“That you saw what?” Jane Corby put in, her voice harsh, and Reilly flashed her a quelling look.
“That her clothes were dry, the sand was dry. She was too far above the tide line to have drowned and been washed up. And then I saw the blood -she’d had her throat cut. And the rose. There was a red rose… It’s the Slasher, isn’t it?” Ellie whispered, her huge blue eyes fixed on Reilly’s face, her own face bloodless. “It’s his style, and right after the new resort opened...could we really have been wrong?”
“I think it’s a little soon to make judgments like that.” Reilly stood up and walked to the window that overlooked the cliffs and the sea. Ellie remembered his habit of prowling around during interviews. “Where were you yesterday evening?”
“What? What has that to do with anything?”
“Time of death has been roughly estimated at close to midnight last night, although it’s an on site guestimate, given the season and the temperature of the sand and the winds from the sea…
“I know how time of death is estimated,” Ellie snapped. “If you have to know, I met with a prospective employer, a partner in an American security company, in the early evening. We met at the Turk’s Head in Leeds and discussed his proposition over a drink. I would have been with him from about 5 - 6 pm. I walked back to the multi-storey car park and then drove all the way from Leeds to Whitby, stopping at the CrossRoads Café for a late supper with a …a friend. It was nearly 11:00 when I got home, alone, and went straight to bed. I do, however, have the parking ticket receipt somewhere if you need to see it, and about twenty people saw me at the café. “
“You’re thinking of moving to the States?”
“That’s relevant to this inquiry?”
Reilly swallowed. No, of course it wasn’t relevant. He just wanted to know…at least that explained Jay Richards’ reference to the ‘rich lover.’ “It’s important that you don’t leave the area for the time being. Now, the name of the man you met?”
“The man…?”
“That you met at the Turk’s Head…unless there was more than one?”
Ellie clenched her fists behind her back, her nails digging into her palms. “Jed Rutledge. He’s a senior partner in Rutledge Securities, based in Atlanta. I have his business card with his contact details if you want it.”
“That won’t be necessary right now, but I would like to see your parking ticket. And the friend you had supper with?”
“Brad Scott.”
She couldn’t read the expression in his dark eyes; it just seemed that every look he directed toward her was colder than the last.
“And will Mr. Scott vouch for you?”
“Of course. He lives in the next cottage along. And Sue-Anne and Larry Darnley, who own the CrossRoads, would remember that I was there if you need that much confirmation.”
Reilly ignored the sting in her tone. “Returning to this morning. Did you see anyone else on the beach?”
“No, no-one.”
“And had you seen anyone else this morning?”
“No, well, only...”
She was interrupted by raised voices outside.
“I want to see Ms. Fitzpatrick!” a familiar voice demanded, and Reilly nodded to his sergeant. “The more the merrier,” he muttered under his breath, casting a glance at Ellie. He was swamped by bittersweet memories, and fighting a furious battle to stop himself speculating about whether she was naked under that robe. Any distraction from these thoughts was welcome, but the relief was quickly dispelled and replaced with a tight knot of anger.
A fair-haired, suntanned man in expensive casual clothes strode into the room, pushing past Jane Corby and going straight to Ellie, hugging her to him protectively. “Ellie! What the hell’s going on? There are police everywhere.”
“Brad...I...”
“Ms. Fitzpatrick has had the unfortunate experience of finding a body on the beach,” Reilly cut in smoothly, “And you, sir, are…?”
“Brad Scott - Ellie’s fiancé and next door neighbor,” Brad said, squaring off against this intruder, “And who might you be?”
“Superintendent Liam Reilly and this is Sergeant Jane Corby, from the North West Task Force out of Leeds HQ.” Reilly flashed his warrant card, and replaced it in his breast pocket. So Ellie had a fiancé? What a busy girl she’d been in the past six months…
“Can you tell me where you were earlier this morning, sir?” he asked, and neither Ellie nor Brad missed the sarcastic emphasis.
“This seems like a lot of manpower for a drowning.”
“Just answer the question, sir,” Reilly said, his face hard.
