TOWARDS AN ENDING
Saturday 4 June
A kitchen should be busy. It’s the engine of the house. In Harriet’s day – her name was already a byword for an era, like the Georgians, or the Tudors – Harebell House’s kitchen had whirred and ticked.
Today, it approached Harrietian standards.
Bogna was making sausages. Jess couldn’t bear to look. Moose patiently pimped his cracked tennis ball to Kuzbari, who was accepting a coffee from the Judge. Josh was whistling cheerfully to himself, sitting back and manspreading on a wooden chair. Iris smoked in the doorway. Liminal. Hecate-like.
There was no curfew on the soft evening drifting through the garden beyond the windows. No eyes were being gouged out. No crucifixes sprouted in the green green grass of home.
Jess stroked the grain of the table and listened to Kuzbari as he leant against a cabinet.
‘Now that it’s finally happening, things are moving fast.’ When the Judge had asked Jess to help with his cufflinks, he’d been on his way to talk to some old friends at the Foreign Office. ‘If all goes well, my mother will be here, safe and sound, by the end of next week.’ This prospect had worked like a facelift on Kuzbari. His skin shone. A burdened, sad look that Jess had thought inherent was gone from his eyes.
Bogna budged both men out of her way and piled a string of fat bangers into a plastic bucket. She waved a sausage in the Judge’s direction. ‘He pulls strings, isn’t it?’ She loved to show off her slang. ‘All these high-up men. Old boys’ network. Nudge nudge wank wank.’
‘However you managed it, whatever strings you pulled, James,’ said Kuzbari, ‘Shokram, my friend. Shokram from the bottom of my heart.’
Gratitude made her father fidget, so Jess said, ‘I can’t wait to meet your mum.’
‘She is . . . interesting,’ said Mr Kuzbari.
The diplomacy made Jess even more keen. ‘And your wife? Will she come and join you at some point?’
‘We’ll see.’ More careful diplomacy.
The pointed look Bogna threw Jess over the sausages was ignored. The pharmacist’s looks and demeanour had been commented on by the housekeeper. More than once.
Almost tripping over Moose’s ball, Kuzbari approached Jess. ‘May I?’ He flourished a pen.
She held up her left forearm, its plaster sleeve already dingy. Jess angled it so he couldn’t read Mary’s ‘Get well soon you old slag!!!’ He signed with a flourish below the neat ‘Rupert J. Lawson QC’.
‘We’ll miss you, Jess,’ said Kuzbari, dotting the i.
‘You won’t,’ said Jess. ‘Your mother will keep you busy.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Don’t ask!’ advised Bogna. ‘Some mad little plan in that big brain, eh?’ She tapped Jess on the fringe with a sausage.
‘I have to set my life going again. Like a gold watch,’ said Jess.
Iris regarded Jess through a haze of violet smoke. ‘Wherever you go, Jess, you take yourself with you.’
‘I haven’t thanked you for helping me discover that Helena murdered Gavin.’
‘Little old me?’ drawled Iris. She was wearing a linen shift that would look like a bin bag on Jess.
‘You and Susannah. Comments you made about love and loss. I must thank her too.’
‘Don’t expect her to understand what you mean. Mark my words, as James would say, the next drama in this family is that marriage.’
‘I won’t be around to watch,’ said Jess. While there was a puzzle to solve, she’d been useful. ‘I can’t stand by and watch the triumphant return of Pan. They’re saying he won’t even do jail time for the drugs.’
‘The papers,’ said the Judge, ‘are calling him a martyr for the way the police fingered him for the murders.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about Pan,’ said Iris. ‘A prominent member of the Women’s Institute owns Pitt’s Field. She’ll have him evicted and the rest of the WI will run him out of town. They’re more ruthless than the SS.’
‘Let’s not talk about him.’ Jess felt tainted by her run-ins with Pan. ‘It’ll be good to put some miles between him and me.’
‘And Rupert?’ Iris spoke quietly, drawing her in.
‘I can do without him,’ said Jess. ‘We’ve only known each other for a few weeks, after all.’
‘Lives change in the blink of an eye.’ Iris was watching her great-niece closely.
Pretending not to notice, Jess stared out at the line of trees that marked the edge of the Judge’s fiefdom. She recognised a poplar. ‘I spent days agonising about the meaning of the trees on the first box,’ she said. ‘In the end they were being absolutely straightforward and I was meeting them with complexity.’
