The detective inspector was trying to keep the lid on the pot of bubbling emotions. “That’s enough, Shantelle! Er… Sarah! Not your fault. When Nature calls and all that… Not one hundred percent your fault… let’s say forty-nine. Fifty-one for Chris. Why the hell didn’t she put up a fight or get off a scream? She’s always ready enough to have a go at me… Something not right here… Get me the replays up on screen. We’ll take another gander. Where’s that cab got to? You’re joking! Hell! He’s given us the slip? Anyone traced the number? A London-registered cab?” He groaned. “A poacher! That’s all we need! Now we’ll have the Met swarming all over our patch! Track ‘im! He’s most likely on the M11 by now, heading south.”
An exclamation of dismay from the redhead distracted him.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Sarah! Look, love, do us all a favour, will you, and stop blubbing! Go home. Take the rest of the shift off. After you’ve made your statement. Go back to the station… you’re in no fit state… is there a squad car around? Get a lift back, love…” He paused and added awkwardly, seeing her shoulders shake: “Try not to worry! She’ll be all right. Tough girl, DC Kenton. Go and put some clothes on-that’ll make you feel better.”
The inspector waved her away. The sympathetic eyes of the rest of the squad followed her as, white-faced and suddenly awkward, Sarah slipped a pink cardigan over her bare shoulders and stumbled out of the office in her sparkling high heels.
“Now where are you going? I’m getting fed up with this!”
“You know where. But first, we’re going to drive around for a bit. Get to know each other again. I want to hear your story, Chris. Find out what led you into this disgusting mess. Try to understand. You may not have guessed it, but you were always one of my favourite students. Not the cleverest-but the most individual.”
“You disguised your esteem pretty well,” she said, unbelieving.
“I’m good at disguise,” he reminded her.
They drove out into the country, past the fruit farms. They passed a signpost to the left: Shepton 6 miles Foxfield 6 miles .
“Your neck of the woods, if I remember rightly?” he commented.
He drove straight on. “I thought we’d go via Grantchester.” Suddenly he was speaking with the heavy kindliness of an uncle proposing an outing. “Such a beautiful village. All of England is there, I always think. Now, if one were dying, these are the images one would want to carry with one, wouldn’t you agree?”
“One would agree,” she replied, determined to be tiresome.
“I’d want to say goodbye with, imprinted on my mind’s eye, meadows full of silvery moon pennies, chestnut trees, swans preening on mysterious dark stretches of river, and… and… here it comes now! The church! Check the time, Chris-I don’t want to take my eyes off the road… tricky bend coming up… wouldn’t be much fun if we both ended up splattered on the churchyard wall, would it? But it wouldn’t be bad to be hearing the words of Rupert Brooke as one expired, either… What was it he said?
Stands the church clock at ten to three?
And is there honey still for tea?
Well, go on! Have a look!”
“Of course it stands at ten to three,” she snarled, annoyed by his dramatics. “Because it is ten to three! You stage-managed that well.” She dared to ask: “Do you ever stop acting and just… well… live?”
He gave a laugh he would probably himself have described as “sepulchral,” she thought. It boomed out from some cold, empty space.
“And why this obsession with time?”
“I think I’ve already answered your question. Or, at least, The Bard has spoken for me. That’s why he’s so often quoted, Christina. Whatever our deepest thoughts, you can be sure that Shakespeare has already voiced them for us, but with ten times the nobility of phrase. If only we had the wit to profit by his wisdom, how many mistakes we would avoid, how much pain would be averted.”
Chris groaned. Why, after all these years, did she feel she was being tested? With a strange feeling that her response might be important for her also, she wrestled with memory and expression.
“Okay, your answer: the speaker’s the King, I guess because he’s using the royal ‘we.’ He’s saying life’s short. So we ought to live as good a one as we’re able. If we live on, well, that gives us an advantage over any dead king because you can take nothing with you when you go-not even kingly status. And if we die-so what? -it’s a brave death when princes are dying along with us.”
Jameson gave an elegant shudder. “Something on those lines,” he said repressively.
She looked again at the face, as handsome as it had been ten years ago, but subtly changed. The long-lashed dark eyes were shadowed, the mouth indecisive, tormented. Well, it was pretty much as you’d look if you’d decided to kill someone, she supposed.
But her training was taking over. She flexed her hands and feet, ready to call on instant supplies of adrenaline when the moment came for flight or fight. If she could only get out of the car and kick off her silly shoes, she thought she could probably outrun him. And, though he was strongly built, she’d put up a fight if it came to it. This victim wouldn’t go down without a murmur. There’d be tissue under fingernails, scratches on his face. She decided on a surprise preemptive attack, going for the eyes. He’d never expect it. But there was something she could try first. She was a sort of hostage, wasn’t she? Okay-she’d try out the prescribed technique. She might just pull it off. Avoid bloodshed. After all, it was unknown for serial killers to murder someone they already knew. That must work in her favour. Chris adjusted her blouse, pulled down her skirt, settled back in her seat, and looked out of the window.
“You’re right, Mr. Jameson-I say-may I call you Julius?-after all these years I feel I’ve caught up with you in age-it is perfection. Glorious countryside! And the best moment of the year! Easy to see why neither of us has moved away. (Establish a link.)
“And I may not be looking the part at the moment, but I have actually stayed a scholar of sorts. I played Desdemona in my first year in college…You inspired me-you inspired many of us… did you know Maisie Jones was madly in love with you, by the way? No? And Jennifer Hogg and Patrick Dewar? We were sure you must have guessed! (Feed his sense of self-importance.)
“Now this time when you deliver me to Mum, I want you to accept her cup of tea. Lots to talk about!” (Convey the idea that the man has a future beyond the present circumstances.)