The team held a semi-official celebration at the Lantern the day Blair was released from hospital, and afterwards, Khosa dropped Anna off at her Horfield flat. By the time she got there, the day had all but gone, and over in the park nearby, dogs were being walked and kids were still skateboarding against the backdrop of a red-and-orange flamed sunset. She poured herself a glass of cold water, turned up London Grammar on her iPhone and went out into the garden. Warmth and light had nudged her pots into life, and purple lavender and dark and velvety silver-veined heuchera mingled with ferns and hostas around the tiny corner of the outdoors she’d tamed for herself.
On the little table, next to the iced water, she placed both phones. The one that rang and interrupted the music was her personal iPhone. She scanned the number. A mobile, not one she recognised. She toyed with declining it but something made her press accept.
‘Hi, it’s me, Ben. Am I disturbing you?’
She’d seen Hawley a couple of times since they’d confronted Starkey at St Wystone’s. Both times in the hospital when she’d visited Blair. He’d been interviewed, of course, but Rainsford insisted someone else did that since both Hawley and Anna were material witnesses in the case.
‘No, not at all. I’m in my garden. Relaxing.’
‘Ah, right.’
The slight delay and the background hiss and hum of traffic told her he was in a car, his voice hesitant and nervous.
‘It’s hot,’ he said.
She played the game. Waiting for him to get to the point. ‘It is.’
‘I’ve done a shift at Gloucester Royal. I’m on the way home. Rang on the off chance that you might fancy a drink?’
She’d only had a spritzer at the Lantern, not wanting to sacrifice the evening with too much early alcohol. No one tried to cajole her into acting otherwise. They knew her too well. It was simply Anna staying in control. But now, with Hawley on the other end of the phone, she wondered if something else had made her hold back. An intangible premonition.
Did she? Did she want a drink? The garden was quiet. Idyllic. It would mean changing and a shower because she still had her work stink on her.
Kate, imagined as a little devil on her shoulder, was screaming in her ear. Of course you bloody do!
But could she be bothered? Did she want to be bothered?
The answer, when it emerged from her mouth, came as a surprise. ‘Yes, I’d love a drink. You know the Welly?’
‘In Horfield? Yes. I’m in Patchway. Say fifteen minutes?’
She finished her water, showered, found some jeans and a clean top. The Wellington was a Victorian pub with a bright interior and leaded lights. It retained a community feel and pulled in a rugby crowd in the winter. But this evening, people were eating and drinking outside, enjoying the weather.
The patio was busy, so Hawley’d found a table in an alcove with a nice breeze blowing through from the wide-open window. He looked much better than the last time she’d seen him with a drip in his arm and bandages on his shoulder, pale from loss of blood and sporting three days of stubble. Now he was tanned and lean, his hair cut and his jaw shaven. He stood as she entered, grinned, walked out from the leather-backed bench he’d been sitting on. Anna returned the smile.
‘You look well,’ she said.
‘So do you. What can I get you?’
She glanced at the half-pint on the table in front of him. ‘They do a reasonable Sauvignon. The New Zealand.’
She watched him go to the bar and order. He wore a white shirt and chinos. Filled them both well. Kate would approve.
When he’d come back and sat, he held up his glass. ‘So, cheers,’ he said.
They clinked glasses. ‘Are you celebrating?’ Anna asked.
‘In a way. The fact you agreed to meet me. That’s worth a shout.’
Anna laughed.
‘Wow,’ said Hawley. ‘You should definitely do that more often.’
‘I haven’t had many good reasons to laugh lately.’
Hawley nodded. ‘Yeah. I wasn’t sure how to play this.’
‘What?’
‘Well, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about… him. But I wasn’t sure we were allowed to.’
Anna shrugged. ‘Of course we can talk. You’ve given your statement, I’ve given mine.’
‘Plus, you’re a little bit scary.’
Anna said nothing and let her eyebrows do the talking.
‘You know what I mean,’ Hawley said quickly.
‘Not entirely.’
‘You’re a detective inspector to begin with. So, there’s always the worry that you’re… detecting, watching, deducting.’
‘Why should that worry you?’
‘You know why.’
Anna conceded with an exhalation. ‘Fair enough. In your case. But no one needs to be worried about me… detecting, unless they’ve got good reason to.’
‘And then there’s the way you look.’
This time Anna did frown. ‘How do I look?’
‘Up there. In a definitely-out-of-my-league kind of way.’
‘Seems like you scare easily, Ben.’
‘Maybe.’ Hawley’s gaze dropped before it fixed her again, this time earnestly. ‘So, was it him? Did he kill all those girls?’
Anna took a sip of wine. ‘Yes, he did. Saw them in the hospitals he was servicing. Targeted them. Followed them, sometimes for months I would guess. He had an ideal opportunity. On the road. His job often making him stay away from his home. With Rosie, he chose her because she was local to where he lived. It offered more opportunity for planning. He misled us into believing we were looking for someone with a red van. But it was a white van he’d used. His van.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Worse is that he was one of us. A special constable. So that lent an added degree of credence to his evidence.’
Hawley sent her a pained look of disbelief. ‘Does anyone know why?’
‘I expect the forensic psychiatrists will have a go. Your guess is as good as mine.’ She wasn’t going to tell him about the PPV images and the sordid, dreadful business Starkey was advertising. Red rooms didn’t need to be for public consumption, though Hawley was hardly ‘the public’. She made the judgement call. What she did tell him about was Starkey’s parents’ cottage and what they’d found there. He deserved that. In return, Hawley explained how he’d been asked to go to Edinburgh to see Blair and her family and how he’d turned down at least four offers from the press to tell his ‘story’.
‘You’re not tempted? Clear your name?’
Hawley shrugged. ‘I might go to Edinburgh. I’ve never been to the Fringe. I thought I might call in on Blair while I’m there, combine the trip. They want to make me a meal, Blair’s mum and her sister. I think it’s important for them. It’s the least I could do. But as for the press, I don’t want to go anywhere near them. I know the truth and your lot do now. That’s what’s important.’ His mouth trembled slightly when he said this and she sensed the emotion behind it. ‘How is Sergeant Woakes, by the way?’
‘A long way from here.’
‘Good.’
They talked. About the case, about work. And talking to Hawley was, to her amazement, easy. He listened and had something intelligent to say about almost everything. More than once his easy humour made her laugh, something he seemed to enjoy doing. And she enjoyed letting him. By the time they’d finished their drinks it was dark outside. Not fully, but the odd twilight that lingers so deliciously in summer.
‘Do you want me to walk you back?’ Hawley asked as they exited. ‘I don’t mean to be patronising. I mean, I know I don’t need to walk you anywhere. I’ve seen you in action.’
Anna laughed. It was getting to be a habit. ‘There’s no need. There are lots of people about and I’m just around the corner near the common.’