by Alison Bruce
She hesitated as though the question had caught her off-guard and she now needed a moment to consider it. He threw a couple of potential dates into the silence, and she tentatively suggested meeting the following week.
‘I’d like that,’ she added, ‘but I won’t hold you to it. You can ring me.’
‘I’ll do that.’
She levelled her gaze on him, the corners of her mouth curling into a smile as she tried to look serious. ‘Now let me get back to work.’
‘Thank you very much, Karen.’ Donna pretended to be cross but she didn’t look at all annoyed.
‘So? What happened?’
‘It was weird. One minute it was awkward, and the next minute we just clicked. He’s really nice, and he’s split up with that girl. He says he doesn’t want anything serious now, and I said neither did I.’
‘Liar.’
‘There’s no need to rush, is there?’
‘Well, it doesn’t sound like you’re hanging around too much from what you’ve said so far.’ Karen looked at Donna’s smug expression. ‘Is that it, then?’ she asked, knowing for sure that it wasn’t.
‘I was really casual about it, but I mentioned the cinema next Friday. I said there would be a few of us going, and it’d be fine if he wanted to come along. I wasn’t being pushy, which is why I said next week. I was just friendly, and he said “maybe”. Then he rang down once he got back to his desk. Said he’d love to. So we’re meeting for a drink first and taking it from there.’
‘Well, let’s hope he doesn’t live with his mum!’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll practise safe sex. Safely back at my place!’
CHAPTER 30
MONDAY, 2 MAY 2011
Andy Burrows liked to see people when he spoke to them. He used his phone to ring for a pizza, or check on his mother, but anything more crucial could only be face to face.
So Andy didn’t make use of Goodhew’s mobile number; instead he carried the piece of paper to the police station in his breast pocket, and plucked it out as he waited for the desk sergeant. He needed to make sure he was asking for the young detective by precisely the right name.
‘Goodhew?’ Sergeant Norris squinted at him over half-moon spectacles. ‘I’ll find out,’ he said and picked up the phone to call the incident room. ‘No reply. I’ll try again in a few minutes. Take a seat.’
Burrows sat down on one of the six black, almost vandal-proof metal seats. Messages had been scraped into the paintwork of the one on his right. The tiny engraved letters fitted neatly between the punched-out diamond shapes.
Fucking Pigs.
He looked away. He wondered whether the diamond-shaped holes were for decoration or just to save on metal. Or perhaps it made them easier to wash down.
Sergeant Norris tried another number, and Clark answered the call. ‘Is Goodhew up there?’
‘Not in at present. Don’t know what he’s doing right now. D’you want me to find out?’
Norris pressed his glasses against the bridge of his nose. ‘Well that might help, don’t you think?’
Clark grunted, rested the receiver on the desk and peered over the filing cabinet to speak to Kincaide. ‘I’ve got Doris on the phone, and he wants Goodhew.’
Kincaide frowned. ‘Well, he’s not here, is he? Ask him what it’s about.’
Clark grunted again and picked up the receiver once more. ‘Kincaide wants to know what you want Goodhew for.’
‘I don’t want him, but there’s a Mr Burrows down here, and he doesn’t want to talk to anyone else.’
‘Hang on.’ Clark covered the mouthpiece. ‘That Andrew Burrows is down there. Doesn’t want to talk to anyone else.’
At that, Kincaide’s head popped up over the partition. ‘Yes, well he’ll have to. Tell Doris to tell him Goodhew’s on his way, and not to let Burrows leave.’ Clark removed his hand from the receiver, but Kincaide butted in. ‘Forget it. Just give me the phone.’ He grabbed it from Clark and barked out his instructions personally.
Sergeant Norris hesitated for a moment. What Kincaide said was reasonable enough; it was the way that he spoke that put Norris’ back up.
‘I said don’t let him leave. Have you got it?’ ordered Kincaide and he slammed the receiver down. He sprang back over to his desk, swept up his notepad, pen and mobile phone. ‘If anyone wants me, take a message and I’ll get back to them,’ he called over his shoulder as he strode towards the door.
