Lifting the Lid(25)

‘Drive.’ The woman’s voice was calm and assured.

Trevor’s palm hadn’t left the gear shift, and he yanked it backwards as he continued to stare wide-eyed at the pistol. He was beginning to turn away when a powerful hand slammed onto the steering wheel. Crimson eyes blazed in at him through the still open window, tears streaming down the contorted features.

There was a dull thud and a faint crunching sound as the woman brought the butt of the gun crashing down onto the back of the intruding hand. It vanished instantly to the accompaniment of an anguished shriek of extreme pain.

‘Drive!’

Trevor let out the clutch far too quickly, and the van lurched forward, almost flattening a shortish guy in a tan-coloured leather jacket, who just managed to fling himself out of the way.

‘Shit,’ said Trevor, glancing into his wing mirror to see the man he had almost killed lose the battle to stay upright and go sprawling onto the ground. ‘Wasn’t that—’

‘Your policeman buddy?’

‘Patterson.’

‘Whatever.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Trevor could see she was still aiming the gun at him. He felt an unpleasant disturbance deep in his guts, and it wasn’t because all he’d had to eat in the last twenty-four hours was a handful of biscuits.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



A light breeze rippled the material of the patio umbrella, and a sudden gust threatened to blow the notebook off the slatted wooden table beneath. Maggie Swann made a grab for it and caught it just in time. So far, there had been very little that was worth writing down. Doyle had been reticent on the phone to put it mildly, but now, face to face, he was honing his blood-out-of-a-stone act to perfection. For some minutes, Logan had been drumming his fingers on the edge of the table – a sure sign that his patience tank was running on empty.

‘I must say I’d hoped for rather more cooperation,’ he said after another lengthy pause.

Doyle spread his palms wide but said nothing.

‘I mean, all you’ve told us is that you led the investigation into Imelda Hawkins’s disappearance, that you never found her and that you didn’t suspect foul play or even that she was dead at all.’ Logan leaned forward across the table. ‘Why not?’

‘As I said before, it was a long time ago.’

‘Long time? Eighteen months?’

‘Memory’s not what it used to be, I’m afraid.’ Doyle tapped the side of his head as if to emphasise the point.

‘Oh come off it, Doyle. That’s bullshit, and you know it.’

Again the spread palms and the sealed lips.

Logan stopped drumming and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What happened? Someone get to you, did they? Told you to drop the case?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Freemason, are you?’

Doyle gripped the arms of his chair. ‘What the hell has that got to—’

Both Doyle and Swann were facing towards the house, and they could see his wife step out through the sliding patio door with a tray of tea things. Unseen by Logan, he opened his mouth to speak, but Swann shook her head at him to keep quiet.

There was something incongruous about a woman serving tea in a figure-hugging black dress that would have been far better suited to some swish cocktail party at the Savoy. Swann was no fashion expert, but she guessed it was expensive designer gear, and the double string of pearls round her neck looked like the genuine article too.

‘Sorry it’s taken so long,’ said Doyle’s wife. ‘Phone rang just as I’d filled the pot. The tea had gone cold by the time I’d finished, so I had to start all over again. It never ceases to amaze me how some folks can jabber on. Hah, I’d like to see their phone bills. Still, I suppose it is Saturday, and most people have that free-calls-at-the-weekend thing nowadays, don’t they? Now, who’s going to be mother?’

Swann pretended to study her notebook, partly to conceal a giggle and partly because she was aware that three pairs of eyes were probably trained on her.

‘Pop it down here, love. I’ll do it,’ she heard Doyle say.

‘It was Jessica by the way, darling. Wants to know if we’re going to the Ladies’ Night at the Lodge again this year.’

Swann looked up to clock the pained expression on Doyle’s face and the broad wink that Logan threw at her.

‘Can we talk about it later?’ said Doyle. ‘We’re right in the middle of something at the moment.’

‘Catching up on old times, eh? Okay, I can take a hint. I’ll leave you to your reminiscing then.’

She gave her husband an affectionate pat on the shoulder and headed back towards the patio door.