up at that, and the sunlight caught the makeup on her face, the powder dry in her creases. ‘Maybe,’ she said, and then she smiled, lost for a moment in some old nostalgic thought. ‘They were good times, you know. He was an old romantic really, despite what you might think of him.’
‘I don’t think anything of him,’ I replied. ‘I just don’t buy that image, that’s all, not when he was a married man.’
‘You make it sound dirty. It wasn’t like that.’
‘Whatever it was like, he was betrothed to someone else.’
‘You don’t strike me as a man high on morals.’
‘Neither are many newspaper editors,’ I said, ‘but their readers might be, and so they’ll write it up to suit. Especially the papers that don’t get the exclusive. You’ll make some money, sure, but the cash will be tarnished, and your life will stop being your own.’
Susie nodded as if she understood, but then she said, ‘It’s not about the money. It’s about Claude getting his life back.We’ll need the money, and that’s why we’re doing it like this, but people will be interested in him, not me.’ Then she sighed, and for the first time I saw a trace of regret flicker into her eyes. ‘If Nancy hadn’t died, do you think our little fling would have mattered?’ she said. ‘So he was a bit of a rat. Most men are, but the person I knew was also tender and caring. That was the memory of Claude Gilbert I carried through the years.’
‘And now?’
‘Just the same. He seems sadder, that’s all, worn out, but still a good man.’
I held up my hand in apology. ‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just don’t like having my time wasted, that’s all.’
‘I can only tell you it from my side,’ she said quietly, and then we both returned to watching the stream of passers-by.
‘Will Claude be able to answer the main question people will ask?’ I said.
Susie looked up. ‘Which is?’
‘If he didn’t kill Nancy, who did?’
Susie let out a breath at that and scratched the side of her mouth with a varnished nail. ‘I’ll let him tell you that.’
We stayed there for over two hours, watching the traffic get busier as time crawled towards the evening rush hour. I scanned the pavements, looking for a glimpse of someone that might be Claude Gilbert, but I couldn’t spot him. Susie smoked incessantly, and the ground around her feet became a collection of brown dog-ends as we made small talk.
‘Why don’t you just ring him?’ I said eventually.
Susie shook her head. ‘That’s not how he wants it. It has to be on his terms.’ She must have spotted my scowl, because she added, ‘I need a drink. I’m sorry it’s not worked out yet, so let me make it my round.’ When I looked at her, she smiled. ‘It’s the least I could do.’
I felt a stab of guilt. Susie knew that, for as long as Claude Gilbert didn’t appear, the story would become about her, the northern girl who loved her murderer on the run, maybe the last mistress before the murder; I knew how much her life would change.
‘No, don’t worry,’ I said, returning the smile. ‘It’s on me.’
Susie looked pleased with that, and we moved away from the rush of Victoria to the peace and quiet of Belgravia.
Chapter Nineteen
Back at the police station, Laura was showing Thomas how to watch the CCTV from one of the local supermarkets. It was never a case of click and play, Laura knew that, with every system needing different software. It showed nine different views, like a grainy
Celebrity Squares
, and isolating one camera view seemed more difficult than it needed to be, just to catch the pensioner dropping the bottle of cheap sherry into the tartan trolley.
She turned as she heard a cough from the doorway and saw a face she hadn’t seen for a few months, his hair cropped army-short, a folder under his arm. Laura felt her cheeks flush red.
‘DC McGanity,’ he said, and then he looked down at her uniform. ‘Sorry, is it plain old
‘I don’t think anything of him,’ I replied. ‘I just don’t buy that image, that’s all, not when he was a married man.’
‘You make it sound dirty. It wasn’t like that.’
‘Whatever it was like, he was betrothed to someone else.’
‘You don’t strike me as a man high on morals.’
‘Neither are many newspaper editors,’ I said, ‘but their readers might be, and so they’ll write it up to suit. Especially the papers that don’t get the exclusive. You’ll make some money, sure, but the cash will be tarnished, and your life will stop being your own.’
Susie nodded as if she understood, but then she said, ‘It’s not about the money. It’s about Claude getting his life back.We’ll need the money, and that’s why we’re doing it like this, but people will be interested in him, not me.’ Then she sighed, and for the first time I saw a trace of regret flicker into her eyes. ‘If Nancy hadn’t died, do you think our little fling would have mattered?’ she said. ‘So he was a bit of a rat. Most men are, but the person I knew was also tender and caring. That was the memory of Claude Gilbert I carried through the years.’
‘And now?’
‘Just the same. He seems sadder, that’s all, worn out, but still a good man.’
I held up my hand in apology. ‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just don’t like having my time wasted, that’s all.’
‘I can only tell you it from my side,’ she said quietly, and then we both returned to watching the stream of passers-by.
‘Will Claude be able to answer the main question people will ask?’ I said.
Susie looked up. ‘Which is?’
‘If he didn’t kill Nancy, who did?’
Susie let out a breath at that and scratched the side of her mouth with a varnished nail. ‘I’ll let him tell you that.’
We stayed there for over two hours, watching the traffic get busier as time crawled towards the evening rush hour. I scanned the pavements, looking for a glimpse of someone that might be Claude Gilbert, but I couldn’t spot him. Susie smoked incessantly, and the ground around her feet became a collection of brown dog-ends as we made small talk.
‘Why don’t you just ring him?’ I said eventually.
Susie shook her head. ‘That’s not how he wants it. It has to be on his terms.’ She must have spotted my scowl, because she added, ‘I need a drink. I’m sorry it’s not worked out yet, so let me make it my round.’ When I looked at her, she smiled. ‘It’s the least I could do.’
I felt a stab of guilt. Susie knew that, for as long as Claude Gilbert didn’t appear, the story would become about her, the northern girl who loved her murderer on the run, maybe the last mistress before the murder; I knew how much her life would change.
‘No, don’t worry,’ I said, returning the smile. ‘It’s on me.’
Susie looked pleased with that, and we moved away from the rush of Victoria to the peace and quiet of Belgravia.
Chapter Nineteen
Back at the police station, Laura was showing Thomas how to watch the CCTV from one of the local supermarkets. It was never a case of click and play, Laura knew that, with every system needing different software. It showed nine different views, like a grainy
Celebrity Squares
, and isolating one camera view seemed more difficult than it needed to be, just to catch the pensioner dropping the bottle of cheap sherry into the tartan trolley.
She turned as she heard a cough from the doorway and saw a face she hadn’t seen for a few months, his hair cropped army-short, a folder under his arm. Laura felt her cheeks flush red.
‘DC McGanity,’ he said, and then he looked down at her uniform. ‘Sorry, is it plain old
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