He was quick to scotch that notion. ‘No, she was just a fresher, then. The mammoth dig was before I started going out with her. I took note of her, of course. You tend to spot the pretty ones on an excavation and they were in bikinis, if I recall correctly.’
Hen trusted his memory on that. ‘How long did this dig go on for?’
‘Three or four days only, at extreme low tide. Very demanding conditions. It’s a pity, because a lot can be learned from the clay the bones are embedded in. You can isolate fossil plant-seeds that provide insights into the conditions at the time the mammal met its end.’
‘This was an important find, I imagine?’
‘Sensational, yes. The press came, and radio and television. Nowadays it wouldn’t be the story it was. Global warming has led to wonderfully preserved mammoths being hacked out of the permafrost. In Russia they have so many you can buy them on the black market.’
One little query answered. Mammoths didn’t grow on trees in 1987, but twenty years later was another story.
‘To your knowledge, Dr Sentinel, that was the last time your wife visited Selsey?’
‘I can’t think of any other reason she would have come. We don’t take our holidays here.’
‘There are other local sites where ancient remains have been excavated.’
‘Boxgrove,’ Gary Pearce put in.
‘Didn’t I make myself clear?’ Sentinel said. ‘She doesn’t- didn’t-go on digs. The mammoth was a one- off.’
‘And you can’t think why she would have come to Selsey this September, or who might have come with her?’
‘If I knew the answer to that, I’d have told you already.’
‘Did she own a car?’
‘A Volvo Estate. It’s still in the street outside our home.’
‘So either she took the train or she was driven here.’ Hen let a few seconds pass. ‘There’s something I’m bound to ask and it’s vital that you give me a frank answer. Was your marriage in any difficulty?’
The colour rose in his face. ‘Certainly not. Hasn’t everything I’ve said up to now demonstrated the strength of our affection for each other?’
‘You’ve no reason to suppose she might have met someone else?’
‘That suggestion is in appalling bad taste in the circumstances.’
‘Sorry to give offence, but I had to ask,’ Hen said. ‘She acted out of character, according to you. Whilst you were away, she came to a place you knew nothing about and was found half naked on a beach.’
‘Obviously she was abducted and brought here by her attacker.’
‘Why? A public beach isn’t the ideal place to conceal a murder.’
‘He must know the area. You’re looking for someone with local knowledge.’
It was a reasonable comment, but was he deflecting suspicion?
He continued, showing remarkable detachment, ‘Sadly, bodies are washed up on beaches from time to time and most of them are victims of drowning. He must have assumed you would think she went swimming and got into difficulties. He didn’t expect to leave those marks on her neck. That’s my reading of it.’
On this, Hen agreed with him.
Jo lived on the north side of Chichester in a 1930s semi converted into two flats. She had the upper one. Doreen, a widow in her seventies, lived downstairs and did all the gardening, one of those hardy Englishwomen who knew about plants and was never happier than when out there watering, weeding, and pruning. They shared the front door.
She noticed Jake getting tense as the car left the main road into town and headed along suburban streets.
‘You don’t mind?’ She was doing her utmost to sound relaxed. ‘I thought my place would be less public than one of the coffee shops in town.’
He said nothing. At least he didn’t protest.
Fortunately Doreen wasn’t working in the front. She would have insisted on being introduced and asking questions, well meant, but liable to alarm anyone as wary as Jake.
Jo parked on the drive and switched off. Jake remained in his seat with the belt fastened.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You’re wondering if this is wise.’
He gave a nod.
‘There’s no hidden agenda. It’s coffee and biscuits and a chance to talk.’
After a pause for thought he said, ‘Suits me,’ and got out.
First base, she thought, and then gave herself a silent reprimand.
Upstairs in the living room Jake said, ‘Nice place.’
‘Not to everyone’s taste,’ she said. ‘The colours are on the strong side, but I like the orange to red range. Shall I take your coat?’
A small courtesy, but the reaction was symbolic of trust when he unzipped the jacket and handed it to her.
‘Have a seat and I’ll get the kettle on.’
Had she prepared for this by some trick of the subconscious? She’d left an unopened packet of chocolate biscuits beside the kettle. She found a plate for them.
‘I seem to remember you like yours black without?’ she called from the kitchen. ‘Put some music on if you like.’
The Lazy Sunday brand of coffee would have to do for Saturday. Humming to herself, she spooned some into the cafetiere and poured on the water. Then she noticed there was a message on the answerphone. Gemma? Unlikely. Gem would have called her mobile. I know who that is, she thought with resignation. Her mother always used the land line.
Jake had chosen her CD of the Goldberg Variations. Glenn Gould, another guy with a personality problem.
‘Do you play?’ she asked as she came in with the tray.
‘Badly.’
‘Better than me. I lasted one week on the violin. My parents were keen for me to learn and that turned me right off. I have a pushy mother, though I have to admit she pushes herself hardest of all. She’s mastered all kinds of skills, from marquetry to martial arts.’
‘I won’t pick a fight,’ he said.
‘Yes, she’d see how tall you are and take you as a challenge. Are your parents anything like that?’
‘Tall?’
‘No. Cringe-making.’
‘Died when I was too young to know them,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Another gaffe.
‘I was a Barnardo’s boy. Have you heard of it?’
‘I’ve seen the charity shops. That must have been a tough time. Were you in a children’s home?’
He shook his head. ‘They closed all the homes some time ago.’
‘So?’
‘I was fostered, three times.’
‘That’s a lot of changes. Weren’t the parents suitable?’
‘I wasn’t. A right little tearaway.’
She smiled. ‘Hard to imagine.’
‘Oh, yeah? I took advantage. Didn’t settle down until I went to school. Other kids put me in my place, let me know I was different.’
‘Kids are cruel.’
‘I have the hide of a rhino.’ He managed a rare smile while working himself up to say something else. ‘Your mother might knock me over, but she wouldn’t hurt me.’
He did have a sense of humour. ‘She still knows how to needle me,’ Jo said. ‘There’s a message on the
