A loud duck quack accompanied the sound of the cabin stove flickering to life the next morning as Mark refilled Hamish’s water supply and scooped food into a stainless steel bowl on the deck.
The sun had crested the horizon thirty minutes ago, and he had reluctantly rolled out of bed, slipped on a sweatshirt and jogging shorts and pulled on a pair of well-worn running shoes.
His breath had fogged in his face while he’d set a fast pace towards the lock, crossing the weir and into the meadow while the small dog at his heels easily kept up with him.
Now, he stood for a moment, enjoying the sunlight warming his neck while Hamish buried his nose in the food.
He left the cabin door open for the dog to wander inside when he’d finished, and picked up his phone from the galley worktop while automatically finding the switch for the kettle.
There was nothing on the national news, but a quick scroll through the local news websites soon brought results.
Despite no media release being made about Nolan Creasey’s arrest, a reporter from the Abingdon Times had somehow found out that the counsellor had been at the centre of attention yesterday, positing that the man was helping with enquiries.
Mark’s frustration rose as he read the scant lines of text, the kettle rattling on the hob.
He made a mental note to speak to Kennedy about reminding everyone on the investigation about the penalties for speaking to the press, and to ask Sarah in media relations to issue a statement to calm the rumours before lunchtime.
In the meantime, the fact remained that Creasey’s alibis were solid, and they still had no idea who had killed Sonya Raynott – or why.
‘Might as well start all over again,’ he groaned.
Mark sighed as Hamish scampered down the steps, scurried across the cabin and leapt up onto a blanket covering the sofa and faced the Abbey Gardens, paws on the cushions lining the seat.
The dog growled under his breath as two walkers strolled through the grassy expanse behind a spaniel, and then gave an excited yip when a canoeist passed the window.
‘Settle down,’ Mark murmured, stirring milk into one of the coffees and adding sugar to both. ‘It’s not your river, you know.’
Hamish whined in response, then jumped to the floor and crossed to his bed.
Yawning widely, Mark padded along to the main bedroom, toed off his running shoes and edged around to Lucy’s side of the bed.
‘You awake? I made coffee.’ He set down her mug on her nightstand beside a thriller she’d been reading into the early hours.
She groaned in response, rolled over and blinked. ‘What time is it?’
‘Almost seven. Hamish has been out and fed, so don’t let him tell you otherwise.’
Lucy rubbed her eyes, then smiled up at him. ‘Those shorts are falling apart.’
‘They’re comfy.’ He blew across the surface of his coffee, took a tentative sip and then wrinkled his nose as the hot liquid scorched his mouth. ‘I’m going to take a shower.’
Rolling back the duvet, Lucy smiled. ‘I can think of a better way to spend your time waiting for that to cool.’
Mark grinned, set down the mug and crawled in next to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders before burying his nose in her hair. ‘You smell nice.’
‘That’s what they all say.’
She giggled as he tickled her, then drew back, frowning. ‘Is that your phone?’
He raised his head.
Sure enough, the familiar ringtone carried through from the galley. ‘Bugger.’
Throwing back the duvet, ignoring Lucy’s indignant cry at the sudden draft that swept over her body, he raced past Hamish and slid to a standstill beside the countertop.
Kennedy’s name was splashed across the screen.
He swept up the phone before it went to voicemail, and answered.
‘Been running?’ the DI said by way of greeting.
‘What’s up, guv?’
‘Just wanted to ask you to come in earlier this morning.’
‘Has something happened?’
‘Sonya Raynott’s father has been in touch. He wants to meet us at nine o’clock.’ Kennedy paused, a slurping sound reaching Mark’s ears. ‘I’d like to have a short briefing before that to see what we’re left with after Creasey’s interview.’
‘Isn’t he being kept up to date by the Family Liaison Officer that’s been assigned to him?’
‘He is, but apparently he still wants a word.’
‘Have you seen the news this morning?’
‘I have indeed. No doubt Mr Raynott has too, so I suggest you get here by eight sharp.’
Mark glanced at the clock on the wall before peering back towards the bedroom, then bit back a groan.
‘I’ll be there.’