Lisa’s eyes flicked to hers. ‘Nothing much. This and that,’ she said vaguely.
‘Such as?’ Mel asked, watching her carefully over the rim of her mug.
Lisa put down her coffee and looked up to eye Mel levelly. ‘He’s worried about you, Mel,’ she said, searching her eyes, a curious look in her own.
‘Oh.’ Definite unease was now gnawing at Mel’s stomach. ‘I see,’ she said, taking stock. ‘So, you’ve been discussing me then, clearly.’
Lisa looked away awkwardly. ‘Well, yes, naturally you come up sometimes. But Mark was only confiding in me out of concern, Mel. He—’
‘Our intimate relationship?’ Mel felt her mouth go dry, her cheeks heat up. ‘Does that come under discussion during these cosy conversations you have?’
‘No!’ Lisa refuted. ‘Mark wouldn’t do that. You know he wouldn’t. He’s just been concerned about you—’
‘You text each other a lot, don’t you?’ Mel cut in angrily. It seemed to her that Lisa knew an awful lot about what Mark would or wouldn’t do. And, clearly, she didn’t. She’d never imagined her husband would discuss their personal details with all and sundry.
Lisa splayed her hands, looking incredulous. ‘Only on work matters. For God’s sake, Mel, you don’t honestly think that I—’
‘Or, rather, you text him.’
‘Oh, come on, Mel.’ Lisa eyed the ceiling. ‘You know very well I only ever text him about work.’
But she didn’t know, did she? She trusted Mark, implicitly. Or she had. There had been something between Lisa and him once, at least Mel had suspected there had. He’d gone out with her, Mel had been sure of it. Her mind raced back to the first time she’d met Mark, when she’d been giving her statement about her ex. ‘Thanks for last night,’ Lisa had said. She’d threaded an arm around his waist as she passed him in the corridor and given him a squeeze. Thanks for last night! Mel had heard her, loud and clear. She’d assumed they’d had a thing. She’d been wrong, or so she’d been led to believe. She’d asked Mark about it, trying to sound casual. Lisa had needed a shoulder, he’d said. Still married to her abusive husband, she’d been having some problems. Yes, and what else had he offered her, Mel thought, fuming now at the obvious lie. Regular little white knight, wasn’t he?
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Did he ask you to come here?’
Lisa didn’t answer. Plainly not knowing how to. Plainly meaning he had.
‘Well, did he?’ Mel demanded, a distinct wobble to her voice.
‘No.’ Lisa sighed, at length. ‘As I said, I was passing. I’m concerned about you, too, you know. I am your friend. I just wanted to check—’ Lisa stopped as her phone beeped inconveniently in her pocket.
Or rather, bang on cue, Mel thought, humiliation bubbling furiously away inside her. That Mark had discussed the intimate details of their relationship at work, even with a supposed friend, was incomprehensible. Who else had he discussed it with? The entire police force? ‘Aren’t you going to check it?’ she asked Lisa, now studying her intently. ‘It might be one of the kids.’
Knowing she had no choice, Lisa reluctantly retrieved her phone.
‘Is it Mark?’ Mel asked, cold certainty gripping her insides.
Lisa checked the text. Again, she didn’t answer. Nor would she meet her gaze.
Mel tried very hard to hold onto her temper. ‘Well?’
Sighing heavily, Lisa closed her eyes and nodded.
Caught in the act. Seething inside, Mel didn’t say anything, but coldly extended her hand.
Lisa waited a beat. ‘We haven’t been discussing anything intimately, Mel,’ she said, reluctantly handing the phone over. ‘Mark was just worried, that was all.’
Ignoring her, Mel took a breath and read the damn text that she didn’t want to see, absolutely didn’t want to read anything into. And her world shifted completely off kilter.
Off to Hawthorn Farm shortly. Hope all went well with Mel. Thanks for the ear. Talk to you tomorrow, preferably in private. Promise to be clean-shaven and looking my beautiful best.
Twenty-One
MARK
Leaning towards him, Mark planted his fists either side of Cummings’ desk while he waited for whatever pathetic explanations the man thought reasonable for assaulting a woman.
‘She’s an informant.’ Cummings laughed incredulously, but Mark didn’t miss the nervousness flitting across his eyes. They were alone, with no witnesses if he lost it big time this time and did what he really wanted to.
‘And that justifies you forcibly ejecting her from your car how, exactly?’ he said, through gritted teeth, making sure to hold eye contact with the detective sergeant.
‘For fuck’s sake, what is this? A bloody interrogation?’ Cummings pushed his chair back and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. ‘She had a hold of my balls, all right!’ He looked back to Mark, his expression one of humiliation. ‘What would you have done?’
If I were Tanya? You really don’t want to know, Cummings. ‘Why?’ he asked shortly. ‘Why did she have a hold of you?’
Cummings splayed his hands. ‘How the fuck do I know? Off her head on coke probably.’
Yeah, right. Mark didn’t believe a fucking word of it. Straightening up, he pushed his hands into his pockets. Still, he kept his gaze fixed hard on Cummings. ‘Supplied by you.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Uh-uh. No way.’ Cummings got furiously to his feet. ‘I pay my girls cash.’
Mark couldn’t keep the contempt from his eyes. ‘Including the girls you have sex with?’
‘Sometimes.’ He shrugged, looking back to Mark. ‘Some of us don’t have the convenience of a wife to go home to, do we? Sir.’
Mark sucked in a breath. Don’t, he cautioned himself, swallowing back the hard knot of anger climbing his chest.
‘I’m presuming you have some evidence to back up your accusation?’ Cummings asked, his eyes defiant, his tone holding a challenge.
Mark glanced away, disgust broiling inside him.
‘Thought not,’ Cummings sneered, turning to reseat himself at his computer.
Mark counted, silently, steadily. He was an inch away from dragging the man back to his feet, stuff the consequences. ‘And the photos?’ he asked, sorely tempted to forcibly retrieve the phone from the man’s pocket.
Cummings looked disinterestedly up from his screen. ‘What photos?’
Mark clamped hard down on his jaw. ‘The photos I saw you taking, Cummings. You might do better to turn your flash off if you want to take covert photos in future.’
Cummings knitted his brow, confused, supposedly, and then nodded as if realisation had just dawned. ‘It was my lighter. I was lighting a cigarette.’ He smiled flatly. ‘You could probably do me for that, since it was a pool car – depending how desperate you are.’
Looking him scornfully over, Cummings dragged his gaze away, safe in the knowledge that Mark couldn’t touch him.
Not yet. But soon, Cummings. Some time very soon.
His gut twisting inside him, Mark turned to slam out of the office. His still had to check out Hawthorn Farm before hurrying home to shower before going out with Mel. Lisa was right, there really was an obnoxious odour around here.
Twenty-Two
JADE
‘I still can’t believe what he did,’ Dylan said, gazing down at Evie, who was contentedly sleeping after her feed. Jade sighed inside, wondering whether the idiot boy was worth the effort. He really was as thick as pig shit. He hadn’t even recognised her from their school days. Mind you, with her changed facial appearance, blue contacts and once unremarkable mousey brown hair now a head-turning shade of blonde, he wasn’t likely to. He even looked like a plank, with that perpetual gormless expression. But a pliable plank, she reminded herself, which was why she needed to stroke drippy Dylan’s ego, along with certain other parts of his anatomy. When it was time to lose little Evie for a while – or, rather, for poor muddled Melissa to lose her for a while – Dylan could be trusted to keep his mouth shut. He’d already proved that much.