Eleven

Juliet was walking back to Laurieston Terrace with Jackie Briggs. As she passed Laurieston House, she glanced up at the first-floor windows and saw a hand holding back the vertical blind. It was quickly released and the blind dropped back into place.

It was rather less than fifty minutes since she’d talked with Harry Briggs. She was not surprised, however, that when Jackie preceded her up the path and tried the door it was locked. From the moment she’d mentioned it, she’d been sceptical that Harry would wait for her to return. Jackie obviously thought so, too. She took out her latch-key with an apologetic look on her face.

“Harry!” she called out. “I’m back, love.”

There was no answer.

“His mates must have called for him early,” she said to Juliet, her expression wry. “I don’t suppose he’ll be back until late, but you’re welcome to wait if you’d like. Do you fancy a cup of tea now?”

“No, I’m all right, thanks,” said Juliet, quite shortly for her. “I need to get back to the station. I’ll call your husband to make an appointment to see him tomorrow. Could you write down the number for me?” She handed Jackie her card.

“There’s a spare card for you, as well,” she added. “In case you remember anything else.” She remembered to smile. “Thank you very much indeed. You’ve been extremely helpful.”

She was almost back at the gate when a dark blue car slowed and turned into the drive of Laurieston House. Juliet quickened her pace. If it was Ricky MacFadyen, she’d like to take the opportunity for a swift word with him. But on closer inspection the car was much swankier than Ricky’s VW Golf. The driver was a woman. She was attractive in a bohemian sort of way: she had longish unruly ash-blonde hair. The window was open on the driver’s side and the hand that rested there was well-manicured, the nails long and polished a shade of dark red. She wore a large, square, very modern ring on her middle finger. It took Juliet a minute to place her, before recognition dawned. She’d last seen this woman a couple of years back, when she’d been Ronald Atkins’ solicitor. She’d been quite a terrier then, Juliet seemed to recall, tenacious in defending her client’s rights. Rook, that was her name. Jean Rook.

Juliet debated whether she should hang around until Ricky appeared and apprise him of the lawyer’s arrival. On balance, she decided that it wasn’t a good idea. If Kevan de Vries – or Ms Rook, for that matter – saw them conversing, it would only antagonise them. She could send Ricky a text message, though. Technological dinosaur that he was, he might not pick it up in time, but it was worth a try.

She had just finished texting Ricky when something shot out of the undergrowth, coming from the direction of Laurieston House. It was some kind of creature, more than a foot in length, long-haired and greasy-looking. Juliet looked down too late to see it clearly, but became suddenly aware of a stinging pain on the side of her left foot. She bent to examine it and saw immediately that the creature had bitten her and drawn blood. It was oozing through a tear in her tights.

Shaken, she stood for a few moments, supporting herself by holding on to the gatepost of Laurieston House. She took off her shoe and washed the worst of the blood from her foot in the little stream, opening up the tear in the tights to do the job as thoroughly as possible.

She walked back to her car. Within minutes her foot was throbbing. She debated whether to call in at A & E on her way home, but the fatigue that had been stalking her all day had now kicked in with a vengeance. She decided that her best plan would be to go home, bathe the foot properly, apply some disinfectant and then get an early night. She drove off unsteadily into what was still a shimmering summer’s evening.