DI Smith sipped his drink. “Good coffee. Why d’you ask if anyone else was taken ill?”
Careful. Eva spoke slowly, weighing up each word before she said it.
“Because that would imply a random attack, like the one yesterday, everyday terrorism or a disgruntled employee at the bakery or the coffee shop.”
“And if not?”
Eric, I’m so sorry.
“It was targeted.” Eva let the words swirl around them.
“Who would want to hurt him?” DI Smith peered at the notices on the fridge as though he might find the answer in Lily’s half-term arrangements or on their favourite pizza place’s pre-Halloween takeaway offer. “Any of his ladies not so keen on sharing?”
Eva swallowed, grateful her breakfast was still in the toaster. More so that they were looking at this through the prism of poison usually being a woman’s weapon.
“I don’t know who’s in his life right now.”
“You didn’t say why he wanted to meet. Not seen each other in years and then yesterday, coffee and cake.”
Eva’s mind was a blank. She should have made her statement last night, then they might have left her alone.
“He wanted to pick my brains, he wanted a second opinion on something he was working on.” That much she could give them. “I told him I couldn’t spare the time right now.” Eva gabbled past the lie, warming to her imagined memory. She concentrated on keeping her face blank, nothing to see there, no secrets being kept.
“Does he have a temper?” DC Truman asked.
“Not that I ever saw.”
“Your husband, does he have a temper?”
“No more than anyone else. His background is academia, they can seem eccentric, out of sync with the rest of us, a law unto themselves almost.” She gave the usual spiel to explain Charles’ sometimes odd behaviour without thinking. DC Truman called her on it.
“But not above the law.”
“Charles didn’t hurt me, a cyclist did. Is there anything else, I really must get to work.”
“We can drop you.” DI Smith said, “after you’ve made your statement.”
A statement he didn’t appear to believe, even though he made her go over it four times. Each time under his questioning it became more difficult to keep it as contained as what she’d said yesterday.
When she got to Every Drop, there was thankfully no worse news from Seitu township, and Dario and Vaishali had mopped up most of the hiccups. After dealing with the ‘take notice of me’ messages, Eva made the call she needed to.
Today was the worst day possible to be ducking out, but she had no choice now.
7
A couple of centuries ago the side street down which Eva limped must have been a powerhouse of activity. That it looked like it hadn’t been in use since then was probably why it had been chosen.
A white van overtook her, its brake lights tapping out a Morse code: this building, no, that one?
Her instructions had been very clear, so no use wishing she could have got the taxi to drop her closer as she dodged puddles in the pitted pavement. Forgetting her umbrella was on her. Keeping her head down was all she could do to keep her dressing dry.
Clunking from inside the back of the van disturbed the graveyard quiet. Black numbers showed her she’d reached her destination.
But the delivery driver.
Past number thirty-seven, she slowed, slower again, to not reach the dead end before he left. He re-appeared out of the back of his van. Nothing in his hands, striding in her direction.
Maybe he was picking something up. There was one building until the end of the street. Eva crossed over. He cut diagonally to her. Younger, stronger, fitter.
“You have signal?”
She shook her head. “It’s a black spot here, next road over, you can get signal there.”
“You show me.”
“I have no signal. Out of here, take the first right, it works there.” She realised her mistake.
So did he.
He reached for her. She sidestepped backwards, her knee reminding her not to do that. She shuffled awkwardly away from him, her heart pounding.
Mistake number two.
He grabbed hold of her coat.
“Let go.” She grasped his arm.
He didn’t even look old enough to be driving. But Eric. Was this guy the perfect disguise?
“Please, I have more deliveries. I no find fifty-one, I have no time to not find it. The numbers run out. Please.” His accent thickened as his voice wobbled. “You nice lady, you help me.”
Eva summoned up the foreign syllables she hadn’t used for so long. “Leave me alone.”
Her Russian worked. He dropped her coat as if it might poison him. His face changed and he gabbled his explanation at her so quickly she lost its meaning every few words.
“Slow.” She gestured at him. He nodded, so eager to please.
A simple mistake to make turning into St George’s Grove when he wanted St George’s Place. He looked so grateful when she gave him directions; she thought he might hug her, but he leapt into his van, crunching the gears in his haste to get back on his deliveries rat race.
Eva blew out a breath into the silence. Five minutes of peripheral exposure and already she was reading too much into things. And that was before she did this. After they knew, things would change but she had to tell them.
Time had been a hammer there. From the top left corner of the largest building in the street, thirty-seven’s façade was partway through a metamorphosis. Starburst growths of black mould pocked the white render. The windows were grimy but dark beyond not being cleaned, covered by a counter-surveillance film.
Eva rang the bell and looked at the underside of the portico, knowing that from beyond the peeling paint someone watched her. The door looked like it would be grateful for the sniff of paint fumes, but it was solid in its frame, metal cold to the touch. She was in the right place.
When it opened, she stepped inside and pushed it closed behind her. The lock engaged
