by Clare Revell
She snatched the box of tissues from the side table and glanced at the text. Zander. Rather than text back, she rang him, putting the phone on speaker.
He answered on the second ring. “Hey. You didn’t have to call. A text would have done if you were still awake.”
She sank to the couch and gingerly examined her foot. “This was easier than typing a response.”
“If you say so. I could have rung but didn’t want to wake you.” Zander sounded remarkably chipper considering it was oh-dark-thirty—which was any time after ten in the evening. “Are you all right?”
What was it with people wanting to make sure she was all right? “I am now.” She winced and hissed as she pulled a sizable splinter of glass from the pad of her foot. Instantly blood gushed. She snatched a tissue, clamping it to the wound. “It’s late.”
“I was about to turn in and wanted to check on you first. I honestly wasn’t expecting a response at all.”
Isabel pulled the curtains back a little and glimpsed Farrell from behind the net curtains. Maybe she should invest in black out curtains or blinds as well. He’d backed off as far as the car and sat there watching the house. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine, you sound distracted. What’s up?”
Should she tell him? The idea rolled around in her mind for about ten seconds before she discarded it. She was a big girl. She could handle Farrell, especially now. She didn’t need Zander charging around and making things worse. “I dropped a glass on the floor and inadvertently trod on it. Got glass in my foot, which I have just hoicked out. I’m fine. I’m about to go clean up the mess in the kitchen.”
“OK. Well, I’ll pick you up in the morning, around eight, and we’ll go check out the photo and crime scene again.”
“Won’t we miss the morning briefing?”
“It’s fine. We’ll be working.” Zander paused. “Are you sure everything’s OK? What made you drop the glass?”
She heaved a sigh. She ought to be honest with him. “OK. Everything is fine aside from Farrell sitting outside the house watching me. He was lurking on the other side of the kitchen window and made me jump. So, yeah, I’m fine, life’s great, and my foot will heal. I have another one anyway.”
“You want me to come over?”
She laughed. “See, that’s why I didn’t tell you first off. I knew you’d say that. The house is secure. I’ll leave on all the lights, so he won’t know what room I’m in. And I’ll sleep with my phone and have your number on speed dial if you like.”
Zander harrumphed.
“Seriously, Zander. I’m a cop. I have this. I’ll see you in the morning. Night.” Isabel hung up and checked her foot. The blood seemed to have stopped. She pulled open the sideboard drawer and retrieved the packet of plasters. Sticking one onto her foot, she gently slid her feet into slippers, and spent ten minutes sweeping and mopping the kitchen floor. Once she was satisfied there was no glass lying in wait for an unsuspecting bare foot, she switched on every single light in the house.
The fan in the lounge whirred quietly as she curled up on the couch with the book she was currently reading. It was hot with the windows closed, but she had no choice. The peril of living on the ground floor was that open windows at night were an invitation to every thief in town. Not to mention stalker ex-boyfriends who couldn’t take go away and stay away at face value.
~*~
Zander pulled up outside Isabel’s house shortly after 7:00 AM. He glanced around for a stalker but didn’t see one. Berating himself as he ran up the path, he reached for the doorbell. He should have come regardless of her telling him not to.
The door opened. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting you to answer that quickly. Did you sleep at all or were you sat with your back to the door?”
“It’s too hot to sleep.” She yawned. “I think I dozed around four o’clock in the end. Of course, I blame the book I’m reading. It was too good to put down. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw Iona Kevane’s face.”
“Then let’s find out who did this and give her some justice. We’ll get breakfast on the way.”
“It’s seven o’clock in the morning. Nowhere will be open.”
He grinned. “I know somewhere that is. Do you have the photo?”
“I have a copy of it in my bag. Well it’s on my phone—as you insisted the new phone have a camera on it.”
“Come on, then.” He paused. “But you might want to get dressed first.”
She glanced down at her shorts and vest top. “Yeah, that might be a good idea.”
He nodded. “I’ll wait in the car.”
Fifteen minutes later, Zander parked on the High Street.
Before she opened the car door, Isabel glanced around, checking all directions.
He sighed. “You’re not still looking for him? Maybe we should file a restraining order?”
“That’s a little excessive. He’ll get the message. It’s just,” she shrugged, “I don’t know, it feels as if I’m being watched.”
“Yeah, well, you are. What time did he leave last night?” He wasn’t bothering to hide his concern. His mind was full of what he should have done instead of what he had done.
“I heard his car pull away around half past three.”
He nodded. “I’ve got your back. So, if he is out there, he’ll have to deal with me first.” He escorted her to the door of the Three Sixteen café and tugged on the handle. “After you.”
“Such a gentleman,” Isabel teased.
Paula Jackson, proprietor, raised an eyebrow. “This is early even for you, Zander.”
He smirked. “I woke with a craving for bacon, and it’s too hot to cook.”
She laughed. “You got that right. The day will be another scorcher. What can I get you?”
“English breakfast, I think. The full works, and at least three coffees, please.” His stomach wouldn’t take anything less, the way it had been grumbling since his morning run at five. And he needed a huge infusion of caffeine to cope with what the day would bring. He wasn’t sure three would be enough. “What about you, partner?”
