65

‘That means Joe Hennessy is off the hook then, doesn’t it?’ Judith and Constance were breathing the evening air with relief as they stood outside the railway station awaiting Judith’s taxi.

‘I suppose it does. God, I hope Dawson can get him for something though. He’s so dodgy.’

‘He’s going to be a father now. Maybe that will sort him out.’

‘I doubt it. What did Dawson say? “Once a scumbag always a scumbag”.’

‘A very astute assessment from our illustrious partner in solving crime.’

Judith’s taxi pulled up at the kerb. ‘Are we finished now? Are you satisfied?’

‘Yes. I think we’re finally done.’

‘Do you know what I’m going to do when I get home – after a pot of coffee and a long bath, that is? I’ll need all my strength for this one.’

‘No?’ Constance laughed.

‘I’m going to call my mother!’

Judith blew an air kiss in Constance’s direction as she clambered into her cab.

‘You sure I can’t drop you somewhere?’

‘No. I’ll walk. I could really do with some fresh air after police stations and hospitals. Speak soon.’

‘Last time you said that it was three months before we spoke.’

‘You were the one who went all reclusive. Your fame went to your head.’

Judith giggled. ‘Will you come and have dinner with me and Greg one evening? I promise not to talk about work.’

‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

‘Greg’s idea, not mine,’ Judith quipped. ‘I hate having company.’ Constance threw back her head and laughed out loud as Judith’s taxi sped away.

On a whim, she walked back along the street to the twenty-four-hour newsagent and bought herself an ice cream. Then she strolled up the nearby avenue of trees and sat down on the bench overlooking the pond and ate it greedily, enjoying the cool sensation on her tongue. She allowed herself to savour the last morsel before taking her phone out of her bag, switching it on and waiting to review her messages.

She had a WhatsApp from a number she recognised.

‘Hi Sis. I’m in town next week. I’ll call you, J.’

Constance shrugged. She wouldn’t hold her breath. Sometimes Jermain did what he said, more often not. Next she dialled up her voicemail and heard a familiar voice.

‘Hi Con. This is Mike. I miss you. Sometimes I’m really stupid, you know. Well I’m sure you do. And I get stuff wrong. I saw you on the news. You were really great. Can we have a drink some time this week? Tomorrow night, eight o’clock, usual place? I’ll have a red carnation in my button hole.’

Constance’s eyes filled with tears as she deleted the message. She wiped them away with the back of her hand as she replaced her phone in her bag and walked purposefully towards the Underground station.