‘You are, maybe.’
She patted his cheek. ‘I’m going to get dressed.’
Jack took another pull on his drink as Kate headed up to his bedroom. He turned the music up louder.
*
Bennett turned the recording device off and watched as the uniformed officers led Matt Henson out of the interview room. The youth had clammed up, refusing to say another word until he had a lawyer present. Bennett had wished him a good night’s sleep in the cell. They’d interview him again in the morning.
When the door closed Bennett took his mobile phone out of his pocket and looked at the display. A message- alert signal was bleeping on the screen.
He clicked on the button and read the message as it appeared. He nodded, pleased with what he read, a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.
‘Showtime!’ he said in a whisper.
*
Delaney crouched down spreading his mittened hands, and opened the oven door to bring out a tray with a free-range chicken sizzling in the middle of it. He took a large metal spoon and poured some of the fat back over the chicken to baste it, then added a slug of wine in the bottom of the tray and tossed in some previously part-roasted potatoes. He was just about to put the tray back in the oven when there was a gentle knocking on his kitchen door.
‘Hello,’ he called, a little puzzled. The door opened and Siobhan bustled through, running up to hug his legs. She was followed by Wendy, who was dressed in a long dark overcoat and wearing large sunglasses.
‘Wendy, what’s up?’
Wendy looked over at the table. It was covered with a linen tablecloth and set for two with lit candles, a single rose in a vase, crystal wine glasses and a bottle of Chablis chilling in a bucket.
‘Sorry, Jack, this is obviously a bad time.’
Delaney could hear the catch in her voice. ‘It’s fine. Just doing Sunday dinner. Why don’t you have a glass of wine with us?’
‘No, it’s not a good time. Come on, Siobhan, we have to go.’
She turned back to the door but Delaney quickly stepped over to her and pushed the door shut. He turned Wendy around to face him and took off her glasses. There was a red slap mark on her cheek and one of her eyes was swollen. Both eyes were puffy and red with recent tears. Wendy looked away, embarrassed.
‘This was Roger?’ asked Delaney, his voice flat.
‘We’ve been having some problems.’
Delaney nodded and turned back to the oven, putting the tray back in. ‘Siobhan, tell Kate this will be ready in twenty minutes and to set one more place.’
‘Okay, Daddy,’ she said quietly, aware that something was up but not really understanding what.
Siobhan smiled, confused, and Delaney ruffled her hair.
‘Jack—’
Wendy started to speak but Delaney interrupted her. ‘No, it’s all right, Wendy. I’m only going to talk to him.’
Kate walked into the kitchen. ‘I thought I heard voices. Hello, Wendy, this is a nice surprise. Hey, Siobhan.’
‘We’d better go,’ said Wendy.
Delaney shook his head. ‘Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, Kate. Siobhan and Wendy are staying the night. I’ll be back when I can.’
‘What’s going on?’
Delaney kissed her on the lips. ‘Something I need to take care of. It won’t take long.’
And he was gone.
Kate looked across at Wendy, who sighed and took off her sunglasses. Kate took in the situation for a moment and then she nodded.
‘You’ll be wanting a glass of wine.’
‘Champagne for me,’ said Siobhan and the two women smiled. But they were sad smiles. Kate crossed to Wendy and put her arms around her.
Wendy nodded gratefully and sniffed back tears. ‘Maybe something stronger if you have it?’
*
Arnold Fraser huddled up tighter against the wall of the doorway where he was sheltering from the rain. In a previous life he had been huddled in dugouts under the fierce heat of a Kuwaiti sun, with shells exploding around him and Iraqi soldiers mere hundreds of feet away who would have liked nothing better than to see his head blown apart by a bullet from one of their snipers’ rifles, and as he turned his head against a gust of rain he wasn’t sure now which was the better place to be. He pulled his overcoat tight around himself and shivered, taking a sip from the last of his tins of strong lager. It would be a long, cold night if he couldn’t get any more.
He heard the sound of footsteps approaching and without looking up saw a pair of Doc Marten boots come into view. Maybe this was the time, Arnold thought, maybe this was