“I was here, of course, first thing...” Ellie stared at Brad, her face hot. How dare he give the impression that he’d been here all night? Before she could protest, he went on. “We were just about to sit down to breakfast - it was kind of a celebration, you see...” He hugged Ellie tight against him as he spoke, and Ellie’s temper flared at the contemptuous glance Reilly flicked her way. “Anyway, I got a call from my boss saying he was sending an important fax, so I went back to my cottage to check it over. Ellie doesn’t have a fax machine here,” he added unnecessarily, as Reilly’s curious gaze took in Ellie’s living accommodation. “I keep telling her it’s time she joined the 21st century, but...” Brad gave a shrug that said, ‘You know what women can be like, with their cute little idiosyncrasies.’ Furious, Ellie shrugged away his arm and gave him a murderous look.
But Reilly’s glance now rested on the small kitchen table. It was obviously set for two, and looked so elegant. A romantic breakfast for lovers. Ellie saw his lips tighten in a thin line as he took a world of meaning from Brad’s words and the simple table setting. Too bad - believe whatever you like. She turned her back and looked out of the window toward the sea.
“And what route did you take back to your cottage, which is where?” Reilly’s voice was layered with studied courtesy.
Brad pointed. “I live over there, down the lane and along the roadway - there’s a shorter route, along the cliff-top but it’s a rough path. I didn’t pop down to the beach and murder someone, if that’s what you had in mind!”
“Murder, sir? But a moment ago you appeared to assume there’d been a drowning?” Reilly pounced.
Brad gave an exaggerated sigh. “That wasn’t a guilty thought, Superintendent. I’m not stupid. I know the police don’t bring out their big guns for a simple drowning!” Anger and frustration echoed in his voice, and Ellie felt momentary pity for him. She’d seen Reilly in action before. Brad hadn’t.
“I don’t think we’ve exactly brought out guns, sir.”
“You understood me,” Brad snapped back, anger flushing his face.
“Yes, sir, yes, indeed. I think I understand you very well.” Turning to Ellie, he commented: “So, Ms. Fitzpatrick, at least I can see I’m leaving you in capable hands.” The words might have been informal and friendly, but they dripped with a sarcasm that was for Ellie’s hearing alone. “I have to ask both of you to keep yourselves available in case we need to speak to you further.”
“Sure, okay, but I may have to leave again for Paris at short notice,” Brad said importantly.
“But you’ve only just come back!” Ellie knew Reilly caught the plaintive note in her voice, but she didn’t want to lose Brad’s stolid support.
“Sorry, love, that call was to say the other company is ready to talk turkey…”
“You’re involved in agriculture?” Reilly asked innocently, and Ellie caught the mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Do I look like a farmer?” Brad retorted, smoothing the fine cloth of his designer jacket.
“Nothing wrong with farming,” Reilly said reasonably, raising one dark eyebrow at Ellie as he spoke. She knew that his family had been of Irish farming stock. His mother had been the only one to leave the land when she’d married an American serviceman. Despite herself, Ellie suppressed a grin.
“I’m involved in publishing, book promotions, that sort of
thing. We’re negotiating a sale to a Paris-based firm,” Brad said, and Reilly flicked him a curious glance.
“Very well, sir, but you must notify us of your travel plans and contact information.” Then, with a curt nod, Reilly walked out of the cottage as briskly as he’d left her in that Before Crash and Burn time.
“That wasn’t the Liam Reilly, was it?” Brad asked as the door closed behind the two police officers.
“Oh, yes, that was the Liam Reilly, alive and in the flesh,” Ellie replied, peeking out of the window at the departing police car.
“I thought he’d gone to the States?”
“So did I,” Ellie said ruefully. “So did I.”
“Whew, I’d hate to be on his list of suspects,” Brad told her.
“Sorry to disillusion you, Brad, yet to Reilly everyone is a suspect - with the possible exception of his own mother. And sometimes I’m not even sure of that.”
Brad grinned. “Well, he made it pretty plain he didn’t like me much.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. I think he liked you fine - he’s really rude to people he dislikes.”
