‘Impetuous.’
‘You must have gone through a terrible time in prison.’
‘Rather not talk about that.’ He sat back in the chair. ‘You serve your time, but your record is always there. Something violent happens.
… They pick you up and find you did time for GBH and they’re not going to pat you on the head and send you away.’
She reached across the table and put her hand over his. ‘I had no idea about any of this. You didn’t say.’
The skewed smile appeared. ‘Not much of a chat-up line, is it?’
‘Makes no difference. I still want to be friends.’
Gently, but firmly, he withdrew his hand from hers. ‘Better not.’
She felt the chill of rejection. ‘I don’t see why. They’ve freed you now. You’re entitled to meet anyone you choose.’
‘They see us together, they’ll think we cooked something up. Likely they’ll pull you in for questioning.’
‘So what? I can put them right.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s uncool linking up with an ex-con.’
‘We’re together right now, aren’t we?’
‘I asked to see you just so you’d know about me.’ He paused and then emphasised each word. ‘And we draw a line and no one is hurt.’
‘Jake, I’ll be far more hurt if I can’t even speak to you.’
‘They’re sure I did it,’ he said. ‘They only let me go because they don’t have the evidence yet.’
‘But that’s ridiculous. This woman was murdered, strangled by the sound of it. Your so-called crime was pushing a soldier out of a tree. That wasn’t murder, that was accidental.’
‘An act of aggression.’
‘I don’t accept that.’
‘The words of the judge who sent me down.’
‘Nuts to that judge. I don’t believe you’re a violent man.’
‘That’s good to know,’ he said nodding, ‘but it doesn’t change anything. It’s out of our hands.’
‘The police have their own agenda?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And you think they’ll arrest us both if you’re seen with me? That’s crazy, Jake.’
‘Crazy things happen to me. I don’t want you drawn into it.’
She bit her lip, on the verge of tears. She could tell he meant every word and truly cared about her. From his perspective, separation made sense. From her own selfish point of view what he was suggesting would be an outrage, a denial of freedom. ‘I’d rather take the risk and stay friends. Let’s at least exchange mobile numbers so we stay in contact.’
He looked startled, then acquiescent, then pleased. ‘Okay, but don’t put the number… don’t put it in the memory. The first thing they do is go through your directory.’
‘And I’m not ruling out a walk on the beach,’ she said, writing hers down and handing it to him. This was a moment to be strong. Poor guy. He needed to know she was in his corner. ‘Now let’s talk about something really serious. Tell me what music you like.’
SIX
The first bars of Colonel Bogey sounded in Jo’s bag. She took out her mobile and pressed the green key.
‘Sweetie, how are you placed?’
Too bad. The caller wasn’t Jake. Five days had gone by and she’d heard no more from him. It was Gemma.
‘You mean right now?’
‘I mean can you come over?’
‘Where to?’
‘The print works. Fishbourne. You know it, don’t you?’
‘Is that wise? I might meet someone.’
‘It’s okay. The boss isn’t in.’
‘What’s the problem, then?’
‘Bit of a mystery. Tell you when you get here-if I haven’t spontaneously combusted by then.’
Even allowing for Gemma’s dramatising, this sounded like an emergency. The last week had been stressful enough, but you back your friends when help is asked for. Wondering what she was getting into this time, Jo told Adrian the boss she was feeling woozy, got into the Panda, and drove the couple of miles to Fishbourne.
Kleentext Print Solutions was housed near the railway station in a boxlike 1950s utility building with a cluster of wooden annexes where the real work was done. Jo parked beside a silver delivery van and used the main entrance, under a sign saying ADMINISTRATION. Inside, she was confronted by a six-foot wall of cartons that screened off the reception desk. She squeezed past.
‘I hope you’re from the council.’
The receptionist’s voice was confrontational.
Jo gave her name and explained why she was there.
‘So you’re not.’
‘Not what?’
‘From the council. They should have sent someone to collect that lot,’ the receptionist said, eyeing the cartons. ‘They’ve been there two days, blocking my light. How can I do this job when I can’t see people coming? It’s really inconvenient.’
‘Nothing to do with me,’ Jo said, privately suspecting the opposite.
Gemma was waiting on the top floor when the lift opened, arms wide in welcome. ‘You’re a true amigo. Where would I be without you?’ She gave Jo a hug. ‘Come and see the office. It’s all right. I’m entirely alone.’
Her workplace was carpeted and comfortable, with veneer panelled walls and framed scenes of Chichester with picture lights over them. Her desk was on one side and a large leather sofa on the other. Copies of Country Life, Trout and Salmon, and Today’s Golfer were displayed on a low glass-topped table. The aroma of coffee came from somewhere.
‘Cosy.’
‘Have a seat.’ Gemma waved her to the sofa. ‘Did you notice all those boxes downstairs?’
Jo smiled. ‘Is that what half a million brochures look like?’
‘Until we pulp them, yes. Hillie on reception throws a wingding every time I walk by.’
‘How did your boss take it?’
‘This is the kick in the pants. The ratbag hasn’t seen them. It’s Thursday and he hasn’t shown his face all week. The last I saw of him was Friday when he sloped off early with Fiona. He hasn’t phoned or anything.’
‘How about Fiona?’
‘She’s off work too.’
Jo raised an eyebrow.
Gemma nodded. ‘You’re onto it. She’s reeled him in, hasn’t she? What’s your reading of it? A week in Paris?’
‘It does look suspicious,’ said Jo.
‘Suspicious? I’ve heard of dirty weekends, but a whole week is gross. And not so much as a postcard to say sorry.’
‘Mean.’
‘Mean? You can do better than that.’
‘All right,’ Jo said. ‘What a prick!’
Gemma added seamlessly, ‘… as Fiona remarked in the honeymoon suite at the Paris Ritz. She’s way ahead of us. It knocks our little scheme on the head, doesn’t it? He’s not going to sack the creature for incompetence if
