NINETEEN

Thorne and Helen woke early, but, with no noise to indicate that anyone else was up and about, they stayed in their room, waiting for Paula or Jason to emerge from theirs.

Helen called her father to see how Alfie was, confident that her son would have woken long before they had and would already be giving him the runaround. Her father assured her that all was well and that he was loving every minute of looking after his grandson. She talked to Alfie briefly. She told him to be good and that she would see him soon.

She said ‘love you’ and he said it back.

When her father came back on the line, Helen reminded him to call if there was any problem. He told her not to be silly. He urged her to make the most of the break and to enjoy herself. Listening in, Thorne was interested to see that Helen took care to give no hint that they were anywhere other than where they were supposed to be; that they were, in fact, in the town where her father had lived for so many years. When Helen finally hung up, she looked at him, as though well aware of what he was thinking. Thorne decided it was probably not a good idea to ask her why.

They lay in bed and read for a while, talking easily. Thorne was happy to see that Helen seemed a lot brighter than she had the previous evening. He hoped that one day in her home town would prove long enough for her to have come to terms with whatever mixed feelings she clearly had about coming back.

Helen flicked through a magazine, while Thorne made another attempt to get involved in a thriller he had picked up and put down again countless times. ‘The copper in this is ridiculous,’ he said.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Helen said. ‘He’s got a drink problem and he’s a bit of a maverick.’

‘Have you ever met a copper like that?’

‘I’m sorry about last night . . . ’

The absence of a smile told Thorne that she was not talking about the Valentine’s Day shag that never was. ‘No need,’ he said. ‘I was a bit worried, that’s all.’

‘I think I’m just finding it hard, not being with Alfie.’ She reached for Thorne’s hand. He put his book down. ‘This’ll be the longest I’ve ever been away from him. Well, apart from . . . ’

The armed siege.

Three days during which Helen had lived with the constant terror that she might never see her child again.

‘I know,’ Thorne said. ‘It’s understandable.’ He was not convinced that this was the only reason why Helen had not been herself ever since they’d crossed the river into Polesford, but it was the only reason she seemed ready to give. ‘Still, you heard what your dad said about making the most of it.’

She picked up her magazine again. ‘Not exactly the right circumstances though, are they?’

‘We don’t need to stay,’ Thorne said. ‘We can drive back to the Cotswolds if you want.’

Helen shook her head. ‘I need to be here.’

Thorne said, ‘Well, it’s your call,’ and was surprised to find himself feeling relieved, and not just because of his aversion to the snootier parts of the English countryside. As far as the police operation in Polesford went, he was just an observer, of course he was, and he was under no pressure because he had no responsibility.

No part of this was down to him.

He was still excited though, knowing that a major investigation was taking place just five minutes up the road. That there was a suspect being held, officers putting a case together and, most importantly, victims still to be found. It had been the first thing he’d thought about when he’d opened his eyes.

I’m on holiday.

He wasn’t exactly hard to find.

I don’t believe they’ve got enough . . .

That buzz had not gone away overnight.

As soon as they heard somebody heading downstairs, Thorne and Helen got up. Helen showered, dressed and went down. Thorne did the same and followed her fifteen minutes later.

It was not quite the ‘full works’ Thorne had joked about, but he was more than happy with a bacon sandwich on white, thick-sliced bread. He and Helen ate at a small table in the kitchen, while Paula stood at the cooker in her dressing gown, making another sandwich to take up to Sweeney who was clearly sleeping off the previous night’s ‘decompression’.

‘Sorry about the pair of us putting you on the spot last night,’ Paula said. ‘Those questions about Linda.’

‘Not a problem,’ Helen said.

‘Something like this happens, you can’t help yourself, can you?’

‘I’m sure I’d be exactly the same.’

‘You like being a copper then?’ Paula stepped back as the pan spat oil at her. ‘I mean, you must do, right?’

‘Most of the time, yeah.’

‘Must be tough though. Some of the stuff that happens.’

‘No tougher than being a nurse.’

Paula began buttering bread. ‘Yeah, well you come back feeling pretty great some days, I’m not saying you don’t. Others though . . . well, you know what they’re like.’

Thorne remembered what Paula had said the night before, about getting home from hospital, and guessed it wasn’t just the smell she felt the need to wash away.

‘It’s good of you to come back. I mean you’ve obviously got your own life in London, family and all that.’ Paula turned and looked at Helen, pointed with the knife. ‘Linda’s lucky to have a friend like that.’

‘She’s got plenty of friends here, hasn’t she?’ Helen asked.

‘She must do, but people tend to stay away when something like this happens, don’t they? They think it’s going to be awkward, that they won’t know what to say.’ She turned back to the cooker. ‘Maybe some of them are wondering if Linda knows something about what happened. People always think that, don’t they?’

‘Is that what you think?’ Thorne asked.

They waited, watched Paula cock her head.

‘I’d be lying if I told you I hadn’t ever considered it. I know that probably means I’m a horrible, suspicious person.’

Helen looked straight at Thorne. ‘Like you said, it’s what a lot of people think.’

‘All I’m saying, she’s bloody lucky to have you around. It’s times like these you find out who your real friends are.’

‘That’s nice of you,’ Helen said.

Paula turned round again. ‘No, I mean it.’

Just for a moment or two, there was something in the woman’s face – a sudden tightness, and something flat about the eyes – that Thorne thought he recognised. That he’d seen back before he’d joined the Murder Squad, on a few occasions he’d worked rape or domestic abuse cases. Her job was hard enough, but he had begun to suspect that she spent most of the time when she wasn’t working as an unpaid skivvy for her boyfriend. If he was right, he wondered just how controlling Jason Sweeney could be. How many friends Paula Hitchman was allowed to have.

Paula’s mobile began to ring out in the hall, so she took the frying pan off the heat and went out to answer it.

‘You going to see Linda today?’ Thorne asked.

‘I said I would.’

‘She was right.’ Thorne nodded out towards the hall, where Paula was talking on the phone. ‘About Linda being lucky that you’re here.’

‘I’m not a real friend,’ Helen said.

Out in the hall, they could hear Paula say, ‘Are you serious?’

‘What are you on about?’ Thorne asked.

Helen shook her head. ‘If I was, I wouldn’t have waited for something like this to happen, would I? A real friend would have come back a long time ago.’ She turned to stare out of the window, across a brown field that swept down towards scattered farm buildings, lines of sodden stubble.

‘What was that look before?’ Thorne asked.

‘What look?’

‘When she was talking about wondering how much Linda knows? You gave me a look.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Like, was I wondering the same thing.’

‘Come on,’ Helen said. ‘I know very well it crossed your mind.’

‘And it didn’t cross yours?’

Paula came back in, phone in hand. She pointed at what was left of Thorne’s and Helen’s sandwiches. ‘Come on, bring them through. I think we might want to put the telly on.’

‘What?’ Helen asked. Thorne was already standing up.

Paula waved her phone. ‘That was a woman I know from step class, who runs a coffee shop on the high street. Cupz? Anyway, the place was full of coppers first thing this morning and she overheard them talking.’ She shook her head. ‘Trust me, if she knows something, she’ll have told everyone by now.’

‘Told them what?’

‘She reckons they’ve found a body.’