by Gytha Lodge
Zoe couldn’t help smiling. Maeve believed in positivity as decidedly as she believed in God, and her mantras to herself included determined repetitions of how much she loved herself and all those who scorned her. The trouble was that Maeve was not instinctively a patient and positive person, and no matter how many times she told herself all this stuff, there were times when a truer version of herself shone through: one that was fed up with everything and found other people both needy and irritating.
Victor, to Maeve’s right, was fiddling with the message stones that had been left out on the table. They were designed to be written on and put into a jar, but Victor was ignoring the pens and gathering a few stones into a pile. He looked as though he had a bad mood brewing. Which wasn’t really surprising. He’d apparently been gaming until past 4 A.M., and he was never great at social situations even when well rested.
Zoe dropped into the chair beside him, wondering what to say to snap him out of it. She couldn’t get him dancing, even if the band at the head of the room turned out to be half-decent. Victor never danced.
She felt weary. There had been a series of tense moments during the dinner. Gina’s cousin, a loud, self-important man of fifty, had watched Angeline pushing her plate of smoked salmon away, with a murmured “Too pink,” and said to her, “Come on! Eat up! Nobody likes a skinny girl!”
The effect on Angeline had been immediate and devastating. All the color had left her, and she’d risen and bolted from the room. Maeve had shaken her head at Zoe, a look of helplessness on her face, and Zoe had hurried out after Angeline. She’d found her in the toilets, crying in one of the cubicles, and it had taken twenty minutes to talk her into rejoining the party. By that time, the starters had been cleared and the beef Wellington that had replaced them was almost cold.
There had been a quiet ten minutes while they ate, and then Maeve had gone to talk to the bride and tripped on her heels, spraying red wine over a slim fortysomething woman in an ivory silk skirt and jacket. It had obviously made a mess, but the victim had, even after Maeve’s profuse apology, been spiteful and critical, refusing offers of help mopping up and declaring that it was ruined and needed paying for.
Maeve had finally snapped back, loudly, “So you’ve got wine on your dress. You don’t have to be a dick about it. Grow up and accept that things don’t always go the way you want, all right?”
Zoe had wanted so badly to high-five her friend as she’d stalked off, but given that the bride and groom’s table were staring, she’d had to suppress her glee. She’d caught Gina’s eye, though, and winked at her.
Victor had behaved himself throughout the dinner, and had even managed to engage Gina’s other cousin in a political discussion that remained friendly. He’d sat politely through the speeches and Zoe had been full of gratitude that he was keeping his temper in check.
Now, however, as she sat beside him, she felt a dropping sensation in her stomach. She knew the signs. He was sinking into a foul mood, and it was usually Zoe who dragged him back out of it. But even she wasn’t always successful, and trying to find ways of managing him could be exhausting.
Seizing on an obvious point of interest, she said, “Look at the bloody cake!” and stood.
Victor didn’t stand with her, so she went closer to the wonderful pink-and-white creation and took her phone out to photograph it. Gina had made it, she knew. God, she was good.
She kept expecting Victor to come over and join in, but he stayed put, and it was Felix who eventually appeared next to her. The silver fox, as the other waitresses liked to call him. He was one of their coffee-shop regulars, perpetually dapper and the most handsome man over fifty Zoe could think of. Zoe, like the other female baristas, had a habit of exchanging slightly flirty compliments with him, and the gallant way he responded always made it a high point of her day.
Seeing him here, even more suave than usual in a pale-gray suit and azure tie, she couldn’t help grinning at him. “Look at you, all handsome.”
“I was about to say the same,” he said, leaning in to hug her lightly. There was a smile on his face as he said, “You should consider wearing this stuff to work.”
“Ha, it’d be ruined within minutes,” she countered. “You have no idea how many spillages those black T-shirts hide.” She put a hand on his arm. “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t see you at the service.”
“I was late,” he said with the slightest hint of a sigh. “Tenant at the flat I own locked herself out, and then it turned out she hasn’t actually seen her keys in weeks and she’d just been keeping the door on the latch. Which meant I had to go and get a new lock and install it.” He shook his head. “I’m thinking of adding interview questions that cover levels of organization. And maybe a procrastination test.”
“Ooh, I’ll help!” Zoe volunteered. “I saw a documentary on how to spot when people are lying.”
“You’re hired,” he said. “If you do it, you can have ten percent of my wedding cake.”
“Hey! I want at least half.”
“I tell you what, how about I stand you a gin and you get to keep all the cake?”
“If you’re sure you can brave the bar,” Zoe said, raising an eyebrow.
Felix put an arm round her shoulders. “That’s why you have to come and protect me.”
And then Victor was suddenly there, saying in a low, unfriendly tone, “Excuse me. Did you ask permission to go touching her?”
Felix’s arm dropped, and he gave Victor a slightly startled look.
“Victor, it’s fine,” Zoe said, trying to sound lighthearted. “I was just going to help him fight through to the bar.”
Victor took half a step closer to Felix. “She’s not at work. You can go and get your own drink and leave her to have fun.”
“Victor,” Zoe said, feeling heat blaze in her face.
