Andrew clutched his document case closer to him, so that it covered his groin like a protective talisman. His eyes roved round the hallway, looking towards the doors as if hoping for rescue.
207
He tried to sidle gradually towards where he knew Graham’s office lay.
‘I’m sure Graham will be wonderful on TV, aren’t you?’
‘Oh yes. He’s very articulate.’
‘Articulate. That’s good. Yes. he talks very well, doesn’t he?
o ‘ J ‘
Very convincing. But what do you think, Andrew?’
He found himself almost squashed against the wall, close to
an antique inlaid cabinet he had always admired. His hand slid
across its lid as he groped for support, leaving a sweaty palm
print on its polished surface.
‘About what happened to Laura, you mean?’
‘Yes - that, Andrew.’
‘They’ve taken Lee Sherratt in for questioning, haven’t they?’
Charlotte laughed. It was a deep, throaty laugh, roughened
with cigarette smoke and tinged with hysteria. Then she stopped
laughing suddenly and tightened her grip on the sleeve of
his jacket.
‘Is that the best you can do? Is that what you’re relying on?
It won’t be enough, believe me.’
o ‘
Andrew Milner felt her eyes leave his face and move away, staring over his shoulder. He turned his head and saw Graham
O
Vernon watching from the door of his study, a sardonic smile on his face. Andrew became horribly aware of Charlotte’s body pressed close against him, her breast squeezing into his arm, her pelvis thrust against his hip.
‘Did you want to see me, Andrew?’ asked Graham. ‘Or is Charlotte looking after you?’
Once in his own home, cleaned up and seated in his chair in the front room with his pipe, Harry looked much more approachable than he had among his friends. He had a copy of that morning’s
O i J O
Buxton Advertiser on the table by his chair. On the front page was a colour picture of the well-dressing ceremony at Great Hucklow. This year the villagers had created a picture from flowers on the theme of the millennium — Two Thousand Years Since the Birth of Christ. According to the story, the team had worked through the night to finish the display for the opening ceremony.
‘It says here the police are assessing the result of forensic
208
tests,’ said Harry, tapping a storv at the bottom of the page. ‘And they expect to make an arrest soon. Is that right?’
‘I suppose it must be.’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Stewart Tailby, who is leading the enquiry, said: “I remain hopeful.” Is that just a lot of rubbish, or what?’
‘I want to ask you about Saturday night,’ said Cooper.
‘Oh aye? Any particular Saturday?’
‘Last Saturday night. The night we believe Laura Vernon was killed.’
‘That Saturday. Well, let’s see. It was warm.’
Cooper had read the transcript of the initial interview with Harry Dickinson, and he was determined not to let Harry divert him from his questions.
‘Tell me what you did that evening, Mr Dickinson.’
‘From when?’
‘Let’s say, six o’clock.’
‘Took the dog for a walk,’ said Harry straightaway. ‘Six o’clock regular. Jess likes her routine. We go down the path on to the Baulk. Under the cliff on Raven’s Side, that’s her favourite spot.’
‘Do you always go there?’
Harrv sucked on his pipe. ‘Sometimes I vary it a bit. If I’m feeling a bit rebellious, like.’
O
‘But that night you walked towards Raven’s Side?’
That’s right.’
