Darkness Falls (Kate Marshall, #3)(70)

Bracing for a car alarm, he opened the passenger door and waited, but nothing happened. There was beautiful silence. Taking care not to touch anything, Tom took out a pair of long metal tongs, pulled Hayden’s underwear from the plastic bag in his rucksack, and wiped the fabric all over the passenger seat, dashboard, and steering wheel. He then shoved the underwear under the passenger seat of the car.

He straightened up, put the tongs back in his rucksack, and closed the passenger door of the SUV. He pressed the button of the immobilizer, and the car locked itself, and the headlights flashed once.

It had taken less than a minute. Tom melted away, back into the shadows to his car.

He made one stop on the way back home, to an old red phone box on a country lane, where he phoned the police hotline and left urgent information about the Hayden Oakley murder investigation.





39


On Tuesday morning, Kate and Tristan found themselves in a Starbucks close to the university campus in Exeter. Perched on a hill, it was in a busy row of shops and looked out over the estuary. It was close to where Noah lived with his wife.

Tristan thought it was odd to see him arrive, in person, after weeks of staring at pictures of him on CCTV, with Joanna, and hearing all the stories and conflicting opinions about him.

He was a tall, broad man, much taller than he’d looked in photos. He’d also filled out a little more since the early 2000s. He was dressed like an off-duty actor, in slightly creased white chinos and a blue linen shirt with a thin scarf knotted loosely at his neck.

He came up to them at the table, and there was a moment where Tristan didn’t know what to say.

“Hello,” he said, getting up and offering his hand. “I’m Tristan Harper, and this is my associate, Kate Marshall.”

“Lovely to meet you both.” He smiled, taking Tristan’s hands in both of his when they shook. Tristan noticed he clasped Kate’s hand a little less warmly, just using his left hand.

“Thank you for making time to meet us,” said Kate. “I’m just going up. Can I get you a coffee?”

“I could murder a latte, large, and a scone if there’s one up for grabs,” said Noah. He was very confident, but underneath was a tinge of nerves, thought Tristan. Kate went off to the counter, and Noah seemed to look him over.

“Where is your detective agency, exactly?” he asked.

“We’re in Thurlow Bay. It’s about five miles outside Ashdean.”

“Ashdean, such a quaint place. I used to go there for weekends as a young boy. I had an aunt who owned a house up on the cliff. Aunt Marie. She was a lot of fun, liked the gin, if you know what I mean . . .” He made a drinking motion with his hand.

“Right,” said Tristan. There was an awkward silence, and he looked to see how Kate was getting on. She’d given her order and was waiting to collect the drinks.

Noah drummed his fingers on the table. “So . . . I’m here to talk to you about Joanna Duncan, yes?” He raised his eyebrows. “Painful time that was, losing my seat. Great deal of embarrassment all round . . . Although”—and at this point he laughed—“there are plenty of other MPs, right now, who still have their seats, doing far worse.”

Tristan was glad to see Kate collecting their order, and a moment later she came back to the table with their coffee and a scone for Noah.

“Lovely, thank you,” he said.

“Tristan here was starting to grill me about Joanna Duncan,” said Noah. “I’ve told him that I’m a big boy, and I don’t hold grudges, all water under the bridge.”

Tristan thought how confident Noah was and cursed himself for feeling shy. Why should he feel shy? It was crazy, but well-spoken people always made him feel like he was a country bumpkin.

Kate had bought herself a scone and was opening the little pack of butter. She glanced at Tristan. They’d agreed that he would lead with the questioning.

“We’ve been trying to find Joanna Duncan,” started Tristan.

“Yes, you’ve said that,” said Noah, his eyes down, buttering his scone.

“Yes, and there’s a large amount of information about the last few days before she went missing. We understand you met with her two weeks before she vanished, on the twenty-third of August, 2002. You met her that evening at a petrol station near the village where she lived, Upton Pyne.”

“There’s never enough bloody butter in these little packets,” he said, holding up the empty container. “Would you mind awfully getting me another one? Tristan?”

Tristan saw Kate give the tiniest roll of her eyes.

“I can go,” she said.

“No. Tristan, you can go. Your associate here has already made one trip up to the till.” He looked up at Tristan, and there was a mocking look in his eyes.

“Of course.”

Tristan got up and went over to the barista station and asked if he could have more butter.

“Sure, just a sec,” said the barista, who was spraying cream onto a large coffee. Tristan looked back and saw that Kate was talking to Noah, and he felt foolish. He hadn’t got anywhere with his questions. He had to go back to the table and start again. There was no reason to feel intimidated. The Starbucks was busy—most of the tables were full—and as he looked across, he saw Detective Mona Lim sitting at a table by the window. She was dressed in jeans and a woolen jumper, with headphones in her ears. She had the paraphernalia of a student in front of her: a large textbook open in front of a laptop. They locked eyes, and Mona looked a little panicked. Tristan saw through the window behind her a delivery truck outside on the pavement. Sitting inside was a courier who was looking into the Starbucks and talking into a radio. Across the street was a blue car, and sitting inside that, on the phone, was DCI Faye Stubbs.