‘Yeah, OK,’ muttered Clark. ‘What am I now? A sodding secretary?’
Kincaide guessed Andy Burrows had some new information. Why else would he be here? And he guessed it was something of a delicate nature, as people found it easy to confide in Goodhew.
He opened the door to the waiting room, where Andy Burrows was busy chewing his thumbnail while trying to have a sly read of the graffiti under the notice board. He turned in dismay towards Kincaide’s firm greeting: ‘Mr Burrows.’
Kincaide did his best approximation of a warm smile, but Andy’s face fell further, then he set his jaw determinedly. ‘I wanted to speak to Detective Goodhew.’
Kincaide relaxed; this was going to be easy. He held the door open. ‘He’ll be down in a minute. He’s on the phone just now. Come on through.’
Andy’s mouth relaxed into a smile and he trotted along behind Kincaide to Interview Room 3.
Kincaide left Burrows alone for the best part of an hour. Kincaide kept an eye on the time, picturing Burrows chewing his nails and generating a warm fug of BO, as the time ticked by.
By the time he returned, Burrows looked relieved to see him.
Clark slid into the room next, and into the vacant chair next to Kincaide.
Kincaide leant across the desk and addressed Andy Burrows face on, beginning with a quiet apology. ‘Unfortunately Detective Goodhew decided not to join us, but we’ve got all night, Mr Burrows, so take your time.’
By now, Andy Burrows wondered what difference it would make anyway. They were all trained the same, weren’t they?
CHAPTER 31
WEDNESDAY, 4 MAY 2011
After weeks of getting nowhere, DI Marks’ news should have come as a relief.
He’d gathered them all together in the incident room. Clark and Kincaide sat closest to him, on chairs pulled side by side; the others sat in a large arc spread across the room.
Except for Goodhew.
He sat on his desk, leaning against the wall and staring at Marks; present only in body, but trying very hard to coax his reluctant brain back into the room.
Marks addressed them generally, switching his attention between each of them in turn, but never letting it settle on Goodhew, probably because he’d already spotted the mutinous look on his subordinate’s face and therefore wasn’t prepared to be distracted by it.
Marks continued, ‘We have proof that Kaye Whiting was in her uncle’s car on the afternoon she disappeared, the twenty-sixth of March 2011. Yesterday we also received two independent confirmations of him drinking heavily whilst in the Anchor at Woodbridge on that Saturday afternoon.’
Goodhew’s thoughts drifted again. Perhaps he had become just too sympathetic towards Margaret Whiting and her family, and there was a small part of him that felt irritated that Michael Kincaide should have made the arrest.
Gully turned her head sideways and caught his eye. She pressed her lips into a cheerless smile and shrugged. He returned the smile and shook his head sadly. Burrows had yet to be charged and Goodhew couldn’t accept the idea that the man was guilty.
He reminded himself that the evidence so far was largely circumstantial, but still compelling. The second birthday card that Kaye had purchased – the one that read Happy Birthday, Mother – had later been given to Edna by Burrows, and was proof that Burrows had had contact with Kaye during or after her trip to Woodbridge. Proof, therefore, that Burrows had lied. Now, by his own admission, Burrows accepted that he was to blame for Kaye’s death, in a statement albeit too incomplete to be considered a proper confession. Ad
d to that the independent witnesses who could confirm that Burrows had appeared both drunk and bad-tempered just prior to his meeting with Kaye, and it seemed as though it would only be a matter of time before charges were pressed.
Goodhew asked himself what reason he had to complain that such leads had converted into an arrest.
He stared out of the window beyond Marks. Students lazed on Parker’s Piece, reading books while catching snatches of warm sunshine. They drank Coke and played their iPods, oblivious to the dirty tune of murder playing in Goodhew’s ears.
Where had he himself taken any other line of investigation?
Nowhere, that was where.
The best he had come up with was one anonymous caller and a feeling that she knew something. Maybe that was just his wishful thinking, too.
