‘It’s a possibility, but whatever, I’m very concerned about her whereabouts. D’you think she’s capable of doing something silly?’
‘Nah, not her. So why’s that drunk in my house?’
‘He pulled a shotgun in the pub. Steve and I wrestled it from him and there was nowhere else to bring him,’ Henry answered. ‘Where have you been since Flynn came to see you earlier?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Out and about.’
‘You told him you were going to work.’
‘Well, that’d never be possible. Getting over to Lancaster in this, no way.’
‘Did you tell them you wouldn’t be in?’
‘Course I did.’
‘So where have you been?’
‘As I said, out and about — look, what are we going to do about searching for Cathy?’
‘Nothing until tomorrow. The night and weather are against us and we’ll need extra resources, too.’ Henry paused. ‘So you haven’t seen her or heard from her or tried to contact her since yesterday. Is that right, Tom?’
‘Yes.’ Tom’s head sagged. ‘I hope she’s OK.’
‘Mm,’ Henry said, still trying to read him. ‘I’m sure she will be… What were you arguing about?’ he asked softly.
Tom’s eyes rose, met Henry’s. ‘She was taunting me about having slept with Flynn once, years ago. I knew she’d been on the phone to him, then next thing, here he is in the flesh. Mr Ex-lover.’
‘The marriage was in trouble, then?’
‘I didn’t think so. It came as a shock to me.’
And now I just know you’re lying, Henry thought.
Flynn moved into the office when Henry and Tom went into the living room, excluding him. He sat at the desk on the revolving chair and looked at the sleeping prisoner, who had wet himself spectacularly. Flynn screwed up his nose at the reek.
Listlessly, he started to flick through the message pad from which he’d snaffled the message about the poacher.
Frowning, he took out the now very crumpled form from his back pocket and laid it out, flattening it with the palm of his hand. The message had been taken by Cathy at 15.30hrs on the day before. That was about an hour before she had called him whilst he was sitting in the beach bar in Puerto Rico, eating paella. Then he remembered something, the assumption he had made when he had first read the message, and what he had discovered when he’d had the chance to recheck it. The message under the one about the poacher, and most of the others underneath that, had been taken by Cathy. She had signed the pro-forma pads as the person receiving the message. But the handwriting on the poacher’s message was not hers. It could only have been Tom’s. Flynn had thought it was Cathy’s writing, but clearly it wasn’t. Tom had written this message, not Cathy.
Not sure whether this meant anything at all, he picked up the cordless phone and was glad to see it was a very up-to-date one that recorded the numbers, time and dates of all incoming and outgoing calls. He began to tab through the menu.
‘This is going to be a hell of a night. No way am I going to sleep.’
‘I don’t think any of us are,’ Henry said.
‘What are you thinking, Henry? That I’ve done away with Cathy?’
Henry’s only response as a detective was, ‘Have you?’ He would have been sacked if he’d said anything else.
‘Don’t be a dick. I loved her.’
‘Loved? Or love? Present tense, past tense.’
‘Don’t pervert my words. You know what I mean.’
‘What’s going on in the village?’ Henry asked, a quick change of subject.
‘In what way?’
‘What’s Jonny Cain doing here?’
‘The Jonny Cain?’
‘The one and only.’
‘Didn’t know he was.’
‘When he showed his face in the pub, that’s when our drunken friend Callard tried to blow his head off.’
‘Jeez.’
‘What’s the connection between Callard and Cain?’
‘Have you thought of asking them?’
‘I spoke to Cain — not very forthcoming. Callard’s too drunk to speak to.’
Tom shrugged.
‘I’m told Callard’s a driver. What do you know about him?’
‘Not much. Just a drunk who’s lucky to have a job. Works for the company that own the quarries in the hills.’
‘That’d be Jack Vincent’s operation?’
‘Yeah, yeah, him,’ Tom said.
‘So what’s Jack Vincent up to? I assume you know who he is?’
‘I do, but he’s not on my radar. I’m just a small-town CID officer, catching burglars and car thieves. Big-time drug dealers aren’t my remit. And I don’t know what he’s up to.’
‘Jack Vincent, Jonny Cain in town… do you think something might be happening?’
Tom sighed. ‘How would I know, Henry? And to be honest I don’t give a toss. My wife is missing. That’s what I’m bothered about.’
‘Coming back to the subject of Cathy…’
‘You really think I’ve done something to her, don’t you?’
Well, Henry thought, I’ve got a dead policewoman on a meat slab in a butcher’s shop and her husband sitting here in front of me and I’m not impressed by him. Being a detective doesn’t make him innocent, but just because he’s her hubby doesn’t make him guilty either… Ahh, love the double negatives…
‘You know what it’s like being a detective, Tom.’
‘You don’t believe a word anyone is telling you, at least to start with… Look, we had a bust-up. Things weren’t working out. We wanted different things. Then she brought up fuck-face in there-’ He gestured angrily towards the door. ‘You know, the guy who was good enough to provide us with a free honeymoon. I’ll bet he re- shagged her then. Yeah, it was going tits-up and she stormed out. And if you have nothing more for me,’ he checked his watch, ‘I’m off to the pub for last orders because I feel pretty shitty. You just continue to use my house for whatever purpose you see fit. You seem to be doing that anyway.’
He made a move to stand up, just as a rat-tat came on the lounge door and Flynn poked his head around. ‘Quick word, Henry?’ Flynn glanced at Tom, who scowled.
‘Yeah — look Tom, just hang on here for a few moments, will you?’ Henry rose, as did Tom. ‘No,’ Henry said firmly to him. ‘Stay here and I’ll be back shortly.’
Tom hesitated and Henry thought he was going to kick off on the subject of being ordered about in his own home. Henry prepared himself, but Tom backed down and sank slowly on to the settee, his face telling the story of his unhappiness with the situation. Henry gave him a curt nod, left the room and followed Flynn into the office.
‘I thought you’d want to see this,’ Flynn whispered. He had the crumpled, but flattened message on the desk next to the message pad binder. Henry looked, but his mind wasn’t completely on what Flynn was showing him. The two men were standing side by side at the desk, two big men, but Flynn had the upper hand in terms of height, breadth, fitness, age and sun tan.
Almost without moving his lips, Henry said, ‘He tells me you and Cathy were lovers.’ His eyes moved sideways, like an Action Man figure, checking Flynn’s reaction. ‘Something you failed to mention… Oh, what a tangled web,’ he added cynically.
Flynn’s nostrils dilated and he coloured, his tan glowing extra red. ‘If you call a one night stand twenty-odd years ago at training school being lovers, and nothing since, just a distant friendship.’ His face tilted a few degrees, eyes searching the detective’s face.
‘Seems she didn’t think the same.’
