‘I was feeling queasy in there, as well,’ Eardley said.
Larry assumed that even the athletic needed a break from routine once in a while. Protein bars and fruit juices had to become boring in time, as he, Larry Hill, knew only too well. His wife, always thinking of his well-being, had fed him enough strange diets, most of them faddish, over the last few years. He was a man who worked hard. A man who needed chips with his steak, a pint of beer with his pub lunch.
‘Make that three Big Macs,’ Larry shouted to the person behind the counter. Tomorrow, he’d worry about his weight.
Adrian Clark gulped the Big Mac down, almost stuffing the chips into his mouth. He then took hold of his milkshake, chocolate-flavoured, and sucked on the straw. He looked over at Larry.
‘Four days ago, in Hyde Park.’
‘Where?’
‘Where you fished the man out. She was standing around the back of the Peter Pan statue.’
‘Are you sure it was her?’
‘I was on my own, and it was raining. Not heavy but enough to be annoying.’
‘Describe the scene, take your time. I’ll record you on my iPhone.’
‘It was just after five in the morning. I came into the city early, attempting to catch up on some work that was overdue, have a run around the park. I’m coming up past the statue, minding my own business. I was making good time, the best for the last few weeks, and there she is.’
‘The blonde?’
‘Yes, her. There’s rain coming at me from the rear, and it’s cold, but I’ve been running for some time, so I didn’t notice it. And then, out from behind the statue, the woman. She’s agitated, ducking behind the statue, coming out again, looking up and down. She’s nervous, I can tell that, and it’s raining, and she’s wet. All she’s wearing is a white blouse and a skirt, knee-length.’
‘Shoes?’
‘High heels, so she’s not a walker.’
‘You saw a lot for someone who was running past, making good time.’
‘The lace came loose on one of my shoes. I wouldn’t have stopped, not for her. I’m about twenty yards up the path, heading towards Lancaster Gate.’
‘Okay, you’ve seen her, and you’ve stopped. Then what?’
‘My time was shot, so I stood there catching my breath. I’d overdone it, I knew that, but I had been determined, and then my shoe. I watched her for a few minutes, and then I carried on. Nothing more after that.’
‘Any idea as to why she was there?’
‘No. I didn’t think much about it after that. There was a meeting in the office at ten, and I wasn’t prepared, not as well as I had to be. I hurried back to the office, a quick shower, and then I focussed on a report. The oxygen in the brain helped, and I completed the report earlier than expected.’
‘Did you see the woman again, or before that day?’
‘Never.’
‘How about you, Roy?’
‘Not me. To me, she was a stranger.’
‘Does it help?’ Adrian Clark asked.
‘It brings in another element to the investigation,’ Larry said. ‘But why didn’t you tell us before?’
‘We only met this morning, and I’d pushed it to one side in my mind. Running early or even late, especially in summer, you see some sights. Couples copulating, people arguing, dogs defecating, the owners looking the other way, not bothering to pick up the mess. I even saw a couple strip off their clothes and jump in the Serpentine for a swim, and it wasn’t summer. Probably high on drugs, but I said nothing.’
‘Thanks for your help. Adrian, I’ll need you down at the station to make a formal statement. You as well, Roy. Midday suit you both?’
‘We’ll be there,’ Roy said. Adrian Clark nodded his head.
The two men walked out of McDonald’s. Larry ordered another Big Mac. He phoned Wendy.
Chapter 7
A gushing of emotions, the need to talk: that was what Wendy had expected from Christine Mason after seeing and confirming that the dead man was indeed her former lover.
Wendy was not disappointed in the woman as they sat in a café not far from the pathologist’s. Outside, on the street, people hurried by, some going to work, others just out for a stroll or for window shopping, the chance to spend their money.
‘Seeing him there, it wasn’t what I expected,’ Christine said. She had removed her jacket; the café was warm.
The tea had arrived in a teapot, along with two cups, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar cubes. Wendy called the waitress back, complained about the tea being tepid. The woman had pulled a face but had taken the teapot, returning in a couple of minutes with another.
‘In your own time,’ Wendy said.
‘So pale, so cold, so…’
‘Dead is the word. The man was murdered, we’re sure of that, but why? You’re holding back. Is it a fear of your husband? A fear of something else?’
‘I never really knew who he was. It was just… I know it sounds silly, but he made me feel special.’
‘And you still think he cared?’
‘I wanted to believe him, but he was so attractive. The sort of man that could have had any woman, but he chose me.’
‘Christine, you’re not a stupid woman, not uneducated. Why do you continue to talk as if you’re a teenager? This is not reality television. This is real life where attractive men take advantage of vulnerable women, people overdose on drugs, murder people in Hyde Park. Colin Young, whoever he was, was up to something, or he had upset someone.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
Christine Mason didn’t look to be naive and silly, yet she was. She had fallen for the dead