Isabel studied the menu. “Bacon, sausage, and egg with a pot of tea, please.”
Paula nodded. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring it over. Maybe I’ll just bring you the entire coffee pot.”
“That sounds like a plan.” Zander reached for his wallet, but Paula waved it away. He angled his head. “I’m not taking charity.”
“It isn’t charity. Last customer we had last night paid in advance for two meals—the first two cops to come in. And you two are the first.”
Warmth spread through him. There was some good in the world after all. “Will you thank him for me next time you see him?”
“Sure will.”
Zander guided Isabel to a table by the wall. “That’s a first for me,” he said.
“We had a box of biscuits left on the patrol car once, with a note saying, ‘thank you for keeping us safe’. Looked like a child had written it. Needless to say, they went down well with the tea.”
The door opened, and a young brunette rushed in.
Paula pointedly looked at the clock. “You’re late, Brit.”
“I overslept. Sorry. I’ll stay late to make it up.”
“OK. Go give Trevor a hand in the kitchen with the breakfasts.”
Zander turned back to Isabel. “Maybe you should drink coffee. I have to keep you awake somehow.”
She shook her head. “This early in the day, coffee sends me hyper. And you really don’t want that.”
Paula brought over a pot of tea and a full coffee pot. “Here you go. Food won’t be long.”
“Thank you.” Zander poured coffee into one of the cups and inhaled deeply. “Can’t beat coffee first thing in the morning.”
“Sure, you can.” Isabel waved the teapot at him. “It’s called tea.”
“I was thinking. Maybe you shouldn’t interview Farrell Vixen this morning. I’ll ring Dominic Higgins in a bit and get h
im to come in at ten, as well. You can interview him, and I’ll take care of your ex-boyfriend.”
“On my own?” Worry flickered on her face for an instant before she hid it.
“You’ll be fine. But I can get someone to sit in. However, I want you to lead the interview.”
She stirred the tea. “Throwing me to the wolves?”
“Nah, just in at the deep end. Sink or swim.”
“Thanks. I think.” She sipped the tea. “So, did you get hold of your grandfather’s housing association?”
Zander drained the cup and refilled it. “Yes. The man I spoke to assured me the lifts would be fixed yesterday.” Not that he believed them for a second. He’d heard that line once too often. “I want to go and check.”
“I was about to suggest that. He still needs to be on the ground floor.”
“Yeah, well, they can’t, or won’t do that. Nor will he move in with me. He doesn’t want to cramp my style.”
Isabel laughed. “Are you a closet party animal or something?”
“I must be. So secret, even I don’t know.” He paused. “Not sure he likes Rosa, if I’m honest. We’re not living together, before you ask, but she’s over most evenings if neither of us is working late.”
“What doesn’t he like about her?” She tilted her head, studying him. “She didn’t seem that bad to me.”
“Oh, he hasn’t said anything directly, but…” He broke off as the food arrived. “Thank you, Brit.”
She smiled, looking tidier than she had when she arrived. “You’re welcome. If you need anything else, just shout.”
Zander turned his attention back to Isabel. “Do you mind if I say grace?”
A smile lit her eyes. “Of course not. I’d be worried if you didn’t.”
He grinned and prayed over the food. Then he picked up his knife and fork. The enticing scent of the full English breakfast made his stomach growl in anticipation.
“Gran would say that’s a heart attack on a plate.”
“I don’t eat it often enough for that.” Zander cut into his egg, sending yellow yolk oozing into the bacon. “Plus, with the amount of running I do, my heart’s fine. Can you pass the ketchup, please?”
Isabel handed him the bottle. “You run?”
“Two miles every morning. At least. Sometimes more, depending on the weather.”
“Whatever time are you up?” She paused with the fork at her lips. “Because you were ringing my doorbell at 7:00 AM.”
“Five usually, and out the door by five-fifteen. This morning I left at five. You should try it.”
“Running or getting up at five?” she asked.
Talking with his mouth full would end up with a fork across the knuckles and being sent away from the table when he was a kid, so he finished chewing first. “Both.”
“I run for the bus almost every morning. Does that count?”
“Hardly.” He shook his head and eyed her. “Although you must work out. Or not eat, and I know the latter isn’t true.”
“I play squash sometimes, but other than that, not really. Mind you, I have no one to play with.”
“Tell you what.” He covered a piece of sausage with egg yolk. “How about I play you at squash and you return the favour.”
Suspicion clouded her gaze. “What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing horrid, I promise. Table tennis.”
Isabel’s lips twitched. Was the woman laughing at him? This would be why he’d never told anyone.
“Table tennis?”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. It can be pretty exhausting if played properly.”
She nodded. “OK. You’re on.”
~*~
Isabel climbed out of the car. Crime scene tape fluttered in the cool breeze. She pulled a band from her pocket and tied back her hair. As much as she hated being driven anywhere, she had to admit it was faster and more direct than a bus. Never mind easier and more convenient. No hanging around and changing three or four times to get anywhere. There was just no way she would take lessons again. Ever.
