Kelly drank one of the cartons of tea almost straight down, scalding his tongue, which at least might take some of the fur off it, he reflected, because cleaning his teeth had only half done the job. Then he began to attempt to plan his day. He knew all too well that there was only one way for him to cope with emotional turmoil. He needed to bury himself in his work. And yet the thought of working on his novel held even less appeal than usual.
The Hangridge affair, on the other hand, was becoming quite fascinating.
He used his mobile to try to call Karen Meadows.
She was not in her office yet, which he supposed was not really surprising as it was still only twenty minutes past eight, and neither was she answering her mobile phone. He would have to try again later.
In any case, he now knew exactly what his next move was going to be. He wanted to talk to Jocelyn Slade’s mother.
Mrs Foster had been able to supply him with an address for Mrs Slade, the mother of her son’s girlfriend, although she had told Kelly she could not swear that it was current. Margaret Slade lived in Reading. Kelly thought for a moment before deciding to go home first. It might be helpful for him to log onto the Net and do a little research into the Devonshire Fusiliers before making any more Hangridge inquiries, and a shower and a change of clothes might also be a good idea, he reflected.
Then he would set off to drive to Reading, a journey he would expect to take between three and three and a half hours on a bad day, and yet again he would arrive unannounced. So far, his policy had provided plenty of results.
Kelly’s brain was buzzing again. He had always so much more enjoyed looking into other people’s lives rather than his own.
Ten
Karen had not answered her phone because she was on her way to Totnes with Gerrard Parker-Brown. He had phoned the previous afternoon to ask if she could sneak a morning off work to visit a rather special antiques fair that he had just heard about.
‘I know it’s short notice, but if we get there for the start we could both be back on parade by early afternoon,’ he had said.
To her utter astonishment, she had heard herself agreeing almost without hesitation. And now she was sitting alongside Gerry in his black Range Rover, studiously avoiding all calls. Her excuse for, in effect, bunking off work had been an extremely vague muttering about an important community meeting. She could not remember when she had last done such a thing, if indeed she had ever done such a thing. And she knew perfectly well that it was the opportunity of spending time again with the man, as much as attending the event, which had caused her to behave in such an out of character manner.
He had picked her up, this time without an army driver, promptly at 8.15 a.m., and even at that hour of the morning conversation between them came alarmingly easily, she reckoned.
‘I collect military memorabilia among other things, and this fair is allegedly going to have some really good stuff on sale,’ he told her enthusiastically. He seemed to have an immense capacity for enthusiasm and it was a quality that Karen greatly appreciated.
They spent a couple of hours at the fair, which was in a huge barn on the outskirts of Totnes. Although it turned out to be rather disappointing in terms of the military memorabilia, Gerry did not seem unduly put out and Karen was impressed by the knowledgeable way in which he chatted to dealers.
As ever, she thoroughly enjoyed rummaging around at the various stalls, and while she was negotiating to buy a rather beautiful, nineteenth-century, French candlestick she became aware of him drifting away from her side. But within little more than a couple of minutes he was back, beaming at her and triumphantly brandishing a small, but rather lovely, silver dagger brooch, which he promptly pinned to the lapel of her jacket.
‘I thought a dagger was rather appropriate for a police detective,’ he told her.
‘Oh, Gerry, no, I couldn’t possibly...’ she began.
‘Don’t be silly, it cost nothing. Less than a tenner. And I want you to have it.’
She gave in gracefully, and he had another surprise for her as they prepared to leave the fair.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.
‘Ravenous,’ she replied, wishing, as she invariably did, that that were not so often the case. ‘But we haven’t really got time to go and eat somewhere, or I haven’t, anyway.’
He nodded. ‘Nor me. But, well, you see, I knew we were going to be pushed for time, so I took the liberty of preparing a bit of a picnic. Pretty rough and ready, I’m afraid.’
It turned out to be not so rough and ready at all. Back in the Range Rover, parked in a corner of the field allocated as car park for the antiques fair, he produced a Thermos flask of hot coffee and bacon sandwiches, which, made with really crispy bacon and fresh crusty bread, were wonderfully crunchy and quite delicious in spite of being cold.
‘How did you know bacon sandwiches are my absolute favourite food?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t, but they’re mine, particularly when I make an early start.’ He smiled at her. ‘Something else we have in common.’
She smiled back. And it seemed perfectly natural for him to lean across the car and kiss her gently on the lips. It was a very brief kiss, but this time it was much more than merely a kiss of friendship, and she could sense the promise in it with her whole being. He tasted and smelt a little of bacon, but that just seemed to make him all the more attractive. And he had such absolutely beautiful eyes. Feelings she had denied for so long were beginning to make themselves known to her again, and she was not at all sure she could fight them off. Or that she wanted to any more.
He pulled away, touching her lightly on the cheek with the fingers of one hand as he did so, and settled back into the driver’s seat, silently watching her. She did not try to speak. She had no wish to spoil the moment.
‘Well, I suppose I’d better drop you off at Torquay police station or I expect the entire area will be overrun by a major crime wave,’ he said.
She laughed and nodded her assent. She really did have to be back at work. None the less, she felt vaguely disappointed.
‘Tell you what, how about lunch somewhere on Sunday, when we both have more time, hopefully?’
Her spirits rose at once. And she couldn’t be bothered even to pretend to deliberate.
‘That would be great,’ she said.
She was in her office well before one o’clock, still in extremely high spirits. Yet again Gerry had not mentioned the Alan Connelly affair, and this time Karen had not felt inclined to do so either. In fact, rather to her surprise, she had managed to put any vague misgivings she had about either the colonel or his regiment completely out of her mind.
And, in spite of trying to tell herself that she must proceed with caution and remember past mistakes, she was still feeling immensely good-humoured when she finally returned Kelly’s call more than an hour later.
‘So, what have you been up to, you old bugger,’ she enquired cheerily.
Kelly told her at once about the third death at Hangridge. And that was the end of her good humour.
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Shit!’
‘I assume you weren’t told about Jocelyn Slade.’
‘No, I bloody wasn’t,’ she responded.
‘But I thought you’d checked the records at the coroner’s court.’
Karen cursed herself. It hadn’t occurred to her that it would be necessary. Not at this stage, anyway. Even before their two social meetings, she hadn’t really believed that the commanding officer of the Devonshire Fusiliers would deliberately mislead her, that he would fail to tell her about a death at his barracks.