‘We’ve been careful so far.’
‘We’ve been lucky so far,’ she reminded him.
‘We don’t even work on the same floor, Hailey, why should anybody suspect we’re …’
‘Having an affair?’
‘Three lunches and two dinners hardly constitute an affair, do they?’
‘Your wife might disagree if she found out. Where did you tell her you were the other night?’
‘She knows I work late, that I meet clients. She doesn’t suspect anything, trust me.’
‘You might be used to this, Sean, but I’ve never had an affair before. I just don’t want anything to spoil it.’
‘Stop worrying.’
He pushed a menu towards her.
‘Let’s order,’ he said, smiling.
Harvey watched her as she ran her gaze up and down the list of offerings, one hand pulling lazily at her long hair.
She noticed his attention and smiled. ‘What are you looking at?’
‘I’m just looking. You don’t blame me, do you?’ he said, quietly.
She shook her head and giggled.
‘You’re a real smoothie, aren’t you?’
Beneath the table he felt her foot brush against his calf.
Briefly. Tantalisingly.
She sipped her drink, wondering what the dark shadow was that had suddenly fallen across the table.
It was as if a cloud had passed before the sun.
But this was too small, too dark to be a cloud.
They both looked up.
Harvey opened his mouth.
Hailey didn’t even manage to give voice to the scream.
The man’s body plunged down towards them, slamming into the glass roof of the restaurant.
Glass exploded inwards, the strident eruption of splintering crystal mingling with a deafening crash as the body came hurtling through.
It struck the table where they sat, crushing glasses beneath it, overturning the table as more shards of glass rained down, exploding on the tiled floor.
And there was something hot and red splashing Hailey now.
Blood, jetting madly from a dozen wounds on the body, lacerated by the glass and the impact, spurted in all directions, some of it across her face and hair.
Finally, Hailey managed to scream.
The body flopped over onto its back, face shredded by the glass fragments, one long sliver embedded in the eye like a crystal spear.
Harvey fell away from the blood-spattered table, trying to control his churning stomach, aware that there was already a dark stain spreading across the front of his trousers.
Blood began to spill rapidly around the corpse which lay motionless amidst the shattered glass, broken crockery and scattered cutlery.
Other diners looked on in horror, one or two glancing up at the gaping hole in the glass roof left by the plummeting body. Pieces of broken glass were still dropping from the edges of the break.
Hailey felt a searing pain in her left hand and realised that the back of it had been sliced open by a piece of glass the size of a dinner plate.
But her own pain was all but forgotten as she stared down at the body, aware that the widening pool of blood around it was now lapping at the toes of her shoes.
Harvey saw that one piece of glass had torn away most of the flesh at the side of the dead man’s face. The skin had been sliced raggedly from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone, exposing his teeth and gums.
It looked as if he was smiling.
Harvey lost his battle and vomited.
Hailey continued to scream.
Thirty-two
The air was heavy with cigarette smoke, and Detective Inspector James Talbot inhaled deeply as he walked back and forth, chewing on a handful of chocolate peanuts which he was taking from a wrinkled paper bag.
The other men in the room either watched him or sat glancing down at their notes.
Phillip Barclay opened a window close to him and tried to waft some of the smoke out.
Rafferty grinned and lit another cigarette.
Of the two other men present, one was also smoking, twisting his cigarette in his fingers, watching the ash drop into the plastic cup which had contained coffee. His companion, a younger man dressed in a black suit and white shirt which looked a size too small for him, was drawing circles on a piece of paper with his Biro.
Talbot finally stopped pacing and turned to the notice board behind him.
‘Craig Jeffrey,’ he began, tapping a black and white ten-by-eight of a smiling man. ‘Thirty-two years old, surveyor, engaged. Due to be married in three months’ time.’
‘Maybe that’s why he topped himself’ mumbled the man in the black suit.
The other men laughed.
Talbot smiled wanly.
‘They reckon it’s difficult to get a table at that bloody restaurant,’ the man next to Barclay offered. ‘Perhaps he was desperate.’
More laughter.
Detective Constable Colin Penhallow ground out his cigarette in the plastic cup.
‘Enough of the fucking cabaret’ Talbot said, chewing on another peanut. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Are we sure it was suicide?’ Rafferty asked.
Talbot looked at Barclay. ‘Phil’ he said and all eyes turned to the coroner.
Barclay cleared his throat. ‘The autopsy showed no trace of any substances, legal or illegal, in his blood. Further examination showed no reason to suspect that he was murdered. I think we can rule out foul play.’
Talbot shrugged.
‘What was he doing in that house in Hays Mews, anyway?’ Rafferty wanted to know.
‘He was doing a survey for a building society’ Talbot replied.
‘So, while he was inside, he decided to climb up onto the roof and chuck himself off’ Penhallow mused.
‘That’s what it looks like,’ Talbot added, chewing more peanuts.
‘No drink, no drugs. No reasons why he should have done it,’ Rafferty interjected. ‘Just like the other two.’
Talbot nodded.
‘Three suicides inside eight days’ he continued. ‘All professional men. A surveyor, an accountant and an architect. All with stable home lives, as far as we know, all well paid, settled. None of them had any reason that we know of for committing suicide. But they did.’
‘People kill themselves every day, Jim’ Penhallow offered. ‘What makes these three geezers so special?’
‘That’s what we need to find out’ Talbot told him.
‘Have the wives or girlfriends been any help?’ DC Stephen Longley asked, brushing at the sleeve of his black jacket.
Talbot shook his head.
‘They all gave statements: none of them reported noticing any changes in behaviour in any of the three men. They also weren’t aware that any of the men were under undue pressure. As far as they’re concerned, there’s no logical reason for the suicides.’
‘So what do we do now?’ Rafferty asked.
‘Guv, if you don’t mind me asking,’ said Penhallow, raising a hand. ‘Why are we investigating three suicides when we know that’s what they were? I mean, there isn’t a hint of foul play in any of them, is there?’ He looked at Barclay.
The coroner shook his head.
‘There’s something not quite right here’ Talbot said. ‘I want to know if there
were links, I want to know if they knew each other’
‘Parriam knew Hyde’ Rafferty offered. ‘I told you about that entry in his diary.’
‘And I told you that one entry didn’t make them close friends’ the DI reminded him. ‘But I agree with you, Bill, it’s a coincidence. It’s also a coincidence that all three were professional men. Men who may have moved in the same circles. Find out if they did.’
‘What’ll it prove, Jim?’ Penhallow enquired.
‘It might just tie up a few loose ends’ Talbot said.
‘What loose ends?’ Longley asked. ‘They topped themselves, no one knows why.