The woman narrowed her eyes at him and tutted, then put a hand around Lucas’s wrist in a belt-and-braces gesture that almost made Marvel laugh. Parents saw danger in all the wrong places. Children were stupid and easily distracted, and predators were alert to the slightest opportunity. There wasn’t much anyone could do about that fatal combination; it was the luck of the draw.
He picked up the file marked Evans, Edith 23778/SE-G off Colin Brady’s tray and – under the suspicious eye of Lucas’s mother –peeled out of the queue and walked over to the table where Richard Latham was shaking a sachet of sugar.
‘Mr Latham? DCI John Marvel.’
Latham squinted up with big uneven eyes, and Marvel sat down. He never bothered to ask if he could, because nobody ever said yes.
‘Can I help you?’ said Latham.
‘Yes,’ said Marvel, and laid down the photo Anna Buck had brought in. ‘What can you tell me about this?’
Latham blinked so hard it was close to flinching. ‘I don’t …’ he started. ‘I … What do you mean, what can I tell you?’
He was rattled. Marvel liked that.
Colin Brady put his tray on the photo. There were two slices of carrot cake on it, a cup of coffee and a glass of water. Brady was on a diet and had decided that drinking water before eating anything – however calorific – was the way to do it.
‘I got you an Americano, sir.’
‘Take the tray off the bloody photo, will you!’
Brady raised the tray so that Marvel could slip the photo out from underneath. But, annoyingly, it had given Latham a chance to regain his composure. Now he was looking away from Marvel and up at Brady instead.
‘Hello, Sergeant.’
‘Mr Latham.’
‘This photo,’ insisted Marvel. ‘Nothing mystical. Just, what can you tell me?’
‘Nothing mystical, eh?’ Latham tipped the sugar into his tea. His movements were deliberate, and Marvel knew he was playing for time.
He took a bite of teacake, then leaned forward and peered at the photo. ‘Well now, let’s see.’
He stared at the photo for so long that Marvel could almost hear his brain formulating an adequate answer.
Finally Latham said, ‘Yes. I believe this lady comes to our church.’
‘You know her name?’
‘Errrr … Sandra.’
‘And?’
‘And I can’t tell you much, I’m afraid. She lost her dog and thought I might be able to help her find it.’
‘And did you?’
‘I still hope I can. I believe the dog is alive, so that’s a good thing, isn’t it?’
‘Depends,’ said Marvel, ‘on how much you like dogs.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Latham. ‘I’m a cat person myself. How about you?’
Marvel said, ‘Did Sandra give you a photo too?’
‘As I recall she gave out a lot of photos of the dog. I probably had one.’
‘This one?’
‘I really can’t remember.’ Latham looked around the room as if for an exit, and pushed his glasses up his nose.
Sweating.
‘Do you recognize anyone else in this photo?’
Latham studied it again. ‘No,’ he said.
‘OK,’ said Marvel. He slid the photo away from Richard Latham, and saw the relief in his eyes as it went. He loved it when a suspect thought the hard part was over.
‘Mr Latham, how do you know Anna Buck?’
‘Who’s Anna Buck?’
‘Young woman,’ said Marvel. ‘Came to your church a few weeks back for the first time.’
Latham looked blank.
‘Had a baby in a buggy. Never cried.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Latham. ‘I remember.’
‘So that’s how you know her then.’
‘Well, I didn’t know her name.’
‘Did you talk to her?’
‘No.’
‘She says you spoke.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘She says—’
‘Bit of cake, Richard?’
They all looked up at a woman in a fez. She was clearing tables and held a damp rag in one hand and a teapot in the other.
‘No thanks, Denise. The teacake will be fine for now.’
‘You sure now, darlin’? Don’t want you wasting away!’ Denise laughed and looked at Marvel and Brady and said, ‘Richard used to be much larger, you know, but now he’s only a medium!’
She cackled and patted Latham’s shoulder with the damp rag before bustling away, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.
‘She says she spoke to you about her son,’ Marvel started again.
‘Oh yes,’ said Latham. ‘She did.’
‘Then why tell me she didn’t?’
‘You weren’t specific. She didn’t speak to me the first time, but a week later she came back. She wanted a private consultation.’
‘In return for a donation to the church-roof fund, I presume?’
Latham’s composure wavered again. Only a flicker, but it was there – and Marvel noted it.
‘No,’ said Latham. ‘I couldn’t help her.’
‘Why not? Isn’t it your job to help her?’
Latham sighed and shook his head. ‘That’s not how it works, Mr Marvel. Spirits choose what to show, and whom they show it to. I can only be open to them – a conduit for communication. But I’m not the one in control.’
‘If you’re not in control, who is?’
‘The dead,’ said Latham. He gave a grim smile. ‘The dead are in control.’
‘Great,’ said Marvel. ‘Maybe I’ll take this up with them.’
‘Maybe you should.’
Marvel resisted the temptation to continue the childish exchange. Latham had started out shakily when he’d seen the photo, but was getting more comfortable now, and Marvel needed him off balance again, where he might trip over his own ego, if not his own lies. ‘You know what else Anna Buck saw in this photo, Mr Latham?’
‘No.’
‘Edie Evans.’
Latham frowned. ‘Where?’
Marvel put a finger above the blurred image and Latham bent down until he was just inches from the picture. ‘How can you tell?’
‘I can tell,’ said Marvel. ‘Trust me.’
‘Really?’ said Latham. ‘I wouldn’t have recognized her.’
‘What did you tell Mrs Buck about Edie?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You didn’t discuss the case at all?’
‘No. Why would I?’
‘Interesting,’ said Marvel. ‘Because when Anna Buck looked at this photo she had a vision.’
‘Did she?’ said Latham. ‘Well. Good for her.’
‘Of a garden.’
Blink.
‘Just like you did.’