Dead Memories (D.I. Kim Stone #10)(62)

She stood as he came around to her side of the bar.

‘Really sorry to have made a bit of a mess round here,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘Let’s hope Freda is back from sick leave tomorrow. Whole place needs a good clean.’

She couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed with his response as she picked up her glass and followed.

‘You a reporter or something?’ he asked, frowning.

‘Goodness, no. Why’d you ask?’ she asked, taking a seat opposite.

‘You seem overly interested in Curtis.’

Alison stroked the stem of the wine glass. ‘That’s not really what I’m interested in,’ she said, looking away. ‘It’s just something to talk about but if you’d rather I left…’

‘No, it’s fine,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s just like, I know the guy so…’

‘Yeah, that must be so weird. Any clues he was capable of something like this?’ she asked.

He rubbed at his forehead. ‘I’ve asked myself that a hundred times. I mean… some people thought he was a bit strange. Introverted, intense, but I just thought he was a creative type. He was a good guy who played his set with the same enthusiasm to a roomful or a handful. It was just about the music, I thought.’

‘Has it affected business?’

‘Not so much as you’d notice. Folks haven’t really put together that Jennifer worked here and that Beverly was here the last night too. Obviously the police know but…’

‘They been around much?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘They were here the morning after Beverly was attacked. Wanted to know if we’d seen anything but Tilly and I were cashing up out back when Curtis left, so there was nothing else to add.’

Alison swallowed down her rage at DCI Merton. Yeah, sounded like intense questioning for someone who completely fitted her profile.

She took another sip of her drink and moved in her chair. ‘Well, thanks for the chat but I must be—’

‘So soon?’ he asked, with a crooked smile. ‘I was hoping we could talk more, maybe grab a bite?…’

‘Perhaps another time,’ she said, trying to keep her tone even.

She walked away from the table feeling his gaze upon her as she left. Oh, like she was going to leave this well-populated area with a man she suspected of rape and murder.

Again, she’d barely touched her drink and felt able to drive.

She knew as she headed to the car that she was going to have to do something but she didn’t know what. Who did she complain to? How were these things done? She didn’t want to get anyone into trouble, but this investigation had gone— A hand on her shoulder startled her. ‘Wh-what?…’

Tom turned her to face him. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to get that bite?’ he asked, the interest burning in his eyes.

The saliva had dried in her mouth, her heart hammered against her chest. His gaze was intense and dark.

She shook her head and glanced to his hand still gripping her arm.

‘I h-have to go,’ she said, pulling away.

He looked as though he wanted to challenge her more, but turned and returned to the bar. For just a second she had seen beyond the friendly, affable bar owner and now she wanted to get as far away from this place as she could.

Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop as something on the ground caught her eye.

She stopped walking and bent down as her heart thudded in her chest.

No way. It couldn’t be.

With trembling fingers, she took out her phone and found the contact she was after.

‘Alison, what the hell is it now?’ asked DCI Merton making no effort to hide his hostility.

‘Please, just give me a minute,’ she begged. ‘I’m at Elite and—’

‘Alison, I swear I just misheard you when you said where you were, because if I heard you right I’d be filling out a formal complaint to your superiors right now concerning your attempt to derail an ongoing investigation. Am I being clear?’ he hissed.

She couldn’t answer even though her mouth had fallen open. Would he really do that?

‘Do not call this number again,’ he said, ending the call.

Damn, damn, damn. Now what was she supposed to do?

She really needed help and there was only one person she could think of to call.





Eighty





Bryant headed out on to the rugby field as the rest of the team were finishing warm-ups. The opposing team from Hereford stood to the right and the two team captains stood somewhere in the middle.

He looked to Lenny for his position in the match and was given his answer in a finger sign.

Bryant knew the twenty-six-year-old captain wasn’t sure where to stick him in the team any more and sheer obstinacy on his part prevented him from bowing out gracefully and allowing a younger player to take his place.

Back in the day he’d played position of a three-quarter, normally reserved for the fastest players whose aim was to use the ball won by the forwards to motor through and score. The forwards were the heavier guys who set up and formed the base of the attacks by securing possession.

Tonight he was in the back row of the forwards called the flankers.

Damage limitation, Bryant realised and a good decision considering this was a game that would decide if they were to move up the league.