Die With Me (21 page)

‘What did she mean by that?’

‘I don’t know. For someone so pretty, Marion really lacked confidence. She wasn’t at all full of herself, which is probably why she was so likeable.’

‘Did you meet him?’

‘No. He didn’t come to the flat. They always met somewhere else, somewhere public like a pub or a bar. I thought it was really odd and it made me wonder if he had something to hide, like he was married or in a relationship, or something. Marion insisted he wasn’t but she could be unbelievably naïve, particularly where men were concerned. Although she wasn’t the sort to tell lies, I did wonder at first if maybe he was a figment of her imagination. You know, like the pretend boyfriends some girls had in school. That was until I saw him, of course.’

‘You saw him?’ Donovan said, matter-of-factly, not wanting to appear too excited.

‘Once, by accident. I was on my way home and I spotted them standing together on the opposite side of the road. I think they were outside the cinema. They were facing each other and he was holding her hands, gazing into her eyes, saying something. It looked pretty romantic to me.’

‘Did he see you?’

‘Oh, no. He was very intent on Marion and she didn’t see me either. They were so engrossed, I thought it best to leave them to it. Then they got into a car and drove off somewhere.’

‘Can you describe him?’

‘Good-looking. Quite flashy, I thought. Not at all Marion’s type really. I sort of understood what she meant by out of her league, although she was lovely enough for any man.’

‘What about height, hair colour, you know?’

‘I’d say tall, but don’t forget I was on the other side of the road. Dark hair, sort of longish but well cut, I think. God, it’s all coming back to me now. I can just picture him standing there looking at her. He was smiling. He had a really cheesy smile. You know, gleaming and perfect like in a toothpaste ad.’

Although the description was quite general, it could easily fit Angel and Donovan felt very pleased with herself. It also tallied with the description given by the witnesses of the man seen at St Sebastian’s. Hopefully, she had found the link between Marion and the other girls. If she was right, it would be one in the eye for Steele and Kennedy. Tartaglia would be over the moon.

‘You’re sure it’s the same man Marion talked about?’

‘Oh, yes. She came home about half an hour later and I made a point of asking her. She said it was him.’

‘Do you know if she carried on seeing him after you moved out of the flat?’

Nicola took off her glasses, breathed on them and started to polish them with the hem of her skirt. ‘She didn’t seem to want to talk about him and I got the impression it had fizzled out for some reason, but she didn’t say why.’

‘Did he have a name?’

She put her glasses back on and shook her head slowly. ‘David? Simon? Peter? I’m hopeless, aren’t I? Memory like a sieve. I know she told me. It was something simple like that, nothing fancy like kids get called these days. Hopefully, it’ll come back to me.’

‘Do you have any idea where they met?’

‘No. Marion was a bit coy about that, I seem to remember, as if she was embarrassed for some reason. That’s one of the reasons why I first wondered if he really existed.’

‘Do you know what sort of car it was?’

Nicola laughed. ‘You’re asking the wrong person. I can’t tell one make from another. Anyway, I was far too busy looking at him.’

‘Was it a saloon or a sports car?’

‘No idea whatsoever, I’m afraid.’

‘Could it have been a van?’

‘Definitely not a van. That much I can tell you.’

Donovan wondered how long Angel had owned his camper van and if he also had had access to a car two years before. ‘But you could identify him?’

Nicola hesitated then nodded. ‘If I saw him again, I’m pretty sure I’d recognise him.’

Tartaglia returned from the bar with two glasses of wine and sat down at the small table opposite Fiona Blake. She was wearing a simple cream blouse and navy blue suit that set off her pale skin and hair, which she wore down, the way he liked it, full, just skimming her shoulders. She had got to the bar first. When he had kissed her lightly on the cheek before sitting down, he had smelt alcohol on her breath and assumed she had had a quick drink on her own before he arrived, although there was no glass in front of her. Perhaps she was feeling as nervous as he was. He still wasn’t convinced that it was a good idea to meet, and he had thought about calling her and making an excuse. But in the end he couldn’t help himself. He had to know why she wanted to see him.

They were in a basement wine bar close to where Blake worked. The long, narrow room was filling up quickly with people from the offices around and the buzz of conversation mingled with the background thud of music. The bar was Blake’s regular haunt, where they had first met for a drink a couple of months before when it had all started. He wondered if she had suggested the place deliberately or had simply forgotten. Perhaps it wasn’t important to her. By coincidence, they were even sitting at the same table. But he wasn’t sentimental about such things, although it felt strange to be there with her again, after everything that had happened.

He lit a cigarette, watching as she picked up her full glass. She took a sip then put the glass down, folding her small hands neatly on the table in front of her, as though she had something important to say. He noticed instantly that she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring. Maybe she and Murray had split up and that was what she wanted to tell him. But he checked himself, doubting that things could be so simple.

