He had little choice but to take the drive down slowly. Negotiating the sharp corners and perilous drops that were now only a few feet away on his near-side, his mind was not where it needed to be. His knuckles whitened on the wheel during some of the steeper sections as he fought to concentrate, to forget Langford's mock-innocent smirk when Thorne had mentioned Anna's name.
Some idiot in a Mercedes was on his bumper for a mile or two. Thorne feathered the brake at every opportunity, ignored each blast on the horn and gave the driver a good, hard stare when the Merc finally took the chance to overtake.
She's not that tennis player, is she?
He was still several miles up from the coast when his mobile rang on the seat next to him. On any other road, at any other time, he would not have thought twice about taking the call. Now he let it ring, listened to the alert as a message came through and waited five minutes until he had the chance to pull over.
He saw that the call was from Dave Holland and called him straight back without bothering to listen to the message. Glancing down into the valley as he waited for the call to connect, Thorne could see the lush fairways of a golf course highlighted against the surrounding browns and greys; splashes of green in an otherwise arid landscape.
Kitson answered Holland's phone. 'Dave's just nipped out, Tom.'
'I hope this is good news, Yvonne. It's not been a great day so far.'
'Dipped below seventy degrees, has it?'
'Put it this way, I'm about ready to twat the next poor sod who so much as looks at me funny.'
'You should do it, if it makes you feel better.'
'So, what's happening?'
'Chris Talbot,' Kitson said. 'Thirty-five years old, reported missing about four months before the body was found in Epping Forest. Right height, give or take the same build. His wife – ex-wife, whatever – lives up in Nottingham, so Dave and I are driving up there first thing in the morning. It looks good, Tom.'
From where Thorne was standing, it looked better than good. 'Can't you get up there tonight?'
'We tried, but she's not around until tomorrow.'
'Well, call me as soon as you've seen her.'
'Listen, I haven't got to the best bit yet. You know we talked about the victim being someone Langford wanted out of the way. The whole two-birds-with-one-stone thing?'
'I'm listening…'
'Chris Talbot was a copper,' Kitson said. 'Serious and Organised.'
THIRTY-EIGHT
By the time it had begun to get dark, the rush of optimism that Thorne had felt after speaking to Kitson had faded. Sitting in his hotel room, with the now familiar sound of trumpets and applause drifting up from the town square, he felt restless and oddly disconnected. He couldn't decide whether he needed reassurance or company.
He flicked through the TV channels, but it was too early for the easy distraction of porn. He picked up the thriller from his bedside table, read the first few pages then put it down again.
The fictional detective was way too bloody miserable.
He called Samarez and asked him if he wanted to have dinner. Samarez lived a good hour away on the far side of Malaga and said that it would be difficult for him to get there. He said that his wife was cooking and Thorne told him that sounded like a far more attractive proposition.
He called Phil Hendricks.
'Have you bought my sombrero yet?' Hendricks asked. 'I want a great big, fuck-off one, OK? I also want one of those bullfighting posters with my name on it.'
'No problem at all. It's not like I'm busy or anything.'
'Just put ' El Magnifico '.'
'I was thinking ' El Poofo ',' Thorne said.
'Yeah, that'll work.'
The conversation cheered Thorne up, but only slightly. 'I'm out of my bloody depth here, Phil.'
'They're only Spaniards, for God's sake.'
'I don't mean Spain, you tosser. The case. Langford…'
Thorne told him about the meeting in Ronda. He was used to villains fronting it out. Sometimes it was the only option they had left. But Langford had seemed genuinely confident and relaxed, even when Thorne had made his feelings about Anna Carpenter's murder abundantly clear.
Thorne was the one who had walked away shaken.
'Cocky's good,' Hendricks said. 'It's the cocky ones that fuck up.'
'As long as I don't fuck up first.'
'There's nothing wrong with being a bit… jumpy, all right?'
'Even if this missing copper does turn out to be our mystery body, I'm not sure where that leaves us.'
'Don't worry, it'll pan out, mate.'
'I hope so.'
'I reckon you're owed one anyway.'
'After Adam Chambers, you mean?'
'Listen, Tom. Langford's the one who's out of his depth, because he doesn't know you. If he did, there's no way he'd think he could wind you up and walk away.'
Thorne just grunted, non-committal. Praying his friend was right.
'You listening?'
'Yeah…'
'It's not just the case, is it?'
The music was getting louder, and there was a bell ringing, sombre and sudden, every few minutes.
'It's ridiculous,' Thorne said. 'I'm three hours from home, but it feels like the other side of the world. Like I'm thousands of miles away.'
'It must be heartbreaking, being away from me,' Hendricks said. 'I understand that.'
'Yeah, I don't know how I'm getting through the day.'
'I was sorry to hear about Elvis, by the way.'
'You spoke to Lou…?'
'Not that the furry little bastard ever wanted much to do with me.'
Thorne swallowed hard, smiled at the memory of the cat assiduously avoiding Hendricks at every opportunity. 'She was a good judge of character.'
'Lou was upset, so I went round.'
'Thanks, Phil.'
'Not a problem.'
'Was she OK?'
'I don't think it was just about the cat. You know?'
Thorne grunted again and this time Hendricks didn't press it. 'How did Spurs get on last night?'
'Lost two – one at home to Villa,' Hendricks said, gleefully. 'Now they really are out of their depth.' There was a blare of trumpets as if to acknowledge the joke that Thorne had just ignored. 'What's that racket?'
Thorne told him about the feria, the celebrations on the village's big night.
'So, why the hell are you sitting there and moaning at me?'
When he and Hendricks had finished, Thorne tried to call Louise. There was no reply from either Kentish Town or Pimlico and her mobile went straight to voicemail. Thorne left a brief message, told Louise that he missed her.
Then he grabbed his jacket, left the hotel and walked towards the noise.