‘You’ve lost me, darling. Is it a metaphor for you and Rupert?’
‘Maybe.’
Bogna dropped a sausage on the floor.
‘Leave it!’ called Jess. ‘It belongs to Hecate now.’
‘No, it belongs to Moose now,’ said the Judge. ‘Not like you to be superstitious, Jessica.’
‘Superstitions evolved to help people. It would be dangerous in less hygienic times to eat something that had fallen on the ground.’
Bogna was steely. ‘Are you saying my floors aren’t clean?’ She pointed at Josh, who jumped. ‘In front of a lord?’
A voice from the garden curdled all the blood in the room. Even Moose jumped at Patricia Smalls’ cry of ‘Yoo-hoo! Only me!’
The Judge had time to say, ‘Sometimes one misses the curfew,’ before the mayoress was among them.
‘You don’t mind me coming round the side and letting myself in? I’m practically family, after all. Mmm! What’s that lovely smell.’
‘I make sausage,’ shouted Bogna, slamming the larder door.
‘Oh.’ Patricia, who held a small dense cake on a footed plate, revived her expression. ‘How charming!’ She noticed Josh and curtsied. Her knees cracked as she got up, and Josh’s already red cheeks turned a deeper hue. ‘Lord Kidbury, I daresay you’re here to celebrate James’s news. I dashed here the moment I heard.’
‘Dad’s news?’ Jess looked to her father.
‘I don’t have any,’ said the Judge.
‘You’re going to have an operation, dear. I heard it from my ex-cleaner’s brother’s sister’s girl who works at the health centre.’
‘Oh. That,’ said the Judge. ‘Wouldn’t call that news.’
‘I made this humble offering to mark the occasion.’ Patricia held up the cake reverently with both hands.
Bogna got there first. ‘This does not mean he can stuff face with sugary shit.’ With one deft movement she slid the fruit cake into the bin and handed back the plate.
Jess longed to applaud. Kuzbari, who had better manners, asked the fuming Patricia what was going on at the old library. ‘I see the think space is boarded up.’
‘No definite article, all one word,’ said Patricia. ‘I’m glad you asked. I’m planning something that will make the Castle Kidbury brand shine even more brightly. A soft play centre.’
‘Aw,’ said Bogna, indulgent. ‘Nice for the kiddiewinks, isn’t it?’
‘That’s just it!’ Patricia Smalls was triumphant. ‘It’s soft play for adults.’
Jess imagined it. It sounded like a lot of fun. It also sounded like the trumpet that heralds the end of life as we know it.
‘There’s a real proper celebrity lined up to open it this time. Nic Lasco.’
‘The chef?’ Jess was genuinely impressed. ‘The one with his own show where he teaches regular schmucks to cook? He’s sex on legs.’
‘I prefer a Nigel Havers type myself,’ said Patricia. ‘Mr Lasco will be here to film some dreadful reality show, but I’ll exploit him for all he’s worth. You’ll come, James, won’t you, to the soft play? We can have a good bounce together!’
The Judge had no answer to that. Kuzbari, hiding a snigger, jumped as Patricia poked him. ‘And you! You can chase me down the padded slide!’
The back door opened and gave them Mary.
‘Does nobody,’ murmured the Judge, ‘use the front door anymore?’
Warm. Radiant. Slightly drunk. Mary complimented Bogna’s sausages and told Patricia Smalls she was looking ‘hot’. ‘You the lord?’ she asked Josh. ‘Fair play to you, Joshy boy.’ As Moose lifted his paws to her shoulders, Mary lifted her chin in Jess’s direction. Her black eye was in full pomp, and she’d done up the other eye to match its peacock colours. ‘Ready?’
‘Just about.’ Jess stood and herded up her phone and her keys and her bag. ‘We’re meeting Eden at the Seven Stars, Dad,’ she explained. ‘For what he tells me is the traditional lock-in whenever they wrap a case.’
‘Eddie will be in his element. Give him my best.’
‘Will do, Dad.’
‘Before you dash off, do you have a moment?’
She did.
Jess followed the Judge to his study. He sat behind his desk, then seemed to reconsider and perched on the edge. ‘You didn’t have that dream this morning, Jessica.’