“It’s all right,” Felix said calmly. He nodded at Victor. “I understand you looking out for your friends. It’s places where there’s drink flowing that people can be vulnerable. It’s good to keep an eye on each other.”
There was a long, tense silence while Victor simply stared at Felix. And Victor could really stare. She’d seen him make younger and stronger men flinch. But Felix didn’t seem cowed.
The stare-off was broken by the band testing their microphones at the far end of the room. Felix smiled. “I’ll head to the bar. You young things go and dance.”
Zoe took Victor’s arm, feeling the tension in the muscles of his forearm as he watched Felix leave. She tried to laugh. “We’re young things. That means we have to dance.”
“Not going to happen,” Victor said. He was still looking at Felix’s retreating form.
“Honestly,” Zoe said, “don’t worry about him. He’s a flirty old queen and he’d be mortified if he thought he’d stepped out of line.”
“He’s gay?” Victor asked.
“Yes, all the girls think so,” Zoe said with a little more certainty than she really felt. In reality, she had no idea what Felix’s sexuality was, but it was completely irrelevant either way. He was her father’s age, for God’s sake.
A stream of guests began reentering the dining room, called by the music. Zoe wondered whether Gina and Michael would do a first dance, but the current music was lively. It was clearly intended to get the guests dancing.
“The bar’s emptying out,” Zoe said. “Go and rescue Angeline from the life lecture, and I’ll get us Jäger Bombs.”
Victor gave her a doubtful look, but moved when she gave him a shove.
She smiled as she left him, but she felt even wearier as she made her way against the moving crowd. Worrying about him and his anger was like carrying an extra weight.
She made her way to the bar a little more easily this time, her eyes scanning for Felix. She felt half-inclined to talk to him further about Victor. To apologize. She thought he
might understand. But she also liked the fact that, right now, she could stand unobserved amid the guests and not have to make conversation.
The bar grew emptier as she queued, until there was nobody left waiting behind her. Just her, a couple to her right, and a solitary drinker to her left, who was occupying a high stool.
“What can I get you?” the girl behind the bar asked.
For some reason, ordering shots always went the same way. Zoe started with a low number, and then quickly talked herself up as she mentally added more and more people to her list of recipients. “Four Jäger Bombs” became “Actually, no, eight.”
The waistcoated barmaid gave her a beaming smile as if she’d never had such a great order to make. The guy on the barstool turned to look at her. “I’ll admit I’ll be impressed if those are all for you.”
Zoe glanced over at him, sizing up the leather jacket, the dark hair, the sharp cheekbones, and the full, slightly sulky-looking lips. He was giving her a smile that was somehow different from all the smiles she’d been given all day. This one was more…irreverent. And in a strange way more intimate.
“Don’t tempt me,” she said, and grinned. It wasn’t really a conscious decision. It was just hard not to smile back. She could feel the dimpling in her cheeks before she’d made any kind of decision.
“Oh, bad day?”
She shook her head. “It’s a wedding. Of course it’s been a bad day.”
He gave a deep chuckle. “Not close to the bride or groom, then?”
“Ah, I am really,” Zoe said, watching the barmaid pouring out shots of Jägermeister for a moment. “It’s not them I mind.”
“Which one?”
“Which…? Oh. I know Gina.” She glanced at him. “You?”
He leaned forward, glancing past her for a moment with a gleaming wickedness in his expression. “Neither. I came in for a drink and realized I’d crashed an event with a free bar.”
She couldn’t help a note of shock in her laugh. “That’s terrible!”
“I know,” he said. “Do you think they can afford it?”
“Probably,” Zoe said. “But I wouldn’t go assuming. Some of us have morals, you know.”
“Not those of us sitting on my side of the bar,” he replied, and lifted up what looked like a gin and tonic and poured the rest of it into his mouth.
Zoe watched his throat as he swallowed, her gaze traveling over his neck, shoulders, and abdomen while he couldn’t see her do it. He was older, she thought. Not by any means as old as Felix, but definitely somewhere in his thirties. Probably the sort of age she would have hesitated before including on a dating app, in fact.
But he was fit, too. That was obvious. She would have laid money on him having a really defined set of muscles under that shirt.
And then she made herself look away, because it was definitely not a good idea to start looking at him that way less than five minutes after they’d met.
“All done,” the barmaid said brightly. She’d lined the shots up along the bar, Zoe realized, with the shot glasses expertly balanced between the tumblers of Red Bull. Which made Zoe feel bad, as she needed to transport them through to the other room.
“Could you make another four?” her barstool neighbor said. “Sorry. I want to join in.”
The waitress took it well. Zoe shook her head at him slightly. “Do you need four?”
“I figured that was two each,” he said. “Nobody—nobody—says no to a Jäger Bomb.”
He said it so mock-seriously that Zoe couldn’t help laughing. It was one of those fits of laughter that was actually quite hard to stop. It was still there as she downed both the shots ahead of him, and he promised to beat her on the next round.
“Who says there’ll be a next round?” Zoe asked, but she was smiling as she said it.
“The little voice of your conscience,” he countered. “It says, ‘Don’t leave Aidan to drink alone. Look at the poor man. He doesn’t know anyone else.’ ”
“That’s because you crashed the party!” Zoe said, half-outraged and half caught by his name. She’d had a crush called Aidan in secondary school. A floppy-haired boy who had played drums.
