The lake? '
'That's right. And you know who's behind the camera.'
No, I don't think so. '
'It's you.'
He looked at it once more, trying to cast back.
'I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't remember.' He made to give the photograph back to her, but she held up her hand and shook her head.
'Keep it.'
'Well, I…'
'I thought you might like it. You never know, you might see Ben some time. Or write…'
'Okay. Thanks.' Resnick glanced at it again before sliding it into the drawer to the right of his desk.
'If you don't find her, this woman, I mean, suppose it takes a long time it could now, couldn't it? – what happens about the body?'
'As I told you when I phoned, it remains the property of the coroner.'
'But not forever. What if you never find her?'
'Sarah, I don't think that'll be the case. Believe me.'
'So I can't bury him?'
'Not yet. I'm sorry.'
For several moments, she closed her eyes; body held taut.
'A memorial service, then. That's what I'll do. There'll have to be something.'
Resnick was on his feet.
'As long as you think you're up to it, that sounds a good idea.'
'Thanks.' This time, she was the one offering her hand and he took it.
'You will come?' she said.
'Of course.'
Sarah smiled her thanks.
'I'll see you out.'
'Nice car,' Resnick said, as Sarah unlocked the Volvo. He said it as much to make conversation as anything else; since leaving his office, she had fallen quiet. Not that that surprised him; he was glad to see her coping as well as she seemed to be.
'It was Peter's. I've got an old Flat, just for nipping about, locally. Longer distances, I use this if I can. It's a lot more reliable.'
'Well, take care, Sarah. Drive safely. And you will let me know about the memorial service?'
Millington met him on the stairs.
'Call from Sheffield, possible sighting of the Kinoulton woman; sounds promising. Local CID're running it down.'
'Good.'
'Oh, and the report's in on that blouse found at the house. It was blood. And it is the same group as Farleigh's.'
Sheffield, not for the first time, was a wash-out. As were Birmingham, Bradford, the Chapeltown district of Leeds. There was a twice-confirmed rumour that Marlene Kinoulton had been working the streets of Butetown, down near the Cardiff docks. A Vice Squad officer had warned her off, only recognising her from the circulated description when it was too late; a bevy of the local girls had backed her into a corner and given her a tonguelashing, warned her to piss off out of their territory or they'd get one of the pimps to see to her face and legs.
Millington and Divine drove down to Cardiff; Mark Divine pleased at the chance to make a rugby player's pilgrimage to Cardiff Arms Park.
It was about the only part of the trip that worked out well. The cooperation which the local force had promised was dissipated in a miasma of broken promises and missed appointments. They did persuade one of the runners working for a high- flown dealer to talk to them over a late-night biriani and chips. Marlene Kinoulton he swore he'd seen just two nights before, sold her the last two rocks he'd had.
Millington and Divine stayed another couple of days | and, as far as they were able, turned the underbelly of the city upside down.
Afterwards, only one thing seemed certain: Marlene Kinoulton had been there and now she had gone.
Resnick allowed Marian Witczak to talk him into accompanying her to a midsummer dance at the Polish Club and, 265 after several generous glasses of bison grass vodka, remembered how to polka. A card from Cathy Jordan, a street scene in Dublin, reminded him that he had still to finish Dead Weight and, between other things, he got not quite to the end, but almost.
Debbie Naylor waylaid Kevin one night with a bottle of wine and something racy she'd bought from an advertisement in the back of the Sunday paper and now she woke in the mornings with carry-cots and Babygros dancing before her eyes.
Kate Skelton, who not so long before had driven her parents close to despair, shoplifting to pay for her drug problem, astonished them by getting three good A levels and applying to university.
Sharon Gamett applied to be transferred from the Vice Squad into CID and her application was turned down.
Lyim Kellogg came into Resnick's office one morning at the end of July and told him she was seriously thinking about moving back to Bast Anglia and had been sounding out an old friend about a vacancy in a Norwich force. '
'Can we talk about this?' Resnick said. He felt as if something solid was being pulled out from beneath his feet. He felt something he didn't understand.
'Of course,' Lynn said, and waited.
'I meant, I suppose I meant, not here.'
'You're busy.' His desk was the usual clutter of reports and forms, empty sandwich bags.
'Yes. No. It's not that. I suppose… well, to be honest, you've taken me by surprise.'
'Yes, well, it's nothing definite yet, although…' She stopped, reminded of the look that had come into her father's eyes, the first time she had told him she was applying to join the police.
'How about a drink then?' she said.
'If you want to talk it through.'
'It's a long time since you were at the coffee stall,'
266 Resnick said.
'They've just about given up asking where you've got to.'
Lynn smiled; just a little, not too much; just with the eyes.
'All right.'
Amongst the other things on Resnick's desk, unopened, the invitation to the service at Wymeswold Church dedicated to the memory of Peter Farieigh.
He thought she'd changed her mind. Several of the stall holders had taken in the goods that hung around the outside of their sections and pulled down the metal sides. Resnick had read the cricket report in the local paper twice.
'Sorry,' Lynn said, a little out of breath, her cheeks flushed with colour for the first time in weeks.
'Something cropped up.'
'Important?'
'No, just fiddly.'
'Here,' the assistant said, setting down a cappuccino, 'for you the first one free. '
'Thanks,' Lynn said, 'but best not. ' She pushed a pound coin across the counter and grinned.
'Probably consitutes a bribe.'
Now they were there, there was no rush to talk. Resnick sipped his espresso as Lynn tasted the chocolatey froth from a cheap metal spoon. With a thump and clatter, another stall was locked away for the night.
'Your dad,' Resnick finally said.
'Is that the problem?'
