‘She called me a liar, accused me of all sorts-pushing Sally under a bus, but I didn’t, I swear! Sally must have told her I did, though, and now she reckons Sally’s disappeared and I must know something about it. She was threatening to go to the police. ’ Pam’s nostrils flared. She sniffed several times. ‘So I thought I’d better come here first and tell you I’ve done nothing, absolutely nothing. What she’s saying’s slander, and that’s illegal, isn’t it?’
‘Under a bus?’ said Simon. ‘Are you sure that was what she said? Where do you think she got that from?’
‘Sally did have an accident with a bus, in Rawndesley a few days ago. I was there, I saw it. Well, I didn’t see it happen, but I saw a group of people all gathered round, so I went and looked, and it was Sally. I tried to help her, offered to take her to hospital to get checked out, but she wasn’t having any of it. She accused me of pushing her and shouted at me in front of everyone.’ Pam’s face reddened as she remembered the incident. ‘We’d had a bit of a row before, because of a mix-up over childcare arrangements, and I’ll admit I was furious with her, but… what sort of person does she think I am, that I’d do that?’
‘So you didn’t push her?’ said Charlie.
‘Of course not!’
‘And you didn’t see if anyone else pushed her?’
‘No. I told you. I’ve been upset about it all week. I was just starting to feel better-Sally left a message saying she was sorry, and I thought it was all over-and then this Esther Taylor woman turns up. She tried to barge into my house. Look.’ Pam held out her hand so that Simon could see it shaking. ‘I’m a wreck.’
‘Tell him the rest,’ said Charlie.
‘I managed to keep her out, slammed the door on her.’ Pam touched her throat. ‘She started yelling outside about Mark Bretherick, asking if he was the one who… who wanted Sally dead. I can hardly bear to say it, it’s so awful. I read the local paper every night, so I recognised the name. That was what freaked me out the most.’ She pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of her tracksuit trousers; it had the initials PS embroidered on it. It had been ironed, Charlie noticed, and folded into a neat square.
‘Do you know Mark Bretherick?’ asked Simon.
‘No!’
‘Did you know Geraldine or Lucy Bretherick?’
‘No, but I know how they died, and I don’t want anything to do with it!’
An odd way to phrase it, thought Charlie. ‘But, according to you, you haven’t got anything to do with it,’ she said. ‘You don’t know the Bretherick family. You’ve never known them.’
‘Well, obviously this Esther Taylor knows something about them, or Sally does, and I don’t want anything to do with any of them. I don’t want to be attacked in the middle of the night when I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong!’
‘All right,’ said Charlie. ‘Try to calm down.’
‘What did Esther Taylor look like?’ Simon asked.
‘About my height. Short, blonde hair. Glasses. A bit like the blonde one out of When Harry Met Sally, but uglier and with glasses.’
‘She didn’t look anything like Geraldine Bretherick? Do you know what Geraldine Bretherick looked like? Have you seen her photograph in the paper?’
Pam nodded. ‘No, this woman looked nothing like her.’
Charlie watched Simon watching Pam. What was he waiting for? She’d answered his question.
‘Actually…’ Pam’s hanky was taut in her lap, her left and right hands waging a subtle tug of war. ‘Oh, my God. Sally looks like Mrs Bretherick. I didn’t think of it until you just said… Why did you ask me that? What’s going on?’
‘I need Sally’s address and telephone number and as much detail about her as you can give me,’ said Simon. As Pam spoke, he frowned and nodded, committing her words to memory. Charlie made notes. Simon looked surprised only when Pam mentioned that Sally Thorning’s husband, Nick, was a radiographer at Culver Valley General Hospital. Once he’d got all the information he could out of her, he left the room.
Charlie followed him, closing the door on Pam’s questions and demands. She was expecting to have to chase after Simon, but she found him standing motionless outside the interview room. ‘What?’ she said.
‘I think I saw When Harry Met Sally. She said, “the blonde one out of When Harry Met Sally”. Which is Sally, obviously, because Harry’s the man.’
‘I’ve seen it too. After a hopeless start, they get married and live happily ever after,’ said Charlie pointedly.
‘You’re called Charlie. Charlie can also be a man’s name.’
‘Simon, what the fuck…?’
‘I know where I’ve seen the name Harry Martineau.’
‘The man who lives in the Olivas’ old house?’
‘No. He doesn’t exist. That’s why no one’s heard of Angel Oliva at Culver Valley General, the hospital where Nick Thorning works.’
‘I’m completely, utterly lost,’ said Charlie.
‘Jones is the name. Jones: the most ordinary name in the world.’
‘Simon, you’re beginning to frighten me. Who’s Jones? The killer? The man Sally Thorning met in the hotel?’
‘No. Come on, we’ve got to get back to the briefing.’
‘I’ve got my own work to do! I can’t just leave Pam…’
Simon strode down the corridor. Charlie found herself running after him. As always, she wanted something from him that he was not making readily available. It wasn’t her case, it was nothing to do with her, but she needed to know what he meant.
They hadn’t got far when they saw Norman Grace from HTCU hurrying towards them. ‘I was on my way to find you,’ he said to Simon.
‘What have you got?’
‘You were wrong…’
‘That’s not possible.’
‘… but you were also right.’
‘ Norman, I’m in a hurry.’
‘The name’s Jones,’ said Norman, and Charlie’s skin turned cold.
‘I know.’ Simon broke into a run.
Not so much as a thank you. Charlie shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry,’ she said to Norman. ‘He’s got a bee in his bonnet.’
‘Can you tell him I’m hanging on to the Bretherick hard disk for the time being? There’s more, but it’ll take me a while to get it into a presentable state.’
Charlie nodded, and was moving away when Norman touched her arm. ‘How are you, Charlie?’
‘Fine, as long as no one asks me how I am,’ she said, smiling.
‘You don’t really want that. You don’t want people not to care.’
Charlie ran down the corridor, hoping she hadn’t missed anything, wondering if Norman was right. Would she prefer everyone to forget about last year? To treat her exactly as they had before?
She found Simon round a corner, on his mobile phone. He was telling somebody that he needed them to come to Spilling, saying that as soon as possible would be great. He gave the address of the nick. Charlie had never heard him sound so eager or grateful. Jealousy wasn’t an issue; it was obvious he was speaking to a man. Simon never sounded so unguarded when he spoke to women.
‘Who was that?’ she said once they were on the move again.
‘Jonathan Hey.’
‘The Cambridge don? But… Simon, you can’t just invite your own expert to the party without checking with Sam first. What about Keith Harbard?’
‘Harbard knows nothing.’
When he was in this sort of mood, Charlie knew there was no point contradicting him. If he thought Hey was that much better than Harbard, he was probably right. It wouldn’t stop Proust from taking one look at the second sociology professor to land at his feet and despatching him back to Cambridge without refreshments or an explanation.