“And I’m very glad I did,” he said, in another moment of almost-seriousness that caught her off guard. “So, tell me,” he went on. “Why has the wedding been hard? A long-standing feud?” he pressed. “An argument with a boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend?” And then, after a pause: “Girlfriend?”
“No,” she said, trying very hard for some reason to disguise her pleasure. He was trying to find out if she was single, and the idea made her feel jittery with excitement. “Just friends, and a couple of them have been having a hard time. They’re the ones who’ve been struggling, really. I’m fine.”
He gave her a thoughtful look, and then said, “That’s a shame. Not that you’re fine. The rest of it.” He looked over at the row of glasses. “You’re never going to be able to carry all those, you know….”
Zoe looked at them, and found herself overflowing with laughter again. “No, I know. I always do this.”
“I could be a gentleman and offer to carry some of them for you,” he said.
The idea filled Zoe with a strange sort of anxiety. If he came over and talked to her friends, then he would potentially be part of things for the rest of the night. But the thought of Victor’s reaction if she returned with another older man was not appealing in the slightest.
Before she could protest, however, Aidan had continued, “But I’m not very good at the gentlemanly thing. So I’m actually going to suggest we drink them to make your life easier.”
“How am I supposed to explain that to the others?” she asked. “Taking twenty minutes to come back with nothing?”
“Just don’t go back,” he said with a shrug and another one of those wicked smiles.
Zoe found herself saying, “I think Victor might hit the roof…” And then stopped, fiercely regretting having said it.
“So Victor, who can’t be a boyfriend or an ex…” Aidan said slowly, lifting the glass. “He must be…”
“Just a friend,” she said quickly, feeling the blush creeping up her face. “He’s just…stupidly protective.” She gave a forced laugh. “He squared off against one of our regular, very gay customers earlier because he put his arm round me.”
“I see,” Aidan said, and when Zoe looked at him, he was smiling. “This could be fun.”
Linda McCullough had arrived at the flat just behind the Scene of Crime team, and Jonah felt better about everything the moment she crossed the threshold. Hampshire was immensely lucky to have a forensic scientist who not only wanted to attend every crime scene but was qualified independently in biology and chemistry as well as forensic science.
McCullough was also good to work with. Her perpetual dry humor and her deadpan manner were just as invaluable, and Jonah had come to rely on her judgment and eye for detail. He knew only too well how many of his cases would never have been brought to trial without her.
“Try not to get in the way, Sheens,” McCullough said with a little smile, indicating a small square of plastic for them to stand on just inside the doorway.
“I’ll do my best,” Jonah replied in the same tone. “Any news on the pathologist?”
“He said twenty minutes.” McCullough glanced at her watch. “So he should be here in five. We’ll start out here. I’ll wait for him before I look at the body.”
“There are a couple of glasses on the counter that I’d be interested in getting prints or DNA from,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the kitchen.
“I’m sure you would.” McCullough pulled up her mask and walked past him toward the kitchen.
Jonah’s phone rang again, the intrusive alarm-like ringtone telling him it was the detective chief superintendent calling back.
“Is
that seriously your ringtone?” McCullough asked, turning to fix him with a disbelieving stare.
“Only for Wilkinson,” he said with a smile, and took the call. “Sir,” he said, stepping out into the hallway.
“I hear you’ve picked up a new murder inquiry?” the DCS said, sounding politely interested.
“You heard correctly. Though I’m suspending judgment on whether it was murder. It looks a lot like suicide, but her boyfriend reportedly witnessed it on a Skype call. I’m at the crime scene and the pathologist should be here any minute.” He paused. “Was Yvonne OK with me taking it on?”
“She was fine. Not her sort of case. I’m happy for you to take it, too,” the DCS said. “But I’m coming under a lot of pressure to get the blackmail case tied up.”
“Understood,” Jonah said. “I’ll keep half my team on it.”
“Right,” Wilkinson said wryly. “So that’s precisely one and a half people?”
“Exactly, sir,” Jonah said, grinning though there was nobody to see it.
“OK. Keep me posted.”
And that, Jonah thought as he hung up, was what was so good about Wilkinson. He was quite happy to trust Jonah’s decisions.
The door to the stairs opened as he was putting his phone away and a thirtysomething man in a suit and tie emerged. The pathologist, he assumed, though not one he’d met before. All Jonah’s cases so far had been handled by the much older and less keen-looking Dr. Stephen Russell. Jonah wondered whether this was a junior colleague of his, and whether he’d been waiting for his chance to shine.
This probably wasn’t an issue, but Jonah felt a twinge of worry. They had a possible murder scene that on the face of it looked very much like suicide. If they ended up pursuing a murder case, they needed rigor. Not to mention a pathologist who would sound convincing in court.
Just don’t miss anything, Jonah thought as he nodded to him.
* * *
—
JONAH’S WORRIES APPEARED to be unfounded. Dr. Shaw’s steady, methodical examination was as thorough as Jonah could have asked for, and his commentary was quietly authoritative.