He’d been enjoying working with Gully, though. He liked her sense of humour, and the way she cared about everyone’s feelings. He even liked the way she ate too many Jaffa Cakes, but none of those were reason to give undue weight to the fact that she remained convinced those anonymous calls were relevant.
‘Sir?’ he interrupted, and everyone turned.
‘What if she’d been found alive? She would have identified her uncle.’
Kincaide replied, ‘If she’d been found she could have identified anyone.’
‘But she knew her uncle well. And what was his motive?’
‘We haven’t established that fully,’ Marks replied, ‘but it appears that something spontaneous blew up between them while they were on the way home. Andrew Burrows has admitted responsibility, and we’ll continue gathering evidence, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s just a matter of time before he tells us the rest.’
After a few more minutes, Marks shuffled his notes together and threw his plastic cup into the bin: sure signs that he was winding up the meeting.
Goodhew slipped back into his office chair and took the photo of Kaye Whiting from the top of his desk. He opened his top drawer and placed it face-up in the largest compartment of his empty pen tray. She didn’t look dead, she seemed so bright and fresh. He closed the drawer again, reminding himself to visit Margaret Whiting once more.
Not that he’d forget.
‘Something bothering you, Goodhew?’ Marks hovered over Goodhew’s desk.
Gary shook his head. ‘It’s not what I expected. I was just sure it wasn’t Burrows.’
Marks said nothing, but then he didn’t need to point out the stupidity of Goodhew’s comment. There was no one who ever really knew the limits of another’s behaviour, no way of determining the circumstances that could push the average person to kill.
‘But I’m not the best judge of people sometimes, sir.’
‘None of us are, Gary.’ He smiled genially. ‘I noticed that your leave was booked for this week. It doesn’t need to be cancelled, now we appear to be winding this up. I know you’re bang up to date with your paperwork. Just.’
‘But he hasn’t been charged yet.’
‘Whatever happens, we can manage.’
‘I don’t mind staying on.’
‘I do, Gary, and I expect your girlfriend minds too. Where are you taking her, anyway?’
Mention of her name conjured up a fleeting memory of her bare suntanned back and the scent of her Ghost perfume. ‘Nowhere, sir. I was just going off to the coast with a mate. He’s gone already.’
‘Well, I’m not going to stand here arguing with you. Take your leave or I’ll assign you to two weeks on Crime Prevention. All those little old ladies would love you.’
CHAPTER 32
THURSDAY, 5 MAY 2011
The laziest of Hawaiian waves lapped the shore just feet from their restaurant table, and to Bryn it seemed that the sun was only a stone’s throw away as it tumbled like a giant slow-motion pompom into the Pacific.
Nadine glowed in the reflection of the incandescent sunset. Her hair was clipped back and adorned with fresh orchids, and hundreds more were woven into the lei that was draped from her bare shoulders.
Bryn reached across and squeezed her hand. ‘I’m glad we met.’
‘Well,’ she laughed, ‘you’d have been pretty lonely here if we hadn’t.’
‘And so would you!’ he retorted. ‘You’ve seen nothing of your friend since she met that dentist bloke.’
‘But that’s hardly surprising, Bryn,’ she said. ‘This is just about the most romantic place you could imagine, isn’t it?’
He gazed deep into her eyes for what he estimated was the requisite time and tried not to notice that she vaguely resembled his sister Shelly. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with having a holiday romance, is there?’
‘Not at all,’ she beamed, and lowered her lashes. ‘But don’t move too fast. You’ve only been here a day!’ She curled slender fingers around her glass. ‘So how can you afford to stay here, really?’
A helicopter swooped above the bay, then swung round to land on the sand and drop a sole passenger.
‘I told you, my mate booked the holiday for him and his girlfriend. They’ve split up and now he’s had to work.’ Bryn realized how improbable it sounded, even as he said it.
She fluttered her eyelashes again. ‘No, really, stop teasing. No one works instead of coming here.’ She raised her glass. ‘I think you’re a millionaire looking for a girl who’s not after his money.’
