afraid of twisting the knife. But he thought he needed to know. “Was Jerome in love?”
With a quick, concerned glance at his wife, Cardy fielded that one. “Jerome was twenty years old. He was halfway through a law degree at Durham University. He didn’t have time to be in love.”
“Then, was there anyone he was afraid of?”
The boy’s father bristled. “I’m guessing he was a bit worried about the man who beat him to death!”
“But he didn’t know Robert Barclay. Even if he had, he’d have had no reason to suppose they’d meet in Meadowvale Police Station. But when he was talking to me, he was already afraid. He knew something awful was going to happen.”
He hadn’t meant to say that. But it was out now. Not for the first time he hated himself for the loss of that ordinary self-control that normal people take for granted, that tells them when it’s appropriate to talk and when things are better left unsaid. For months at a time Gabriel Ash had hardly spoken to anyone except his therapist and his dog. Now, when it mattered, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
Mrs. Cardy rocked gently to this new revelation, blinking back her tears. “He’d been in an accident. He’d been arrested. He must have known he was in trouble.”
“The accident wasn’t his fault. But he left the scene, then he tried to evade the police. Why would he do that? Why didn’t he just do what was required of him—report the accident and stay with the vehicles? Why did he run?”
But they couldn’t tell him. They didn’t know.
CHAPTER 10
W ITH RELUCTANCE, with trepidation, fervently wishing she could turn a blind eye as easily as everyone else at Meadowvale seemed able to, Hazel decided she couldn’t sit on the fence any longer. She had to speak to Fountain, whatever the cost to Donald Murchison and to herself. She went in on Friday morning. It seemed better to her to do this on her own time than during the hours she was being paid for.
She didn’t make an appointment, for the same reason Ash hadn’t phoned the Cardys. She tapped on the chief superintendent’s door and asked his secretary if he was free.
The location of Johnny Fountain’s office said a lot about the man and explained much of his success. His predecessor had made his office on the top floor, with panoramic views over the park and the canal and out to the Shropshire hills. Fountain had relocated the canteen to the top floor, putting himself at the hub of Meadowvale Police Station, on the first floor, at the top of the main staircase. Anyone going anywhere had to pass his door. He didn’t have the views, or the peace and quiet, that his predecessor had enjoyed, but it was much easier for him to keep a finger on the station’s pulse.
And it was easy for people to stop by on the off chance of seeing him. Hazel was pretty sure that if she’d had to climb three stories, nodding a greeting to everyone she passed on the way, she’d have changed her mind before she got there.
She was dreading having to put her suspicions into words. Part of her hoped he’d be busy, or not in his office, and she’d have to go away again. But coming back would be even harder, so she steeled herself to knock, smile politely at Miss Patel, his secretary—a fine-boned woman in her late thirties who protected her boss with a devotion that earned her the nickname “the Pitbull”—and ask if Mr. Fountain would see her.
To her deep dismay, he would.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, waving her to the chair across his desk, “I’ve been wanting a word with you.”
“Sir?” She couldn’t think what else to say.
“That business in the cells. Horrible business. It’s been hard to think about much else since it happened. I suppose you’re the same.”
“Well … yes, sir.”
“We all are. Something like that affects everyone, even those who weren’t involved. All the same,” and he gave her a craggy smile, “we have other duties, other obligations, and
With a quick, concerned glance at his wife, Cardy fielded that one. “Jerome was twenty years old. He was halfway through a law degree at Durham University. He didn’t have time to be in love.”
“Then, was there anyone he was afraid of?”
The boy’s father bristled. “I’m guessing he was a bit worried about the man who beat him to death!”
“But he didn’t know Robert Barclay. Even if he had, he’d have had no reason to suppose they’d meet in Meadowvale Police Station. But when he was talking to me, he was already afraid. He knew something awful was going to happen.”
He hadn’t meant to say that. But it was out now. Not for the first time he hated himself for the loss of that ordinary self-control that normal people take for granted, that tells them when it’s appropriate to talk and when things are better left unsaid. For months at a time Gabriel Ash had hardly spoken to anyone except his therapist and his dog. Now, when it mattered, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
Mrs. Cardy rocked gently to this new revelation, blinking back her tears. “He’d been in an accident. He’d been arrested. He must have known he was in trouble.”
“The accident wasn’t his fault. But he left the scene, then he tried to evade the police. Why would he do that? Why didn’t he just do what was required of him—report the accident and stay with the vehicles? Why did he run?”
But they couldn’t tell him. They didn’t know.
CHAPTER 10
W ITH RELUCTANCE, with trepidation, fervently wishing she could turn a blind eye as easily as everyone else at Meadowvale seemed able to, Hazel decided she couldn’t sit on the fence any longer. She had to speak to Fountain, whatever the cost to Donald Murchison and to herself. She went in on Friday morning. It seemed better to her to do this on her own time than during the hours she was being paid for.
She didn’t make an appointment, for the same reason Ash hadn’t phoned the Cardys. She tapped on the chief superintendent’s door and asked his secretary if he was free.
The location of Johnny Fountain’s office said a lot about the man and explained much of his success. His predecessor had made his office on the top floor, with panoramic views over the park and the canal and out to the Shropshire hills. Fountain had relocated the canteen to the top floor, putting himself at the hub of Meadowvale Police Station, on the first floor, at the top of the main staircase. Anyone going anywhere had to pass his door. He didn’t have the views, or the peace and quiet, that his predecessor had enjoyed, but it was much easier for him to keep a finger on the station’s pulse.
And it was easy for people to stop by on the off chance of seeing him. Hazel was pretty sure that if she’d had to climb three stories, nodding a greeting to everyone she passed on the way, she’d have changed her mind before she got there.
She was dreading having to put her suspicions into words. Part of her hoped he’d be busy, or not in his office, and she’d have to go away again. But coming back would be even harder, so she steeled herself to knock, smile politely at Miss Patel, his secretary—a fine-boned woman in her late thirties who protected her boss with a devotion that earned her the nickname “the Pitbull”—and ask if Mr. Fountain would see her.
To her deep dismay, he would.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, waving her to the chair across his desk, “I’ve been wanting a word with you.”
“Sir?” She couldn’t think what else to say.
“That business in the cells. Horrible business. It’s been hard to think about much else since it happened. I suppose you’re the same.”
“Well … yes, sir.”
“We all are. Something like that affects everyone, even those who weren’t involved. All the same,” and he gave her a craggy smile, “we have other duties, other obligations, and
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