“And then?” Kincaid said into the moment’s pause.
David looked from one to the other, less comfortable now. “I guess you could say they had a heated discussion. Not a shouting match—they didn’t really raise their voices, but you could tell they were arguing. And Mr. Swann, well, he always enjoyed the food here, made a point to compliment the cook, that sort of thing.” He paused, as if making sure they fully understood the import of what he was about to say. “He didn’t even finish his dinner.”
“Do you remember what he had?” Kincaid asked, and Gemma knew he was thinking of the still incomplete lab report on the contents of Connor’s stomach.
“Steak. Washed down with a good part of a bottle of Burgundy.”
Kincaid considered this, then asked, “What happened after that?”
David shifted in his chair and scratched his nose. “They paid their bills—separately—and left.”
“They left together?” Gemma asked, clarifying the point.
Nodding, David said, “Still arguing, as far as I could tell.” He was fidgeting more obviously now, turning around in his chair to glance at the bar.
Gemma looked at Kincaid, and receiving an almost imperceptible nod, said, “Just one more thing, David. The other man, what did he look like?”
David’s smile lit his face. “Very elegant, nice dresser, if you know what I mean. Tall, thin, fairish—”he puckered his brow and thought for a moment—“in his fifties, I should think, but he’d kept himself well.”
“Did he pay by credit card?” Kincaid asked hopefully.
Shaking his head and looking genuinely regretful, David said, “Sorry. Cash.”
Making an effort to keep the excitement out of her voice, Gemma congratulated him. “You’re very observant, David. We seldom get a description half as good.”
“It’s the job,” he said, smiling. “You get in the habit. I put names with the faces when I can. People like to be recognized.” Pushing back his chair, he looked questioningly from one to the other. “All right if I clear up now?”
Kincaid nodded and handed him a business card. “You can ring us if you think of anything else.”
David had stood and deftly stacked their dirty dishes on his arm when he stopped and seemed to hesitate. “What happened to him? Mr. Swann. You never said.”
“To tell you the truth, we’re not quite sure, but we are treating it as a suspicious death,” said Gemma. “His body was found in the Thames.”
The plates rattled and David steadied them with his other hand. “Not along here, surely?”
“No, at Hambleden Lock.” Gemma fancied she saw a shadow of relief cross the young man’s face, but put it down to the normal human tendency to want trouble kept off one’s own patch.
David reached for another dish, balancing it with nonchalant ease. “When? When did it happen?”
“His body was found early Friday morning,” Kincaid said, watching David with a pleasant expression that Gemma recognized as meaning his interest was fully engaged.
“Friday morning?” David froze, and although Gemma couldn’t be sure in the flickering reflection from the fire, she thought his face paled. “You mean Thursday night…”
The front door opened and a large and fairly well-heeled party came in, faces rosy with the cold. David looked from them to the couple in the back, who were finally showing signs of restiveness. “I’ll have to go. Sorry.” With a flash of an apologetic smile and a rattle of crockery, he hurried to the bar.
Kincaid watched him for a moment, then shrugged and smiled at Gemma. “Nice lad. Might make a good copper. Has the memory for it.”
“Listen.” Gemma leaned toward him, her voice urgent.
At that moment the two rosy-faced couples, having ordered drinks at the bar, sat down at the next table. They smiled at Gemma and Kincaid in a neighborly fashion, then began a clearly audible conversation among themselves. “Here, David’s left us a bill,” said Kincaid. “Let’s settle up and be on our way.”
Not until they had stepped out into the street again was Gemma able to hiss at him, “That was Tommy Godwin.” Seeing Kincaid’s blank expression, she said, “The man with Connor that night. I’m sure it was Tommy Godwin. That’s what I kept trying to tell you,” she added testily.
They had stopped on the pavement just outside the pub and stood holding their coat collars up around their throats, a defense against the fog that had crept up from the river. “How can you be certain?”
“I’m telling you, it had to be him.” She heard her voice rise in exasperation and made an attempt to level it. “You said yourself that David was observant. His description was too accurate for it to be anyone but Tommy. It’s beyond the bounds of probability.”
“Okay, okay.” Kincaid held up a hand in mock surrender. “But what about the theater? You’ll have to recheck —”
The pub door flew open and David almost catapulted into them. “Oh, sorry. I thought I might catch you. Look —” He stopped, as if his impetus had vanished. Still in shirtsleeves, he folded his arms across his torso and stamped his feet a little. “Look—I had no way of knowing, did I? I thought it was just a bit of argy-bargy. I’d have felt a right prat interfering…”
“Tell us what happened, David,” said Kincaid. “Do you want to go back inside?”
David glanced at the door. “No, they’ll be all right for a bit.” He looked back at them, swallowed and went on. “A few minutes after Mr. Swann and the other bloke left, I came out for a break. Kelly usually stops by for a drink when she gets off work, and I like to keep an eye out for her—a bird on her own at night, you know. It’s not as safe as it used to be.” For a moment he paused, perhaps realizing just whom he was lecturing, and Gemma could feel his embarrassment intensify. “Anyway, I was standing just about where we are now, having a smoke, when I heard a noise by the river.” He pointed down the gently sloping street. “It was clear, not like tonight, and the river’s only a
