‘I didn’t get any messages.’ She added another bottle of Guinness to his collection and took a sip of her orange juice.
‘I’m sorry. I called the uni. They said they’d pass it on.’
‘I’m sure I’ll find a note in my pigeonhole tomorrow. Today’s my day off. It really doesn’t matter. It’s not a good production and I would have been embarrassed having dragged you out to see it. Were you busy catching the bench bomber?’
‘Is that really what people are calling him?’
‘It’s what they call him in the papers. Why, what do you call him?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Though I can imagine. Can you talk about it? I mean the case.’
‘Some of it.’
‘Is the new explosion, the poor woman with the powder compact, is that related? Is it the same guy who did that?’
‘I think so, though so far there’s no evidence to support that theory. It just seems unlikely that two people in the same city are planting bombs at the same time. Forensics may be able to confirm that it’s the same perpetrator but I’m pretty certain anyway.’
‘But the bombs were very different. That’s what the papers said, anyway.’
‘They were. It was a different type of explosion. The bomb was much smaller, obviously. And it didn’t have a timer, it was set off when the compact was opened.’
‘So the first one was a time bomb? That wasn’t in the papers.’
‘Keep it to yourself. I shouldn’t have told you that. We need to keep back details so we can weed out the cranks and attention seekers claiming responsibility. We’ve already had several cheerful souls on the phone.’
‘But how did the woman get hold of it? Was it her own compact that someone filled with explosives?’
McLusky hesitated. ‘That’s … one of the things I can’t tell you.’
Louise Rennie looked away over his shoulder at nothing, pondering the answer. ‘I see the implications, I think. If it wasn’t hers then … Things could get interesting.’
McLusky went through a series of helpless facial expressions that signalled, ‘Yes, you’re right, but I’m not saying anything.’
‘And the bomb was much, much smaller. Was it the same type of explosive?’
‘There’s no word yet. But what did the most damage to the victim was the tongue of flame that shot from the device. It set her face on fire.’
‘That might not have been the intention. It might just not have worked properly.’
‘That’s always possible.’ This was like still being at work, only with the addition of beer and beauty.
They both reached for their glasses and drank. ‘What are you suddenly smiling about, inspector?’
‘Well, doctor, I was thinking that this is a most peculiar topic of conversation for a date.’
Rennie sat back in her chair. ‘A date? Is that what this is?’
‘Well, no, I didn’t mean …’
‘It was meant to be a visit to the theatre, which has now turned into a drink, or in your case, three drinks.’
Why had he said that? He didn’t even like the word ‘date’. Nobody ‘dated’ in Britain. McLusky searched her face for signs of annoyance but found instead what he hoped was an ironic sternness. She wasn’t wearing her glasses but peered at him over their rims anyway.
‘Sorry, it’s not really what I meant. I was just wondering if any of the other couples at their tables are talking about bombs and mutilation.’
‘The other couples? You can obviously see us as a couple, then?’
‘Jesus, one has to choose one’s words carefully around you.’
‘I’m a pedant, inspector. Take no notice.’
McLusky knew that ‘take no notice’ without exception meant ‘please note’. A change of subject might help. ‘So, how’s the play? Rubbish, you said? Thanks for the invitation, by the way. That was quite unexpected.’ She waved it away. ‘I had a spare ticket.’
‘And you asked everyone else but no one could make it?’
‘Well, no, it wasn’t quite like that. I just thought you’re new in town, probably don’t know many people yet …’
‘That was kind of you. I’m afraid I came straight from work, I’m not dressed for the occasion.’
‘Neither am I, really. The Tobacco Factory isn’t that kind of theatre, you wear whatever you feel like.’
Rennie wore a simple grey knee-length dress, matching shoes and handbag. It reminded him of the sixties. No jewellery apart from pearl ear studs, yet she looked fit for the catwalk. Her eyes weren’t like Laura’s at all, he decided. ‘So, are you going to bring me up to speed about the play?’
‘Oh, stuff the play, you’ll never get into it now and I’m not fussed about it. I thought we could go and eat something.’
‘There’s a bistro here, I saw.’
‘It’s a bit too studenty here for me. I didn’t book anywhere but I know one or two places where we might get a table.’
He tried not to let his relief show. ‘Okay, if you’re sure about the play. I’m quite hungry, now you mention it.’
‘So am I. We’ll finish our drinks and go.’
‘Good. So the interrogation starts here. Have you always lived here?’
‘Me? God no …’
The conversation flowed easily, mainly because Rennie talked freely and happily about herself. She gave him her potted autobiography from her peripatetic childhood when the family followed her father from failed venture to failed venture, her travels, her eventual studies at Liverpool and her subsequent teaching posts. They both had a stint in Southampton in common, she teaching chemistry, he on the force.
As they left the Factory they found the rain had stopped. McLusky offered Rennie a cigarette.
‘No thanks, I’m a chemist, I know what’s in it. But you go ahead.’
He lit one for himself with a shiny silver lighter he found in a pocket of his leather jacket and didn’t remember owning. It was satisfyingly heavy. They were walking towards Rennie’s blue Toyota when his mobile rang. In a city full of strangers this could only mean bad news.
It was DS Austin. ‘At last. Your airwave isn’t turned on or something and your mobile was saying you were unavailable.’
McLusky’s mental image of his airwave radio lying at home next to the cooker made him swallow hard. ‘No signal, I guess.’
‘Your predictions are coming true. Another bomb, by the looks of it. The victim is male. Blew up inside his car.’
‘Is the victim alive?’ McLusky made an apologetic gesture to Rennie who shrugged her shoulders.
‘He was still alive when the paramedics got there but he died at the scene. It’s in Knowle West.’ Austin gave the address.
‘Hang on a second.’ He fumbled about in his pockets.
Rennie had anticipated it and handed him a folded envelope from her handbag. She watched him note down the address with a heavy, brushed-steel pen. The man had a certain style, she had noticed it before, no plastic biros or disposable lighters for him. He looked good in a leather jacket, too. The inspector probably drove a good car and owned solid, quality furniture, he seemed that kind of a man.
McLusky folded his mobile. ‘Something’s come up. I’m afraid I have to go and find a cab somewhere. I came without my car.’
‘I’ll drive you there, much quicker.’ She released the central locking then went to the back of the car and squatted down low, inspecting the tail pipe.
‘What on earth are you doing? You’re not looking for bombs, are you?’
Rennie straightened up. ‘No. Just making sure it’s clear. It’s the latest craze, it seems, blocking the exhaust pipes of cars. It was my turn a couple of days ago. Car wouldn’t start and I ended up having it towed to a garage. It took them half a day to find a rotten apple in the exhaust pipe.’
As Rennie drove off McLusky spotted a man standing alone beside the entrance of the building, watching. ‘Isn’t that …?’ Rennie drove off fast and he lost sight of the figure.
‘Isn’t that what?’
‘The … the bloke. The chap who was at the laboratory when I came up to ask your advice. I thought I just saw him by the theatre.’