Bryn raised his glass and clinked it against hers. ‘You found me out!’
The passenger waved thank-you as the helicopter’s blades beat faster and it rose above him and away from the beach, levitating to palm-tree height, then swinging back towards Honolulu.
He swung a small rucksack over his shoulder and turned towards the hotel. ‘Blimey!’ Bryn spluttered mid-sip. ‘It’s my mate, Gary.’
Nadine peered towards Goodhew. ‘The one who booked your holiday?’
‘Yup.’ Bryn grinned, waving with both arms. ‘That’s him.’
Gary waved back. He hopped over the low ornamental hedge and cut across the lawn.
‘And what does he do for a living?’ she wondered.
‘Police,’ he replied, and grinned at her obvious disappointment. ‘He’s not a millionaire either.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ She laughed.
A waitress ran to the patio doors and slid one across for Gary. ‘Aloha, Mr Goodhew, how are you?’
‘Aloha! I’m very well, thank you.’ He smiled and joined Bryn. ‘They’ve arrested her uncle.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday, no charges yet, but Marks told me to take my holiday.’
Bryn frowned as the waitress pointed him out to one of her colleagues. They both then waved. ‘Does that waitress know you?’
‘Not really.’ Goodhew waved back before turning to Bryn’s companion and shaking her hand.
Darkness had settled on Kauai, when Gary found Bryn leaning on the bar beside the pool. ‘Where’s your friend?’
‘Having a bath.’ Bryn slid a glass of Coke towards Gary and added more ice to his own. ‘Unfortunately she’s having it in her own room and I’m not invited.’
‘And no alcohol for either of us?’
Bryn shook his head and moved to a quiet spot near the water’s edge. He placed his glass on the bamboo table top and hovered next to his chair. ‘What’s going on, Gary?’ he whispered, thrusting his hands into his pockets and glaring at the floor.
Gary shrugged. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You said that Andy Burrows got arrested yesterday, so how did you manage to get halfway round the world so quickly? I don’t believe you’ve booked this holiday on police pay.’
Goodhew sighed and took the seat opposite. ‘I saved up,’ he lied.
‘Right. Chartered helicopters aren’t thrown in on package trips, and even the waitresses seem to know you.’
As Goodhew had spoken he realized how poor he was at even small untruths; so the only way to satisfy Bryn’s curiosity would be to give the honest if incomplete story. ‘I’ve been here a couple of times
before with my grandmother. It’s always been special to her, and it was to my grandad, so it’s a bit of family tradition. I thought it would be a special place to bring Claire.’
Bryn’s eyes widened. ‘You were going to propose?’
‘No, no. But I came here by myself once when I was at university.’
‘When you were dating her the first time?’
‘Exactly. She went home to her family at the end of our second year and I came here. I was sorry she’d missed it, so it seemed to be the right thing to do this time.’
‘But obviously not meant to be?’
Goodhew latched on to Bryn’s mildly sarcastic tone immediately. ‘You don’t do that fate and destiny stuff, Bryn, so what was that about?’
‘We had a deal on this holiday: no discussing work, or any women who aren’t within two hundred yards. If you’re breaking the rule, at least do me the favour of boring me with the whole story. She dumped you, right?’
‘No.’ Goodhew sipped his drink, then shook his head. ‘I ended it.’
‘What did she do?’
For someone with a self-declared avoidance of all things monogamous, Bryn was extremely persistent in his quest for details, and he made several random guesses before Goodhew stopped him.
‘It was going well, but I felt uncomfortable with her coming to my flat. I think she sensed it because she asked several times about spending the night there, but I always preferred to be at hers.’
Bryn shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’
‘Yeah, I thought so too, at first.’ Goodhew let out a long slow breath and spread his hands in an expansive gesture that seemed to say it all. ‘Then I booked this trip and …’ Finally, he shrugged too.
‘And what? “And …” doesn’t explain anything. You don’t like anyone going into your flat, not even your grandmother, as far as I can work out. So why are you surprised that you felt odd about having Claire there?’