“Let’s see the photo,” Zander said, holding out a hand.
Isabel handed him her phone. “It’s the only photo on there. We need to be able to see the pub, cinema, and the viaduct. Can’t be that many places where we can do that.”
Zander nodded. “From the main road perhaps?”
They climbed the winding path from the cinema car park to the road and walked the short distance to the bridge over the river.
Isabel stopped. “Here. That’s it.”
Zander stood beside her, comparing the photo to the view.
She turned around. “Directly opposite the garage. Perhaps their CCTV picked something up.”
“Maybe. Although this photo could have been taken at any time in the last month.”
“I guess. But I was thinking more of the body being left there.”
“Worth checking. Looking at the light on the trees, this photo was taken in the morning.”
“Mmmm.” Something triggered in her mind. “Stay here, I want to check something.” She headed back to the path.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll be back. Just don’t move.” She trotted down the path and jogged through the car park. Reaching the path to the riverside, she slowed up a little. The dew had made the ground underfoot slightly slippery. Something they hadn’t taken into consideration before. She ducked under the crime scene tape and made her way to where the body was found.
Isabel glanced up. Zander was clearly visible leaning on the parapet above her, albeit facing the opposite direction. She raised a hand. “Zander!”
He turned. “What are you doing?”
“You can see me, then?”
“As you failed to put on your invisibility cloak, yeah. Why?”
“Because this is where the body was found. Move a little to your right for me.”
Zander took three steps and raised an eyebrow. “More?”
“That’s perfect.” Isabel grimaced. “Exactly what I thought. We need to go check that CCTV now. I’m in direct line of sight of the garage.”
8
Zander dropped his jacket onto the back of his chair and headed past his desk to DI Holmes office. He tapped on the door, loathe to interrupt DI Holmes and DS Philips who were deep in conversation, but he didn’t want Isabel and Farrell in the same room if it could be avoided. “Guv, can I have a minute?”
DI Holmes looked up. “Sure.”
“It’s more of a favour, actually. We’ve got Farrell Vixen coming in for a formal interview in a bit, and I don’t want Isabel anywhere near him.”
“Oh? I thought things were over between them.”
“They are, but he…” Zander broke off, not sure how to phrase things.
“Go on.” DI Holmes raised a brow.
“He turned up at her place last night. Hassled her. Parked outside for hours, just watching the house. I suggested she get a restraining order, but she says he’ll get the hint without that, eventually. She also fed me the ‘I’m a cop, I can handle him’ line. So, I’ll interview him if you or the Sarge would sit in with Isabel while she leads Dominic Higgins’s interview.”
“Don’t you trust her to do it alone?” DS Philips asked.
“Of course, I do, Sarge. It’s just… She’s kind of been thrown in at the deep end with this. First murder, first post-mortem, and so on.”
“It’s not a problem,” DI Holmes said. “Dane, you sit in with Isabel and I’ll take Mr. Vixen with Zander.”
Isabel tapped on the door frame. “Zander, the front desk just rang up. Farrell and Mr. Higgins have arrived.”
He smiled. “OK. You and the Sarge have Mr. Higgins while the Guv and I take Farrell.”
She tried not to laugh. “Where are you taking him?”
Zander winked. “Well, a long walk off a short pier springs to mind, but the Guv is right behind me, and murder is illegal, so I won’t say that.”
She l
aughed and handed him a file. “I made copies of all the notes on the burglary so far, so we each have one.”
“That is so efficient of you. How did I ever manage before being partnered with you?”
“You didn’t. And yeah, I can be efficient. Sometimes. Not planning on making a habit of it. Have to keep you on your toes.”
He chuckled. “Guv, we’ll see you downstairs. Using the front interview rooms if they’re free.”
DI Holmes nodded. “Sure.”
Zander headed down the corridor with Isabel. “And before you say anything, Isabel, the only reason I didn’t want you interviewing Farrell is because I don’t trust him alone with you.”
“Then why didn’t you stick with the original plan and leave Farrell and Dominic’s interviews staggered so we could interview them together?”
Zander shrugged. “Because it’s probably better for you if you’re not in the same room with him…ever…whether I’m there or not. Besides, I think your feminine touch would work well on Dominic. Get him to open up a little more.”
She gave him a sideways look. “Are you and DI Holmes planning to play good cop bad cop with Farrell?”
He tried to look innocent but failed abysmally if the glare she gave him was anything to go by. “As if we would.” He pushed open the door to the stairs. “I would race you down, but I don’t have the energy.”
She snorted. “You poor, old man. Maybe you’d rather we take the lift instead.” She scampered off.
He shook his head. He’d created a monster, but this Isabel was already so different from the mouse who’d started working with him last week. Just proved the old adage, give someone an inch and they’d take a mile. But he wasn’t complaining. He liked the woman she was becoming and enjoyed the verbal banter and easy way they’d fallen into with each other. He trotted down the stairs behind her, deliberately letting her win.
At the foot of the stairs, Isabel held the door open. “What kept you?”
He pretended to be out of breath. “Old age.” He grinned. “You too will be twenty-eight one day.”