She took a deep breath. ‘Look, Mark. I’m really very sorry about what happened.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘In my office and at the mortuary the other day. I just felt so awkward seeing you again and I handled myself badly. It was childish and I shouldn’t have behaved like that. That’s why I came round the other night. I wanted to apologise.’

‘I felt awkward too,’ he said. Still do, he wanted to say, although he had no wish to show her how much she affected him.

She gave him a nervous smile, flicking a long strand of copper hair away from her face. ‘I’m sorry about everything really. I wanted to explain but you wouldn’t see me. I know you think I haven’t been straight with you…’

She looked at him intently, as if waiting for him to say something. The colour had come to her cheeks and her eyes were a fierce blue. He took a mouthful of wine, a pinot grigio and the best on offer. But it was thin and sharp and he put the glass down, taking another draw on his cigarette instead. What was he supposed to say? That she’d lied to him, deliberately led him up the garden path and humiliated him? He’d said it all before on the phone and there was no point in having another row face to face. Surely that wasn’t why she’d asked him to come.

She sighed heavily. ‘This is very difficult for me, Mark. I thought you knew how things stood.’

‘How things stood?’

She shrugged. ‘With Murray, I mean.’

He could feel the blood rise. ‘How was I supposed to know? I’m not telepathic. I only found out by mistake, from someone else.’

She waved her hand vaguely in the air as if it was all something trivial. ‘It’s a complicated situation; you know how these things are. You and I barely knew one another and I didn’t know how to explain.’

‘It’s pretty simple, Fiona. You just tell me you have a partner. End of story.’

She nodded slowly. ‘Of course, I should have done. I see that now. Again, I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?’ She was looking at him questioningly. However sweet her expression, he still couldn’t help feeling bitter and he looked away, taking another deep pull on his cigarette. If she had told him about Murray, he would never have allowed things to go so far. And she knew it too, which was why she had said nothing. She still wasn’t being honest either, with herself or with him.

‘Can’t we be friends again?’ she said quietly.

Friends. She made it sound so simple but it felt like a slap in the face. ‘Sure. I’ve no problem with that,’ he said, biting his lip. The word was hollow, yet another lie. They had never been friends. Their brief relationship, such as it was, had been entirely sexual; the word ‘friend’ had never once entered his thoughts in those few heady weeks. Did ‘friends’ now mean that they were to act as if nothing had ever happened, that it could all be switched off at a touch, like a light? He certainly had never had that sort of control over his emotions, once they were engaged. Perhaps what had happened between them meant little or nothing to her after all. If so, why come round to his flat, why the late night call, why bother to see him now? It didn’t make sense. But he’d never been very good at understanding women.

She smiled. ‘Good. I’m glad you’re OK about it. Now we’ve cleared the air, tell me about the case. Is it going well?’

He took a drag of smoke and shook his head, suddenly relieved that she had moved things onto a less emotional level. ‘It’s not going well at all,’ he said, and proceeded to tell her about Kelly Goodhart. Blake seemed genuinely interested, listening quietly, asking a few pertinent questions. He gave her the basic run through, finding it good for a change to be able to talk to someone who was only involved on the periphery of the case. ‘Even if someone else does the autopsy,’ he added, ‘I’d like you to examine her, once we find the body. You know exactly what we’re looking for.’

‘Delighted to help in any way I can. You really think she’s another in the series?’

‘It’s too early to tell. But the stuff in the emails rang alarm bells.’

‘How are you getting on with Carolyn Steele?’

‘OK,’ he said, noncommittally. ‘Why?’

‘Just wondered. I’ve come across her a few times before. She’s quite attractive, don’t you think?’

‘Not my type,’ he said, surprised. Women never understood what attracted men to other women, and vice versa. He was still baffled by what Fiona saw in the weak-mouthed, cotton-haired man in the photographs in her office.

‘Any news on DCI Clarke?’

‘He’s making good progress, thank God.’

‘When will he be able to come back to work?’

He shrugged. ‘No idea, at the moment. He was very badly injured and it could be several months.’ That was the official line anyway, although he knew deep down that there was little likelihood of Trevor coming back. Of course, it was still too early to be sure but when he’d spoken to Sally-Anne that morning, she had let slip something about moving to the seaside, once Trevor was out of hospital. It had sounded permanent, not like a holiday for recuperation.

‘So, you may find yourself working for Carolyn Steele for a while?’

‘I suppose so.’ He stubbed out his cigarette, suddenly wondering if Cornish would ask Steele to take over permanently. There would be several other candidates for the job and Steele might not want it. However, the thought of Steele as his boss for the long term was a daunting prospect.

‘The papers said you’ve got some sort of psychological profiler involved.’

He looked at her warily, wondering if perhaps office gossip had filtered as far as the pathology lab. ‘Yes, Dr Patrick Kennedy.’

