The Last Party (DC Morgan #1)(9)

The brown rust-bucket Leo saw when he arrived belongs to Ffion. She’s sitting in the driver’s seat, staring into space. Leo raps on the glass and Ffion spends a few seconds trying to wind down the window, before giving up and getting out.

‘Feeling any better?’

Ffion frowns at him.

‘Some people put Vicks VapoRub around their nostrils,’ Leo says. ‘For the smell.’

‘Thanks, Columbo, but this isn’t my first rodeo.’

‘I thought maybe . . . I mean . . .’ Leo thrusts his hands into his pockets. Why is Ffion being like this? She’d been fun last night, they’d had a laugh. ‘I guess you don’t get a lot of crime out here, that’s all.’

Ffion is nodding sagely. ‘Yup, it’s all pretty low-key in north Wales. Mostly sheep, as you’d expect. If we’re not shagging them, ha ha, we’re rustling them!’

‘You’re taking the piss.’

‘No, you’re taking the piss, mate, resorting to lazy stereotypes. For your information, I was here last week for a PM on a woman who’d shot herself in the face. The rest of the week I was in court with an armed robbery. So enough of the big I am, yeah?’

Leo has a sudden thought. Is this because he didn’t message her? He’d asked for her number after they had drunkenly agreed that going to Alton Towers together would be oh my God so funny! and she’d punched it into his phone. This morning, after Ffion left his flat and driven home, she had no doubt expected a text from him. Sorry I was asleep when you left . . . had a great time . . . when are you free again? That sort of thing.

Leo takes a deep breath. ‘Look, I think we need to clear the air. Last night was . . .’ He stops. The right word is important. Not dismissive, but not meaningful, either. ‘Fun,’ he settles on. The corner of Ffion’s mouth lifts in a half-smile. Shit, is ‘fun’ too meaningful? He doesn’t want to lead her on.

‘Yeah, it was.’

Ffion’s spikiness softens and, despite himself, Leo feels the same heat he experienced when he first saw her on the dance floor last night. There’d been a sort of electricity about her, as though your hair might stand on end if you got too close. Ffion hadn’t played games, either; just returned his gaze with a cool, even stare, then stopped dancing and walked right up to him. ‘Hot, isn’t it?’

‘Very,’ Leo had replied. ‘Fancy some air?’

‘The thing is,’ he says now, ‘I mean, it’s not that you’re not – it’s just that . . .’ Leo falters. Ffion’s face has gone all crooked. Is she going to cry? Fuck. ‘I’m not really looking for a relationship.’ He finishes too quickly, the words gaining volume, so he practically shouts the last few.

‘Me neither.’ Ffion gives a brusque nod, as though concluding a business meeting. ‘That’s that sorted, then.’ She gestures to the mortuary. ‘Any hints on cause of death?’

Leo doesn’t know whether Ffion’s genuinely okay with this, or just sparing his feelings, but either way he’s grateful to be back on more comfortable territory. ‘You know what pathologists are like,’ he says. ‘There could be a knife sticking out of the bloke’s back and they’d still hedge their bets till the inquest.’

Ffion gives the ghost of a smile. ‘I’ll go and see the wife on my way home. Yasmin Lloyd’s down as next-of-kin, right?’

‘Yes, but . . .’ Leo hesitates. ‘Well, she’s at The Shore.’

‘So?’

‘So, that’s technically England. My patch,’ he adds, when Ffion doesn’t say anything.

‘Technically, yes, but Rhys is from Cwm Coed. His mam, Glynis, still lives there. And it’s literally on my doorstep. So I’ll—’

‘We’ll do it together,’ Leo says, with uncharacteristic decisiveness. If this turns out to be a juicy job and Leo gives it away, Crouch will never let him forget it.

There’s a long pause as they lock eyes, before Ffion breaks away with a sigh presumably intended to suggest she doesn’t give a shit either way. ‘Fine. Follow me. Call me if you get lost – I’ll give you my number.’

‘I’ve got it, remember?’ Leo takes out his phone. ‘I’ll call you now, then you’ve got mine too.’ He scrolls through his contacts to find HARRIET NYE, and dials.

Instantly, Ffion’s cheeks colour. Leo could kick himself. Now neither of them can pretend he doesn’t have her number and that’s the reason he hasn’t texted her—

Why isn’t her phone ringing?

Leo lifts his own to his ear, to check it’s working.

‘Thank you for calling the showroom. Our offices are closed over the holidays, but if you’d like to book a test drive, please leave your name and number and we’ll get back to you as soon as we reopen.’

A long and uncomfortable silence falls between Leo and Ffion, before he can bring himself to look away from his phone. Ffion smiles sheepishly. ‘It really was fun. And it’s not that you’re not – I mean, it’s just that . . .’ Her eyes glint, as she mimics his own efforts at letting her down gently.

Leo winces. Ffion keeps a level gaze on him, then grins. ‘Let’s start over, shall we?’

Leo nods forcefully. ‘Good plan.’