urgent fish to fry.
From the dashboard pocket she took an expensive automatic camera with a powerful zoom lens a legacy of the divorce and checked it for him.
Then, switching on the ignition, she drew out into the traffic.
She had to wait two hours, crouched uncomfortably on the back seat of her car, but she was well rewarded for her patience.
When Olive’s Svengali finally emerged from his front door he paused for a second or two and presented her with a perfect shot of his face.
Magnified by the zoom lens, the dark eyes bored straight through her as she took the picture before they turned away to glance down between the avenue of trees to check for oncoming traffic. She felt the hairs pricking on the back of her neck. He couldn’t possibly have seen her the car was facing away from him with the camera lens propped on her handbag in the back window but she shivered none the less. The photographs of Gwen and Amber’s mutilated bodies, lying on the seat beside her, were a terrible reminder that she was stalking a psychopath.
She arrived back at her flat, hot and tired from the sweltering heat of unheralded summer. The wintry feel of three days before had melted into brilliant blue skies with a promise of more heat to come. She opened the windows of the flat and let in the roar of London traffic.
More noticeable than usual, it made her think with a brief wistfulness of the peace and beauty of Bayview.
She checked her answer phone for messages while she poured a glass of water, only to find the tape as she had left it, blank.
She dialled the Poacher and listened, this time with mounting anxiety, to the vain ringing at the other end. Where on earth was he? She chewed the knuckle of her thumb in frustration then phoned Iris.
“How would Gerry react if you asked him nicely to put on his solicitor’s hat’ Gerald Fielding was a partner in a top London legal practice ‘ring Dawlington police station and make some discreet enquiries before everything winds down for the weekend?”
Iris was never one to beat about the bush.
“Why?” she demanded.
“And what’s in it for me?”
“My peace of mind. I’m too twitched at the moment to write anything.”
“Hmm. Why?”
“I’m worried about my shady policeman.”
“Your shady policeman?” asked Iris suspiciously.
“That’s right.”
Iris heard the amusement in her friend’s voice.
“Oh, my God,” she said crossly, ‘you haven’t gone and fallen for him?
He’s supposed to be a source.”
“He is of endless erotic fantasy.”
Iris groaned.
“How can you write objectively about corrupt policemen if you’ve got the hots for one of them?”
“Who says he’s corrupt?”
“He must be, if Olive’s innocent. I thought you said he took her confession.”
“It’s a pity you’re not a Catholic. You could go to confession and feel better immediately..
“Are you still there?” demanded Iris.
“Yes. Will Gerry do it?”
“Why can’t you make the call yourself?”
“Because I’m involved and they might recognise my voice. I made them a 999 call.”
Iris groaned again.
“What on earth have you been up to?”
“Nothing crmniinal, at least I don’t think so.” She heard the grunt of horror at the other end.
“Look, all Gerry has to do is ask a few innocent questions.”
“Will he have to lie?”
“A white lie or two.”
“He’ll have a fit. You know Gerry. Breaks out in a muck sweat at the mere mention of falsehoods.” She sighed loudly.
“What a pest you are. You realise I shall have to bribe him with promises of good behaviour. My life won’t be worth living.”
“You’re an angel. Now, these are the only details Gerry needs to know.
He’s trying to contact his client, Hal Hawksley of the Poacher, Wenceslas Street, Dawlington. He has reason to believe the Poacher has been broken into and wonders if the police know where Hal can be contacted. OK?”