Brad looked at her, his expression incredulous, then they both burst out laughing, temporarily breaking the tension that had racked Ellie since she’d made that awful discovery on the beach.
****
“That wasn’t the Ellie Fitzpatrick, was it, sir?” Jane Corby ventured to ask her superior as they strode down to the crime scene again, “The one who was in on the Slasher case?”
“Yes, Jane. That was the Ellie Fitzpatrick,” Reilly replied wearily, trying to ignore the tightness in his belly as he remembered how Ellie’s robe had slipped, exposing the soft pale skin of her breasts. The pounding at his temples heralded another headache.
“Did you notice the copy of ‘Justice Denied’ on her coffee table?” Jane continued. Reilly didn’t bother to answer. Of course he’d seen the book - something that big and new stood out in Ellie’s tiny but tidy living room. Briefly he wondered why she was living in this out-of-the-way spot. He guessed this was her family’s summer cottage but, along with the worn furnishings, it seemed so unlike the fastidious Ellie he’d known. Did she have no money? Was it some sort of self-punishment trip? You’d think her rich lover would provide better for his mistress, Reilly thought bitterly, remembering Jay Richards’ nasty insinuations. The American must have been the one Richards saw with Ellie—Brad Scott would hardly qualify as an elderly, poncy lover, even in Richards’ vicious little mind. And where the hell did Scott fit into all this? He’d described himself as Ellie’s fiancé, but her body language and expression hadn’t been consistent with that claim.
“Jane, would you run a check on Scott? I think there may be more there than meets the eye.”
“Yes, sir. And, sir - I mean - is it all right for you to go ahead?” Jane had to hurry to keep up with his lengthening stride.
“Exactly what do you mean by that, Sergeant?” There was warning in his voice, but she’d already gone too far to stop.
“It was just, well, I’d heard that you and Ms. Fitzpatrick were...involved, sir,” Jane pressed on bravely, “I just wondered if you should declare an interest.”
“Why? I have no interest. That was a long time ago, and you should be careful what you believe when you listen to station gossip,” Reilly told her coldly. The red-haired woman glanced at the hard expression on his face and decided to hold her tongue. All the same, she was looking forward to meeting some of her colleagues in the pub for a chat soon. Jane Corby was an ambitious woman, and if the path upward involved scrambling over the faces of her superiors, then so be it. That was the way of the world.
Resort to Murder
CHAPTER THREE
As soon as Reilly left, Ellie went into her room to dress in comfortable old jeans and a soft blue cotton sweater that suited the mild sunny day. She needed some time alone to gather her tumultuous thoughts into some kind of order but her heart sank when she emerged to discover that Brad put on coffee and set the croissants out on the table. He obviously intended to turn their breakfast into brunch.
How can he expect me to go on with the day as if nothing has happened? It didn’t help that she was guiltily aware that Brad’s passionate kiss failed to move her remotely like the heated rush that had engulfed her when she’d opened her door to find Liam Reilly standing there. Damn Reilly!
Brad quickly became aware of her abstraction, and cheerful chatter about his recent weekend visit to Paris, his descriptions of the sights and sounds of France’s capital city dwindled into hurt silence. Finally, he pushed away a half-eaten breakfast pastry and announced he would walk along to the small store near the CrossRoads Café for a newspaper.
Alone at last, Ellie put the kettle on for a cup of rosehip tea and curled up with her own thoughts on the small settee that faced the open patio doors framing the seascape outside. The sounds of children playing on the beach below the cliff, the muted wash of waves over sand and patches of small, bright pebbles, the strange sad cries of the gulls as they soared and dived, all drifted up to where Ellie sat staring out at the sea. The quiet sounds and muted sea-colors, reminiscent of her childhood, usually soothed her, something that had first drawn her back to the cottage. But the sea music failed to calm her today.
