‘But some anonymous caller isn’t a witness!’ I blurted out.
‘Witness?’ queried Todd. ‘Who said anything about a witness?’
I tried to recover myself. It was Robin, of course, who had mentioned a new witness.
‘Well, I just thought, I mean if there really was someone who was with Jason Tucker that day, well that would be quite a witness.’
Todd gave a short dry laugh. ‘Wouldn’t it just,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what to make of it to be honest. Why would a genuine witness not be prepared to give his name, and why did he not come forward before?’
‘I presume you couldn’t trace the number.’
‘That wasn’t the problem,’ said Todd. ‘Dead easy that bit was. We were even able to 1471 it. The call came from the phone box on Abri behind The Tavern. The only phone box on Abri. Any one of the sixty-seven Abri islanders could have made it — or a visitor, for that matter, I suppose. The box is tucked away, and nobody had a clue who may have been using it that day. Or so they said. We were able to rule out about twenty of the locals for various reasons, but we have not been able to narrow it down nearly enough. So that only left forty-seven, plus the ten guests staying on the island and thirty-odd day trippers who visited that day, some of whom we haven’t been able to trace at all.’ This time his laugh was sarcastic. ‘Easy,’ he said.
There was only one thing remaining that I wanted to ask. ‘The carving of Robin Davey’s name — what do you reckon it proves then?’
‘I don’t reckon it proves anything, unfortunately,’ said Todd. ‘But if I thought I were about to die there would only be one person’s name I would want to carve in stone for posterity. How about you?’
I didn’t reply.
‘It wouldn’t be your lover, would it?’ he went on. ‘But it might well be your murderer.’
‘Is that really what you think, sir?’ I asked, striving to keep my voice normal.
I called him ‘sir’ because police protocol dies hard, but I always thought of him as Todd, a rough and ready sort of guy, a genuine old-fashioned copper. Honest. Solid. Reliable. His opinion counted for a lot, and I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like his reply. I didn’t, either.
‘Damn right,’ he said. ‘Too smooth by half, that Robin Davey. Don’t trust him as far as I can see him.’
The first bit I had to allow that he was right about. Robin was certainly smooth. The rest of it I just did not believe. I could not believe it. Simple as that. After all I couldn’t help the way I felt about the bloody man.
The day after that conversation Todd phoned me back and this time he was furious. He managed to sound a bit like Titmuss actually.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were having a relationship with Robin Davey?’ he stormed.
I didn’t quite know how to answer. He took my silence for the admission of rather shamefaced guilt which it was, and bollocked me rigid.
I made a half-hearted attempt to back off from Robin, using pressure at work as an excuse for not being able to see him as much, suggesting that he take the opportunity to spend more time on Abri and less at my flat. I was not very successful. He bombarded me with phone calls and letters, and I missed him dreadfully. We had been apart for only two weeks, although it felt like longer, when he phoned to say he had to be in Bristol again for more financial meetings, and, of course, I could not wait then to be with him. My need for him was absolute already, and in any case I believed that he was an innocent man caught up in a chain of terrible events. I had to believe that.
It wasn’t long before he was spending just as much time with me as before the case had been reopened — dodging miraculously between Bristol and Abri and all his responsibilities there. Somehow or other our life together returned to a kind of normality, and was, in fact, all that kept me sane as the Stephen Jeffries case dragged on relentlessly. We failed to find Stephen nor any worthwhile clue as to his whereabouts, dead or alive.
Eventually there was some good news in my life. The Natasha Felks case was dropped again, within less than a couple of months of it being reopened. I suppose that was inevitable. Whatever Robin’s carved name indicated, it certainly proved nothing, as Todd Mallett had known only too well. I was relieved and so was Robin.
We drank more champagne and raised a toast to the future, to our future, he said.
‘And let’s hope this really is the end of the whole dreadful business,’ he whispered into my ear as he took me in his arms. My body instantly melted into his.
However my mind was still not put totally at rest, but I tried not to show Robin how much I had been unnerved by being confronted with the whole Natasha Felks scenario all over again. And in any case, when he was happy I found his happiness infectious. It washed over me and engulfed me. Rather shamefully once more, I soon found that I was shutting Natasha Felks’ death out again. I still don’t know whether I did that deliberately, or whether it was simply the only way I could survive and continue my affair with Robin.
One thing was certain. I knew now that I was not able to call a halt to it. It was the most compulsive thing that had ever happened to me.
Ten
One evening I got home from work early. I had been at my Kingswood desk since just after six in the morning. The case was weighing heavily on me. Twelve hours later, by 6.00 p.m., I could barely see straight. Peter Mellor came in to my office and propped himself on my desk.
‘There is a team here, you know boss,’ he remarked quietly. ‘You can’t do it on your own. That only happens in storybooks.’
I managed a smile.
‘I guess I’m a bit more involved than usual,’ I said. ‘Can’t get over the feeling I may have condemned that boy to his death.’
I knew that was melodrama. After all, I had written a report on this kind of thing, hadn’t I? I knew that the way I was feeling about Stephen Jeffries and what may have happened to him was the classic over-reaction of a beleaguered CPT officer. But knowing all of that didn’t help much. I rubbed my eyes with one clenched fist. They were stinging. I felt a bit dizzy. My face was hot.
Peter Mellor stood up.
‘Boss, you’re a copper, not God Almighty,’ he said.
This time my smile was not so forced.
‘Go home, why don’t you,’ he went on. ‘You’ve been here since dawn. Take an evening off. Get a good night’s sleep. You’re no good to anyone in this state.’
‘Thank you for your confidence, Peter,’ I said rather more sarcastically than I had intended. But I knew he was right.
I picked up the phone and called Robin, who seemed to be spending more and more time at my flat, to tell him the good news. I would be home in time for dinner for the first time in days.
Robin met me at the door. He was wearing washed-out pale blue jeans and a tee shirt. No socks or shoes. His eyes shone. He caught hold of me quite roughly and pushed me against the wall. I could feel that he already had an erection. He began to pull at my clothes. His hands were everywhere, pushing the skirt of my working suit upwards, pulling my tights and pants down, until very quickly his fingers were inside me. His mouth was tight over mine, his tongue almost down my throat. I could barely breath, yet I could feel my troubles floating away. At that time in my life sex with Robin sometimes seemed to be about the only really worthwhile thing there was.
He lifted me slightly off the floor and pushed my legs apart. I heard the sound of his flies being unzipped and in the next second he was somehow inside me. I had been in the flat about thirty seconds and we were already fucking, standing up in the hallway. Robin liked to display that kind of animal eagerness. And I liked it too. By God I did. More than I had ever liked anything in my life. The man was a bull. My back was wedged against the wall and my legs were wrapped around him when I climaxed, and his thrusts became increasingly urgent as he reached a climax too. Sometimes it felt as if our lovemaking became more and more erotic each time. I was overwhelmed by Robin and my passion for him.