Marina kept her hands wrapped round the cup of coffee on the table in front of her. It was too hot to drink, too milky and watery to taste. But she still held on to it. She stared at the surface of the liquid, the steam rising off it, curling away. How easy it was to slip from one state to another. All it took was the right conditions.
She looked round, blinking away thoughts too deep for where she was. A Little Chef restaurant on the A14 near Kettering.
She knew it wasn’t a particularly original view, but Marina had never liked service stations. She found them depressing places to be in. The larger ones, with their overlit atriums and overpriced food, seemed like high-end prisons. They gave the illusion of freedom and allowed a modicum of movement, but in reality there was nowhere to go. Travellers milled around the chairs and tables, went in and out of the toilets, tried to convince themselves that the shop held things worth buying. She often wondered about the people who worked there, manning the food stations and tills, maintaining the buildings. Local, static. Even more imprisoned than the temporary travellers.
That was the large stations. The small ones were even worse. This Little Chef had been made over in the aftermath of a well-publicised visit from a famous TV chef. It had been refurbished in primary colours, mainly red, with low-hanging lighting and minimalist seating. The window booth that Marina was sitting in was bright red upholstered plastic. Despite the changes, she got the sense that the makeover was an effort to maintain.
She looked at the coffee and waited. She was early. She had time to relax, bring herself down and question her actions, tell herself she was being stupid, that what she was doing wasn’t rational behaviour. Then the opposite opinion would creep in and she would confirm for herself that she wasn’t imagining things or overreacting, that she was definitely doing the right thing. Definitely.
After leaving Gwilym’s house she had made a phone call, dropped Josephina off with Eileen, got in the car and driven straight here. She deliberately didn’t allow herself any time to think things through in case she changed her mind.
The person she had phoned hadn’t thought twice and had offered to meet straight away.
And here she was.
Marina saw her come through the door, look round the room. Marina waved. Tried to smile. The woman crossed the floor to join her. She had the looks, attitude and confidence to carry off anything she wanted to wear. Figure-hugging jeans and big boots, sweater and jacket. Dyed blonde hair contrasting with her black skin. Big smile for Marina and genuine warmth in her eyes.
Marina stood up, hugged her. ‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ she said.
Detective Constable Anni Hepburn smiled. ‘Neither have you. And it’s been so long.’
They both laughed. Marina out of relief.
Anni sat down in the opposite seat. Looked around. ‘Well, this place has gone up in the world.’
‘I think it may be temporary,’ said Marina.
Anni nodded and smiled.
‘So how’s Mickey?’
‘He’s fine, bless him,’ Anni said. ‘Sends his love.’
‘Send mine back. And Franks?’
Anni’s smile gave nothing away about her DCI. ‘He’s exactly the same. I doubt you’ll want me to send him your love.’
‘You doubt correctly.’
Anni gave a small laugh accompanied by another smile. Then the smile gradually disappeared. ‘So what did you want to see me about that was so urgent?’
Straight down to business. Anni was a detective on the team Phil used to run and on which Marina used to be staff psychologist. The two women had always got on well on a personal level but had really clicked on a professional one. When Marina had needed someone to turn to, Anni was the first person she had thought of.
‘Well…’ She didn’t know how to begin. ‘Thank you. For coming to see me.’
Anni shrugged. ‘You said it was important. And it was you. I wouldn’t have given up my Saturday afternoon for just anyone, you know.’
Marina smiled, touched. She realised in that moment just how much she had missed Anni. ‘I appreciate it. Really I do.’
‘So what is it, then?’
Marina took a deep breath. ‘Well…’
And she told her. About the departmental dinner. About Hugo Gwilym’s behaviour. Her suspicions about the wine. What happened afterwards. The blackout. The meeting at the café, the underwear return. The confrontation at Gwilym’s house, the near confession. Phil’s appearance. Gwilym’s triumphant dismissal of her.
She sat back, exhausted. She looked at her hands. They were shaking as she attempted to pick up the coffee cup.
‘Jesus Christ…’ said Anni. ‘Wait a minute. Hugo Gwilym. I know that name. Is he the one off the TV?’
Marina nodded.
‘Oh wow. Looks like we’ve got another Savile.’
Marina felt so tired. Just talking about it all had forced her to relive it. She felt like crying again. Anni, sensing that, reached across the table, held her hand.
‘Hey. Come on.’
Marina didn’t speak, just held on to Anni’s hand.
‘What does Phil say?’
Marina took her hand away, rummaged in her handbag for a tissue, blew her nose. She had just about managed not to cry. Just about. ‘I… I haven’t told him…’
Anni looked at her, surprised. ‘Why not? I’d have thought he’d be the first person you would have told.’
Marina shook her head. ‘I… I couldn’t. Anni, what if it was true? What Gwilym said? What if I did go back with him, of my own free will, what if I slept with him consensually? I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t have told Phil that, could I?’
‘Yeah, but what were the chances of that happening? You should have told him.’
Marina looked her straight in the eye. ‘Would you have told Mickey? If you’d been in my place? Would you? If there’d been even a shadow of doubt, would you have told him?’
Anni thought. ‘OK, I see your point. But you can tell him now, can’t you?’
‘Soon,’ said Marina. ‘Hopefully. I need to ask a favour of you. A really big one. That’s why I wanted to see you. Why I couldn’t have just done all this on the phone.’
‘Go on,’ said Anni.
Marina delved into her handbag once more. She brought out the glass she had taken from Gwilym’s kitchen, still wrapped in cling film, still holding the amber liquid. She slid it across the table to Anni.
‘What’s this?’ Anni asked.
Marina told her where she had taken it from. ‘I think it might be, I don’t know, Rohypnol or something.’
‘You want me to get it analysed?’
Marina nodded. ‘Please. I know it’s a big ask. But as I said, I can’t get Phil to do it.’
Anni nodded. Took the glass.
‘I’ll pay if I have to,’ said Marina. ‘If it has to be done privately.’
‘Leave it with me.’
‘I just… I have to know. If it’s, if he…’ She sighed. ‘I know that you’re busy and you gave up your day off to come all the way here and see me. But I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’
‘Don’t worry. I said I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call in some favours. Get it done as quickly as possible.’ Anni’s features hardened. She was suddenly all copper. ‘If you’re right about this guy, then it’s not just you he’s done this to. We’ve got to get him off the streets.’
‘Thank you. It means… I just…’ Marina sighed. Thank you.’
Anni’s hand returned to the table, took hers. ‘No problem.’
Marina smiled.
‘So,’ said Anni. ‘When you coming home, then?’