She was furious at letting Reilly get under her skin. There had been an article in the police professional newsletter, saying Yorkshire’s star cop had been seconded to a force in the States. Why wasn’t he there now instead of back working in Leeds, in charge of the Sunshine Slasher review investigation and the North West Special Crimes Task Force? Ellie doubted she could face bumping into him every day as she went about her duties in the Sunshine Slasher review. No, her heart couldn’t take that. She was actually reaching for the telephone to call Harris with her resignation - better that than put her sanity in jeopardy with Reilly around - when anger flashed through her. Why should she be the one to give up her plans, just to avoid a man who’d already jerked her around? Where’s your backbone, lady? she asked herself, trying to ignore how her body clamored to remember. And her heart. Yes, that as well.
She got up and prowled around the small space. She’d have to explain to Brad about the review and her reinstatement. He knew why she’d been suspended, knew she intended to quit the force as soon as Harris would accept her resignation. Endearingly, he’d raged against the injustice of it all on her behalf. She guessed he would not like the idea of her returning. On the coffee table, the dull, brutal face of the serial killer staring up at her from the back cover of “Justice Denied” made her shudder. Maybe she wasn’t ready for all this. Ellie knuckled away the tears that rose unbidden to her eyes.
“Damn them! Damn them all!” She swore at the empty room. Yet when she closed her eyes Reilly’s face with the dark, intense gaze, and the stubborn chin over which she’d loved to run her fingers, seemed painted on her eyelids, mocking her.
“You really are in a mood.” Brad spoke from the doorway, his expression hidden in the shadows. She hadn’t even heard him return. He came in, depositing the newspaper on the tiled kitchen counter before moving to stand behind the settee, his hands massaging the tense muscles in Ellie’s shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Brad—it’s been a hell of a morning and I’m exhausted. I keep seeing that poor woman’s body…” Ellie caught his hands in hers, trying to quell the prickle of guilt she felt for all but ignoring him. She relaxed and raised her face for the comfort of a kiss.
He bent over to kiss her upturned face, his lips lingering on hers, gently and persuasively. His message was obvious and warming but it only made Ellie feel sad. She slid her lips from his and rested her head against his shoulder.
“You’ve got a copy of ‘Justice Denied’?” He asked, seeing his eyes on the fat book sitting on Ellie’s coffee table. “Have you read it yet?”
“No, I guess it’s bedtime reading. Brad, we have to talk…”
Brad interrupted her with a grin, his fingers caressing h
er hair. “If that’s your bedtime reading, you won’t be doing much else for a while,” he quipped. “So let’s have another cup of coffee to keep your strength up! We’ve a busy evening ahead of us, too.”
“Oh, no—the Darnley’s party!” The words tumbled from her lips before she’d time to consider, and she was shocked at the angry look that passed over Brad’s face.
“You forgot we were going together?” His voice was laced with injury, and Ellie’s conscience pricked her again.
She stammered yet another apology. “I’ll tell you all about it after I get us both a cup of coffee. Just warm the leftover croissants,” she promised, putting her arms around his neck and summoning up a smile. Brad responded eagerly, his lips seeking the sensitive spots below her earlobes. She surrendered herself up to the sheer pleasure of being held and loved, but when Brad’s desire tightened against her she hurriedly stepped away. Minutes later, she had the small round table top between her and Brad, picking at a tender, butter-rich croissant and trying to ignore her stomach’s revolt.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll feel up to the party, not after this morning,” she said, wishing she could cry off tactfully with an excuse of tiredness, but not wanting to cause further offence. She knew Brad had been looking forward to going out.
“We could always stay home.” Brad’s good-natured expression was back, and the hand that rubbed the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist conveyed a world of meaning. His innuendo flustered her, and a tide of crimson flowed up over her ivory skin from her neck to her cheeks. “You look gorgeous when you blush,” Brad said, bringing her hand up to his mouth and kissing it.
“Yeah, but I’ll be no good at all if I fade away from hunger.” Ellie spoke lightly, pushing him slowly but firmly away. She couldn’t help herself. His every move toward her made her want to escape. Brad’s eyes narrowed with disappointment - but he wasn’t finished yet.
Resort to Murder Page 3
