He got up out of his chair, wandered over to the bookshelf, shifting a pile of weathered periodicals to one side to reveal a dust-strewn record player. He lifted the lid; the arm had become detached.
'The arm is broken,' he said, waving the severed limb.
'Funny, you don't get that with a CD player,'
Heather said.
She got out of her chair and went over to the radio, turning the dial slowly. Finally, she found a station playing music, an old soul song Nigel didn't recognize. His tastes stretched to the work of Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Leonard Cohen and a few other ageing singer-songwriters of the early seventies. The collection stopped at about 1974, the year he was born. Given how she smiled when the sax-laden chorus of the radio song kicked in, that might not have been the latenight listening she was seeking.
She sauntered back to the chair, and drained the remnants of her wine. He went to give her a refill but Heather placed her hand over the top of the glass.
'I'm driving,' she said.
He poured himself another and they sat listening.
Heather had closed her eyes. Nigel wondered if she might fall asleep. When the song finished, she opened them again.
She sighed deeply. 'It's so good to be able to relax in the middle of all this,' she said. 'Foster can't do it, can't switch off. I think it's vital'
Nigel could sympathize with Foster. Since stumbling across Nella Perry's body on Sunday morning, he could think of nothing but doing all he could to catch her killer. Sleep came in fitful spurts; only by chasing the killer through the past could he cope.
Heather seemed to sense his thoughts. 'I know how you're feeling,' she said. 'It gets obsessive.' She spread her hands out wide. 'Welcome to my world.'
'How did you get into detective work, if you don't mind me asking?'
She shook her head. 'Not at all. I did a criminology degree at university. When I finished, I wondered what I would do with it. The way I saw it, there were two options. I could continue to study, live in the world of theory and make bugger-all difference, or I could join the police force. I took the unfashionable option.'
'Why London?'
'I'd like to say all human life is here and, therefore, there is no more interesting and challenging place to do a job like mine. Which is true. But the fact is, I followed a bloke down here. It didn't work out; me and London did.'
More silence. The song ended.
'So who was it who broke your heart at the university?'
Heather asked.
Nigel was startled at first, but the wine emboldened him.
'Who said she broke my heart?' he replied, smiling-.
'You did. When I was here Sunday morning. Well, you didn't say that explicitly. But it was clear from the look in your eyes that it was painful You do the vulnerable look very well. It's those blue eyes.'
He didn't know what to say.
'A combination of the eyes, the thick square rimmed glasses, and the shy smile. Bet you went down a storm with the student body.'
His face must have betrayed a hint of panic.
She reacted immediately. 'She was a student?' voice rising with surprise.
He nodded. He felt it right to tell the whole story.
If this wasn't to be the only time he was to share a drink with Heather, and he genuinely hoped it wasn't, then it made sense to furnish her with the truth.
'She was twenty-nine. A PhD student. Not one of mine. I was hired to try and set up a family history degree, but, while I was planning that, they asked me to take some history modules. Lily was chasing a job at the uni and, because she was doing a PhD and had a bit of time on her hands, she was assigned to help build, plan and research the family history course with me. We became close and eventually we . . .' He tried to search for the right word.
'Got it on?' Heather offered, eyes twinkling.
'You could say that, yes.'
'So, what went wrong?'
'She was married.'
'Oh.'
'She was separated when we started seeing each other. I didn't know there was a husband. Anyway, she told me about him one day. Then she said he had got back in touch, wanted to give it another go.'
'She told you that on the same day she told you that her husband existed?' Heather said with disdain.
'The cow.'
'Yes, well. Obviously, she didn't choose me. They offered her a job at the university and, frankly, the idea of working with her every day after all that had happened was pretty unpalatable. Plus, there was a funding problem and so the family history course was being put on the back burner. So I walked away.'
'You did the right thing.'
He shrugged. 'I'm over it, by the way.'
She raised her eyebrows at him. 'Why are you telling me that?'
He felt the burn of embarrassment in his cheeks.
Heather smiled, then glanced sideways in search of her bag. 'Listen, you look knackered,' she said. 'I'll let you go. Don't want you to fall asleep in the birth indexes.'
She stood up, Nigel too.
'You're the first person I've ever told that to,'
he said.
'Anything you say might be taken down and used in evidence against you,' she replied.
He was tired, but he did not want her to go. Her presence was like a balm. He knew when he closed the door and went to his bed, the image of Nella Perry would be back and he would lie in the dark, unable to sleep, listening to the blood pumping around his body.
'Thanks for coming round,' he said.
Again she gave him one of her smiles.
'I mean that,' he added.
She stood by the door, lingering a few seconds.
Nigel felt the urge to say or do something.
'No problem,' she said. She walked towards him, put her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.
Her lips were soft and brushed against him lightly.
She went back to the door.
'Maybe we can do this again. Obviously, when the case is done.'
'I'd like that,' she said, putting her bag over her shoulder. 'Though next time, try and get the cork out of the bottle properly.'
18
Nigel allowed himself four hours' sleep and was back at the FRC within five, after being scooted across early-morning London by a cab driver eager to make use of the empty roads. With no one around he took the liberty of smoking a string of roll-ups in the canteen, to give him the energy rush the scalding machine-dispensed coffee failed to do.
From his notes on the investigation and trial, he worked out there were three other key figures whose descendants remained untouched: the ham prosecution barrister John J. Dart, QC, MP; Joseph Garrett, who conducted Fairbairn's defence; and Detective Henry Pfizer of Scotland Yard.