‘He’s quite well known, isn’t he?’

‘He’s good at self-publicity, if that’s what you mean.’

‘I find the whole idea of psychological profiling very unscientific.’

‘That depends,’ he said, moving to light another cigarette. ‘The FBI do a fantastic job but they have a lot more experience of serial killers than we do. Our approach is pretty ad hoc by comparison and, as you say, unscientific. We do have a few decent profilers in this country but they’re like gold dust.’

She looked amused, smoothing back her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ears. ‘Dr Kennedy’s not one of them, I take it, judging by your expression.’

Tartaglia smiled. ‘It’s not my call, but he doesn’t seem to be adding much value so far.’

There was another awkward silence and he wondered if he ought to make some sort of excuse and go. But she hadn’t finished her glass of wine and he didn’t want to appear rude. Again, he had the impression that she was waiting for him to say something. He just didn’t know what it was. The whole situation seemed forced. He was suddenly reminded again of how they had never really talked before about anything other than work, never really engaged in normal, everyday conversation and he felt at a loss for words, not having a clue what to say to ease things along. He had no idea what she was interested in, didn’t know much about her at all, and there was only one question he wanted to ask: was she still with that fucking barrister? But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

‘Have you seen any good films lately?’ she asked, after a moment.

He almost laughed, wondering if she was going through the same thought processes as he, struggling to find an area of commonality. ‘Haven’t had time. You know what it’s like.’

She nodded sympathetically. He noticed a smear of lipstick on the edge of her lovely mouth and was tempted to reach across and wipe it away. But he held back, worried that she might misinterpret the gesture and not sure if he could trust himself to stop there.

‘Do you know, Mark, it’s really good to see you.’

‘I’m glad,’ he said, hiding his surprise at the warmth of her tone by forcing down a gulp of the awful wine. At least she had had the sense to ask for a glass of red.

‘Perhaps we can go to a film or something next week. There are several things on I’d like to see.’

‘A film? Maybe.’ Without knowing why, he was sure they wouldn’t have the same taste in films. ‘What about Murray? Won’t he mind?’ He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Oh, he’s away on a case all next week.’

Well, that answered the only question he had wanted to ask. She and Murray were still together. ‘Next week’s no good for me,’ he said, thinking that he really should make his excuses now and go. ‘We’re working all hours at the moment. I shouldn’t really even be here now.’

She smiled. ‘Then I appreciate your coming all the more.’ Without warning, she leaned forward and started to stroke his cheek, running her fingers through his hair. ‘I’ve missed you, you know. Can’t stop thinking about you.’

Confused, he pulled away. He hadn’t seen this coming at all. ‘What are you doing?’

She looked surprised. ‘What’s wrong? I want to kiss you.’

‘Look, Fiona, I don’t think it’s a very good idea.’

She was still smiling. ‘Are you worried this is a public place? It didn’t stop you before.’

‘We were talking about friendship only a moment ago.’

‘Friendship, of course. But I bloody fancy you. That’s all. I had this dream about you…’

‘You’re engaged to another bloke, I seem to remember,’ he said, trying to stifle the urgent desire to grab hold of her.

She took a sip of her wine and glanced away, squeezing her lips together as if she had tasted something sour. He lit another cigarette, hoping that maybe she would say something to contradict him. But she refused to meet his eye.

‘You are still engaged to him, aren’t you?’ he said, when she didn’t reply. Still no response. ‘I’ll take that as a “yes”. So, we’re back where we were before which, as far as I’m concerned, is nowhere that interests me. Why can’t you just be honest?’

She banged her glass down on the table and stared at him angrily. ‘You’re so bloody puritanical, you know. Life’s not black and white, at least mine isn’t. Why can’t we see each other again? What’s wrong with it, if we both want to? And I know you do.’

‘The way it was before?’

She frowned. ‘Maybe not exactly like before.’

‘But close enough, you mean? That doesn’t work for me, as you well know. And what about Murray? You’re supposed to be marrying the guy, for Christ’s sake.’

She sighed heavily, looking down at her hands. ‘If you must know, Murray and I aren’t getting on.’

‘Now, that’s a surprise.’ He reached over and touched her lightly under the chin, forcing her to look up at him. ‘But you’re still engaged to him. Yes? Why don’t you just come out and say it?’

She glared at him. ‘All right, then. For what it’s worth, which is not a great fucking deal to me, I’m still officially engaged to Murray.’

Seeing tears not far away, he stubbed out his cigarette and reached over and took her hand. ‘I’m sorry you’re not happy, truly I am. But I’ve made my position clear.’ He kissed her fingers gently and stood up to go. ‘You’ve got to sort out your life, Fiona, and you’ve got to decide what you want. As that boring old saying goes, you can’t have your cake and eat it.’