being interviewed?’ asks Manon, placing a protective hand on her bump. ‘Because if I am, I want all the proper gear – recording device and everything.’
Davy
‘Should we put a trace on Judith Cole’s phone?’ he says, now that he and Harriet are alone. ‘See what she was really doing in the woods at that time? Kim thinks she wasn’t walking the dog.’
Harriet has closed the door to her office and is pacing, the wings of her jacket pinned back by her hands on her hips. ‘Nah, Judith Cole’s not the issue. Woman from across the road who didn’t know him? Who cares what she was doing in the park? We don’t have grounds for a trace.’
‘Except her being the last person to see him alive, and also lying,’ Davy points out.
‘Yes, but she might be lying for some other reason. Just because she called it in, doesn’t put her in line for investigation – you know the Samaritan rule. Priority is questioning Ellie Bradshaw. She’s the person who can give us the most on Ross – who he was, who might have wanted to stab him.’
‘What are our main lines, boss?’
‘I’d say financial work and exes – so that’s Ellie. And the photo in his jacket – the blonde. We need to find out who she is. Maybe she’s Sass. There’s a strong money motive, with someone like him.
‘Judith Cole has come in for re-interview,’ Davy says.
‘Has she? Right, OK, you can have another go at her – gently, Davy – just to fill in the gaps in her statement while we wait for Ellie Bradshaw to come in. But no more than that – husband’s a lawyer, I don’t want a complaint. And Davy? Take Kim with you. Sounds like she was doing a very good job last time.’
Davy is upended by jealousy, like a small boy in rough surf, while the adult in him says, ‘Righto, boss.’
‘Your husband says you weren’t walking the dog,’ Kim says, as soon as the bleep sounds, without warning or preamble.
Judith Cole blanches to the colour of her semi-sheer white blouse, which has a white vest visible beneath. At her throat is a sparkling pendant, a single diamond on a silver chain. Unlike the last time they saw her, she is freshly blow-dried and wearing immaculate makeup.