Sharp chucked the pen he’d been holding on to the desk next to the whiteboard and ran a hand over his face. ‘So, he could’ve been suffering from delusions caused by lack of sleep, then?’
Kay shrugged. She wasn’t prepared to add fuel to his foul mood.
‘Or he just wanted to meet Hunter after her television appearance,’ said Barnes.
Kay glared at him, but conceded the point. It had happened before to other detectives; sometimes the public simply wanted to feel a part of an investigation because there was nothing else in their lives.
‘Doesn’t seem to be a close community,’ said Gavin, leafing through the pages of his notebook. ‘When we spoke to a Mrs Greaves at the Dymchurch end of the village, she had no idea who lived two doors up from her, even though she’d lived there for nearly eight years and they were there when she arrived.’
‘It’s because the place doesn’t have a pub,’ said Barnes.
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ said Debbie.
‘Like Gavin said, there’s no sense of community. If there was a pub, people would have somewhere to congregate. Instead, they keep to themselves.’
‘Doesn’t have a church, either.’
‘The pub would have a bigger audience.’
‘It’s a fair point,’ said Kay, catching sight of Sharp’s look of exasperation and deciding to steer the conversation back to the investigation. ‘None of them have a reason to socialise with each other, and they all seem suspicious of what each other is up to – or they don’t care.’
Sharp’s response was interrupted by Kay’s desk phone ringing, and he indicated to her to take the call while he finalised the briefing.
Hopeful that a new lead had eventuated from the press conference or from their conversations with local residents that day, she raced to answer it before the caller changed their mind.
‘Hello? DS Hunter speaking.’
‘Detective Hunter – it’s Jonathan Aspley from the Kentish—’
‘I’ve got no time to speak to a reporter. We’re in the middle of a—’
‘Please. It’s not about your investigation. Well, not directly.’ Aspley exhaled, and seemed to gather his thoughts before continuing. ‘Don’t let on to your colleagues you’re speaking with me, okay? I need to meet you so we can talk in private.’
Kay turned away from the rest of the team, who were now starting to wander back to their desks, the briefing concluded, and lowered her voice.
‘I’m not giving you an exclusive, Aspley. What the hell do you take me for?’
‘This isn’t about you helping me,’ he said. ‘It’s about me helping you. Can we meet? I promise, I won’t waste your time. It’s important.’
Kay checked her watch. ‘Okay. Where?’
Chapter Forty-Five
After making an excuse that she had to pick up some information from Grey’s digital forensics team at HQ, Kay left the incident room and hurried down to the reception desk.
Sergeant Hughes looked up from his newspaper, and raised an eyebrow.
‘In a rush?’
‘Can I have a pool car, please Hughes?’
He sucked in his breath. ‘Well, I’m not sure—’
‘Please. Sorry – haven’t got time to mess around.’
He pushed the paper aside and wiggled the mouse until his computer screen lit up. ‘Where’s your car?’
‘Parked outside the White Rabbit. We went for drinks after work last night.’
‘Revelling in your newfound celebrity status?’
‘Don’t you start.’
He smirked, jabbed at the keyboard with two fingers, and then reached into a drawer and handed her a set of keys. ‘It’s yours for two hours.’
‘Thanks.’
She bolted from the reception area and along the corridor that led to the car park, thanking two uniformed officers under her breath as they stood to one side as she ran past, bemused expressions on their faces.
She checked her watch again before turning the key in the ignition of the small hatchback Hughes had assigned to her.
Aspley had told her he’d wait twenty minutes. After that, he’d take her nonappearance as a sign she wasn’t interested in what he had to say.
His chosen location, Mote Park, was a popular open space in the centre of the town covering over four hundred and fifty acres. With a mixture of grassland, wooded areas, rivers and a large lake, it had been in existence since Mediaeval times.
Kay shook her head slightly to clear the image of a hanged man that had been discovered in the park a year ago.
Instead, her thoughts turned to what the journalist wanted to speak to her about. His insistence that it wasn’t to do with the press conference piqued her interest.
She pulled into the car park ten minutes later, and hurried from the vehicle towards a figure standing next to the deserted picnic tables.
‘Jonathan Aspley?’
He held out his hand. ‘Detective Hunter. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.’
‘I don’t appreciate reporters turning up at my house uninvited.’
‘I’m sorry. I needed to talk to you away from the police station.’
Kay frowned. ‘Why?’
His eyes shifted from her to the car park, and then he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Do you mind if we walk?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you wearing a wire?’
‘No!’ He flicked open his jacket. ‘No, I’m not. You can check if you want.’
Kay shook her head, fought down her frustration at his cloak and dagger attitude, and gestured to him to lead the way.
She let him walk a little ahead of her, to give her time to study him.
She hadn’t had a chance to look him up on a newspaper website, and he was younger than he had sounded on the phone.
A little shorter than she was, he wore his light brown hair longer at the front and she noticed he had a habit of flicking it out of his eyes before speaking. His pale blue eyes gave his already cool features a washed-out look, especially in the weak winter light.
She turned her attention to her surroundings as she trudged after him.
Where in the summer an ice-cream van would be stationary, surrounded by harassed parents and fractious children, the area now stood empty, a smattering of wizened leaves chasing across the broken and pock-marked asphalt.
Gnarled tree roots broke
