A Bitter Feast(95)

“You know this village?” Kincaid asked.

“Michelin-rosette restaurant in the hotel. Anniversary date last year.”



When the panda car arrived a few minutes later, there’d been no sign of activity in Roz Dunning’s cottage. Doug had rather grudgingly ceded the Clio’s front-passenger seat to Booth, which left him and Kincaid crammed into the back. Now Doug leaned forward, breathing down Booth’s neck as Booth scrolled through the phone.

“He didn’t use it much,” said Booth. “Limited data plan?”

“Or it’s new and he didn’t transfer anything,” Doug suggested. “Or maybe he was just a Luddite. Sad tosser.”

Booth flicked his finger down the screen. “There’s a Colm in the contacts. That would be the restaurateur, I think. Along with some missed calls from the same number.” He went to the texts, holding the mobile up so that they could all see the screen. “Somebody named Abby wants to buy him a drink. But that was a month ago. Not much social life, poor bugger. Colm wants to know why he’s not returning his calls; O’Reilly says he’ll be in touch soon.” Booth frowned. “Wait. Here’s a text thread from an untagged number, just a couple of messages. He—or she—says, ‘When are you coming back? Please please come soon.’ He says, ‘Don’t worry, everything will work out and we’ll be together, I promise.’” Booth swiped again. “Then, he says, ‘PS remember DONT tell your mum!’”

“The guy was a pedophile,” Doug said, with disgust. “Christ. But how does—”

“No,” Kincaid broke in. “I don’t think so.” He was remembering the child who’d played with his own children at the luncheon, with the same pinched and angry look she’d worn when she’d come tearing into the pub yesterday to shout at her mother. “I don’t think that’s what this is about at all. We need to talk to Viv Holland.”





Chapter Twenty-Four

There had been a moment, on Saturday, when Kincaid had caught a glimpse of the girl laughing as she played with the dogs. It had transformed her, and it was that image that he recalled now. He’d skimmed Doug’s research on Fergus O’Reilly, with the accompanying photographs, and he could see it now—the ghost of a resemblance.

“When was that text sent?” he asked Booth.

Booth scanned the messages again. “Last Wednesday.”

Leaning up from the backseat, Doug said, “Check the call log.”

Booth tapped the phone icon. “O’Reilly made calls to that number on Thursday afternoon, and again on Friday morning. Hang on a moment.” Frowning, he scrolled further back. “The first call to that number was just shy of three weeks ago. The Wednesday—”

“After the Monday O’Reilly first came to the village,” Kincaid finished. “He intended to see Viv—he told Roz Dunning as much—but then he changed his mind. I think it was because he met Grace Holland.”



They took both cars down the hill to the pub, Booth having now agreed that speaking to Viv took priority over keeping an eye on Roz Dunning. Melody had been oddly quiet and seemed to be avoiding speaking to Doug.

The four of them walked into the pub courtyard together, the crunching of their feet on the pea gravel sounding like the arrival of the cavalry. The noise brought Viv to the kitchen door, wiping her hands on her apron. Gemma appeared behind her, carrying a mug of tea. “Where have you been?” she said, hurrying down the steps towards him. “I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine. We got caught up with something.” He gave her a reassuring smile before turning to Viv. “Viv, does your daughter have a mobile phone?”

She looked puzzled, but said, “Yes, but it’s just calls and texts. I wouldn’t buy her a smartphone, even though she says everyone in her year has them.”

“Is this the number?” Booth read it out to her from O’Reilly’s mobile.

Viv blanched. “Yes, that’s it. What’s happened? Is Grace all right?”

At a nod from Booth, Kincaid said, trying to break it gently, “We think Fergus O’Reilly was in contact with your daughter in the weeks before he died.”

“What? But how—” She glanced at Gemma. “That’s why she said those things to Kit. Oh, my God. When you said he’d been here before, staying at the manor house, it never occurred to me that he’d— He had to have met her then, hadn’t he, to get her number?”

“That would be my guess, yes,” said Gemma. “Viv, shall I tell them?”

“I can guess,” Kincaid told her. “Fergus was Grace’s father, wasn’t he?”

“There’s more.” Gemma put a supportive hand on Viv’s back. “I heard from Kerry Boatman. Viv didn’t know this, but Fergus getting the job in Colm Finlay’s restaurant depended on Viv accepting the offer as well. When she refused, Fergus threatened her with a paternity suit.

“Finlay also told Kerry that he was certain Fergus was not taking heart medication. Fergus was living in his flat and Finlay kept a close eye on him. He wanted to be sure Fergus was clean before he finalized a job offer.”

Booth fixed a hawkish gaze on Viv. “If we can rule out self-administered, we have to look at where the digitalis came from. And when he might have ingested it.”