"Then I suggest you get it out of your system while no one else is here," he said, gesturing around the room."
"Tom, you're not supposed to be involved in this case—"
"Carol Martins came to me!"
"And the information boards…" she said, pointing at them, "did they come to you as well?"
He looked away, biting his bottom lip, all but confirming her suspicion he'd had more than a passing interest in what they were looking into.
"Are you trying to compromise this investigation?"
"No of course I'm not!"
"Well you're doing a good job of it."
She registered a flicker of a reaction in his expression. Was it anger, frustration? She couldn't tell. He was certainly irritated with her.
"Look," she said, adopting a more conciliatory tone, laying her hands on the desk and looking down, "I get it, okay. I really do. You're close to this and… and that's exactly why you shouldn't be getting involved." He looked about to protest, but she continued before he was able. "And it's not just paying too much attention to the case notes." She pointed at the board. Tom followed with his eyes, shaking his head. "You're putting me in a position, not just me but the DCI as well. Even Eric, I expect."
He frowned. "What position?"
"Of having to cover for you, that's what!"
"You don't need to cover for me—"
"Well, that's just it. We will, won't we. Because you're one of us and we care about what happens to you."
He sighed, looking up to the ceiling and running a hand through his hair. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and then looked at her.
"Could you keep out of it, if you were in my place?"
The obvious answer was yes. However, he was right. She wouldn't, not if it was her partner and she believed in her. But, by the same token, she'd fully expect Tom and the others to put her in her place, however uncomfortable the experience might be. She thought about it. Whatever she said, she had the sense he wouldn't back away. She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper, looking around to check she wouldn't be overheard despite them being the only two present.
"Just be a bit more bloody subtle, would you? For all our sakes. Can you do that?"
"I can."
"Good. Where is Eric anyway?"
Tom scratched behind one ear, glancing sideways at the boards and then appearing to disengage from them entirely. "I have him running down some information on the company trying to build the Norfolk Wash Wind Farm as well as those tied financially to the success of the project. If anyone needs me, I'm heading out to speak to Mary Beckett's relatives again. See if I can jog their memories regarding Mary's activism."
Tom left and Cassie watched him go. Once he was out of ops, she walked over to the information boards, coming to stand where Tom had been. He could have been reading any of it, or all of it, but what jumped out at her was the mobile phone records pinned to the side of the board. The corresponding points on the map denoting where the phone had been connected to certain towers on the mobile network was alongside, listing times and dates. They were Alice's. The manager at Cley Windmill was correct. She had been visiting Adrian Gage's house frequently in recent weeks. She figured that'd come as news to Tom. No wonder he was so thrown.
Taking out her mobile, she called Tamara. It couldn't wait after all. She listened to three rings before the call cut to voicemail.
"Tamara, it's me. Forensics have come back on the Gage case and I need to talk to you about next steps. Call me back as soon as you get this, yeah."
She put her mobile down on the desk in front of her, turning her eye to the information boards. She sat back and sighed.
They were getting closer.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tom waited patiently in the sitting room of the Becketts’ house. Despite repeated assurances he didn't want for anything, Janet Beckett insisted on making a pot of tea. Like the other rooms in the house he'd been into, this one carried the grandeur of the building, albeit in a slightly distressed way. An interior designer would no doubt refer to it as shabby chic, but it was primarily shabby with not so much of the chic.
Looking at his watch, Tom considered going to look for Janet in the kitchen. They could just as easily speak in there and he really didn't want a cup of tea, but he would accept one out of politeness. His mobile beeped and he glanced at the screen. It was a text from Alice. He hesitated before opening it, fearing the worst. A summons to collect his things, perhaps? Opening it, it was a short message, leaving a lot to ambiguity in one sense and clarity in another. I miss you. He noted she referred only to herself. Often that would have been we, and he knew Saffy would be missing him. The feeling was mutual. Towards both of them. What should he reply? What was she expecting him to do? The last they'd spoken, she'd told him to leave his house key.
He knew she hadn't meant it to be so final. At least, he hoped not. She was hurting. He hadn't helped. When someone is emotional or facing a period of intense stress, or both, they can feel vulnerable. In such a scenario some people will fold, retreat into themselves and try to shut everyone else out. Others will come out swinging. And one thing Alice could do was give a good account of herself. He always knew she was resilient, passing the gift onto her daughter, but he'd never known her to be so brutal. Not to him, at least.
His finger hovered over the reply symbol, his thoughts drifting back to the information boards on
