‘Going to pick up my motorcycle.’
‘Yeh, that’s one explanation for the gloves. Moonlight ride?’
‘Always exhilarating.’
‘Would you have come back?’
‘Tonight? Or ever?’
‘You choose.’
Bliss left some silence. Turrell’s talk was cool, but you could tell he was out on a very narrow edge. This should be taken slowly, circling round the issue, wearing him down. But no knowing how much time there’d be before the community centre started to fill up, and not entirely with friends.
‘How’s Gwenda, Gore?’ Bliss said. ‘Doesn’t seem to be around.’
Long silence. Car headlights dazzling in the window. A pulsing in Bliss’s brow. Please don’t let this be Iain Brent.
‘All right, George, let’s talk about Tamsin Winterson.’
‘I was sorry to hear about that.’
Gore’s face rigid, his eyes hard.
Interesting.
‘You ever meet her out running? Tamsin?’
‘Yes.’
No hesitation.
What? Bliss held himself relaxed. With difficulty.
‘Yes, you met her?’
‘Yes, I met her.’
Bloody hell. Long mountains up there. Deep valleys. You didn’t have to meet anybody.
And Turrell didn’t have to say that.
‘Broken heart, darling. End of a beautiful affair.’ Gwenda swirled the liquid in the glass. ‘Should’ve seen it coming, but we don’t, do we?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘He’s a cool one. Told me two nights ago. In bed. Well, of course, we agreed to say nothing, behave as if nothing was wrong. We’re grown-up people. One of us rather more grownup than the other. As you may have noticed. People do. He never seemed to, bless him.’
‘Where’s he now?’
‘No idea, darling. We closed, we kissed, he left.’
‘You don’t know where he’s gone?’
‘Could be going abroad, anywhere. He has enough money. Didn’t ask. Or the name of his new love. Why should I? Grownup people. Clean break. Life goes on.’
‘That’s a… difficult situation. With the business and everything, too. You been together long?’
‘Long enough.’ Gwenda turned away from the water to look at her. ‘Seen you before, haven’t I? Now where have I seen you before – no, don’t tell me, I know everything.’
‘Then I suppose you know about Tamsin Winterson.’
‘Who?’
‘The missing policewoman,’ Merrily said. ‘She’s been found. Dead.’
‘Oh. Yes, I heard that. Shame. Wait! I know who you are. You came in with Gwyn Jones earlier. Tucking yourselves into a corner where you wouldn’t be overheard. Pointless, darling. I hear everything.’
Gwenda sipped from her champagne flute. It wasn’t wine, smelled like whisky.
‘Old Gwyn. The King of Hay’s Chief of Police. Unpaid snooper. He wouldn’t be missed. Pest. He say you were a priest or something?’
‘He may have.’
‘You’re too pretty to be a priest. And probably not even a lesbian.’
‘Well, you know—’
‘Don’t contradict me. Not the night for it. So tired of people stopping me all the time. Oh, Gwenda, have you heard? What a terrible thing! How will the town ever be the same again? What sanctimonious drivel. As if it affects any of them. Why I came down here.’
She turned away and walked down on to the beach of sharp brown stones. Lush too-black hair swept back as she walked. Merrily watched her and thought of Mephista watching Jerrold Adrian Brace carving a swastika into the exposed skull of Cherry Banks, very nearly dead, but not dead or there wouldn’t be blood. Had she taken that picture, too? Viewing it through a camera lens – did that separate you from the act, turning it into just a lurid movie?
No, it didn’t. Try and imagine Jane doing that.
It made you a monster.
‘We used to walk here often, very late at night,’ Gwenda said. ‘Sex on the bank. Good in the rain.’
She stood at the water’s edge, black boots, black leggings, tossing her head back, bleach-white teeth reflecting the lesser white of the moon.
It was like all the nerves in Bliss’s head were dying. He wanted to lay it down on the desk and sleep. Just five minutes’ sleep would do it.
Well, no, it wouldn’t.
‘Should look after yourself better, Inspector,’ Gore Turrell said mildly.
Bliss held on to his temper. Quelled his dismay. Tried to rise above the numbness.
‘How well did you get to know Tamsin?’
‘Pretty well.’
‘You went running together?’
‘Yes, we did.’