Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(78)

‘A driver pulled up. Asked if we’d ordered a car.’

‘Did you see his face?’

‘Nah.’

‘What was he driving?’

‘Took no notice.’

Foley finally begins to clock where I’ve been leading him. ‘You think it was him? The driver.’

‘Another woman has gone missing. She was picked up in the Lace Market on Friday night.’

‘I was playing poker.’

‘The police think you had an accomplice.’

‘What! No!’ He sits up straighter, leans forward. ‘Does my lawyer know? She can get me out of here. Reasonable doubt, yeah?’

‘Maya Kirk’s DNA was found in your van.’

‘She vomited.’

‘Your semen was found at the murder scene and on Maya’s dress.’

‘I told you what happened. This is bullshit!’

He is shouting now. Guards are stirring. Visitors have stopped talking and are watching. Foley is jabbing his finger at me, spittle flying from his mouth. I tell him to be quiet, but he’s on his feet, lunging at me.

‘I’m being stitched up! You tell my lawyer she’s fired.’

His fingers grip my shirt. Buttons pop. The guards are on him, wrestling him to the floor. Kneeling on his back. Dragging his arms behind him. Zip-tie handcuffs are looped over his wrists. Pulled tight. Chairs have fallen. Children are crying. I step back as they manhandle Foley out of the hall. I look at the other visitors and want to apologise. That’s when I see Mitchell Coates at the end table. Our eyes meet and I see acceptance rather than sadness.

He’s talking to a young woman. There’s a resemblance. The eyes, maybe, and the peak on their hairline. A senior guard has arrived. Obese. Puffing. He wants to know if I’m injured and if I want to lay charges.

‘He barely touched me,’ I say dismissively.

‘We have it on CCTV. We can charge him anyway.’

‘That’s up to you.’

I’m escorted from the visitors’ room and pass close to Mitch’s table. I make a show of searching my pockets and tell the guard that I must have dropped my locker key during the scuffle. He goes back to the table to look.

‘How are you?’ I ask Mitch.

He rocks his head from side to side, scratching at his cheek with two fingers.

‘Evie didn’t mean for this to happen.’

‘We all make mistakes.’ He nods towards his visitor. ‘This is my sister Annie. She’s driven up from London. This is Dr Haven – the guy I was telling you about.’

‘Nice to meet you, Annie.’

‘Are you going to help him?’ she asks. ‘He doesn’t deserve to be here.’

‘I’m going to try,’ I reply, glancing at Mitch. ‘Did you see the guy I was talking to?’

He nods.

‘Ever seen him before?’

‘No.’

‘He’s been charged with murdering Maya Kirk.’

‘I heard it on the grapevine,’ says Mitch.

‘The police think Foley had an accomplice.’

‘What’s that got to do with Mitch?’ asks Annie.

‘Another woman has disappeared. Daniela Linares was picked up outside a bar in the city last Friday night. The police will want to know where you were that evening. You said something about emergency accommodation.’

‘Yeah, but they didn’t have any beds at the fire station, so I slept in the car park on Queen Street.’

‘Can anyone vouch for you?’

‘Yeah, but all of them are homeless and I don’t know their names.’

‘He shouldn’t need an alibi,’ says Annie, growing annoyed.

The prison guard is walking back towards us, having searched the floor beneath the table. I pat my pockets again and discover the locker key. ‘Lose my head if it wasn’t screwed on.’

The guard is unimpressed. He nods towards the door.

‘Stay safe,’ I say to Mitch. ‘Nice meeting you, Annie.’





52


Cyrus


I drive into central Nottingham through misty rain that makes the wiper blades squeak against the windscreen. Traffic thins out as I enter Lower Parliament Street and pull into the Lace Market car park on Pilcher Gate. From there it’s a short walk to the Little Drummer. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, I enter the warmth and hum of the bar, which looks bigger on the inside than from the outside.

The lighting casts the tables in a warm glow, making the place feel classy, even romantic, but most of the customers look like office workers who are grabbing a drink before they head home.

Cassie Wright waves to me from a table near a central pillar.

‘When you offered to buy me a drink – I didn’t expect it to be tonight,’ she says, smoothing down her skirt.

‘You look nice.’

‘Thank you. You’re late. I almost didn’t stay. A woman drinking on her own looks sad or desperate.’

‘You’re not either of those things.’

‘How do you know?’ She smiles and pushes her hair behind her ears. ‘Are you as clever as you think you are?’

‘Rarely.’

She looks around. ‘This is where Daniela Linares went missing.’