‘No. Do you mind if we don’t talk about this, Dad?’
‘We must talk about it.’
‘You don’t know what happened at that party.’ Jess hadn’t answered Helena’s confession with one of her own.
‘I do. I was there.’
‘I don’t remember you being there.’
‘You were seven, Jess. You saw what a child sees. I think it might require some interpretation for you. The Blakes had a horrible marriage. Drank far too much, the pair of them. Especially her. So keen to impress. By the time we got there, there was plenty of booze sloshing around. Didn’t feel like a kiddy party at all. Mrs Blake was dancing on a table, her make-up sliding all over her face.’
‘Like a clown,’ said Jess.
‘That’s what a child would think, yes. The lifeguard had been hand-picked by her. No experience, just a muscly teen from Richleigh. One of the mums saw what happened. Mrs Blake was, how can I put this, kissing him rather enthusiastically. Then she shoved him into the changing room, set down her empty glass and grabbed the nearest child. You, Jess, were the nearest child.’
Jess remembered the fingers around her skinny arm. The odd looseness of Gavin’s mum’s face and voice and the wobbly head. It had scared her then; now she’d recognise drunkenness.
‘We heard screams. We saw blood on the tiles. We saw long hair streaming. I thought . . . Mum sent me off for a whisky to calm me.’
‘You thought I’d fallen in?’
‘When in fact you saved the day.’
‘You freaked out because you thought I’d fallen in?’ Jess didn’t want to skim over that.
‘Is that so unbelievable?’
Jess and her father regarded one another.
‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘Jessica, when that woman asked you to look after the others, she was in the wrong. She had no right to load that responsibility onto your narrow little shoulders. The duty of care was hers. Just because you happened to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time does not make you responsible for Becky’s death. The pool was full of people. Nobody noticed the poor girl. We all share regrets, but nobody would blame a seven-year-old child.’ The Judge patted Jess’s arm. Awkwardly.
She tingled at his touch. She wanted to cry. ‘Except me, Dad. I blame myself.’
‘Am I a clever man, Jessica? Have I made many difficult decisions in my career and influenced many lives?’
‘Um, yeah.’
‘My word carries weight. My judgement on that frightful day is this; you are absolved.’
‘I’ll visit, Dad, when you’ve had the operation.’
‘Don’t make promises you might not keep.’
‘Dad,’ she said as they both stood, ‘thanks.’
The lack of guilt was like a new coat; Jess would have to get used to it. She was a little dazed when they returned to the kitchen. She would have welcomed the chance to cry; she would have liked to cry into her father’s shirt.
She noticed him blowing his nose energetically. They’d had a moment. She would treasure it. There might not be another.
‘Judge, what plans do you have for that auld barn out the back?’ Mary asked.
‘Plans? Only some vague notion of using it to bath Moose. Why?’
‘I’d be happy to tart it up for you. A lick of paint. Connect the electrics. Put in a bog, et cetera et cetera.’
‘It’s been neglected for years.’ The Judge’s brows drew together. ‘Spiders. Damp. Full of junk.’
A model of disingenuousness, Mary said, ‘I’ll manage. You can pay me back by letting me live in it, if you like.’
Blindsided, Jess stood with her bag over her shoulder. Why did Mary want to stay in this backwater?
When the Judge spoke it was in a voice higher than his usual thoughtful baritone. It was the only voice he had to talk about his wife. ‘Harriet used to daydream about doing something with the barn. Making it pretty. Didn’t she, Jess?’
There was a question beneath the question. Jess recalled his pooh-poohing of her mother’s whimsies. Doing up the barn. Turning a vintage caravan into a sewing room. Taking in exchange students. Jess readily translated her father’s code. He was acknowledging that he had stifled Harriet with his disapproval.
Jess smiled a reprieve. ‘What my dad’s too polite to say, Mary, is that you can’t barge in and claim the barn as your own without even—’
‘Splendid idea, Mary.’ The Judge was over-adamant. ‘Do us all good to have some youthful enthusiasm about the place. Do what you like with the draughty old place. I give you carte blanche.’
Jess stared.
Mary leapt. The Judge’s arms stayed stuck to his sides as she smothered him.
‘You’re a diamond, Jimmy boy!’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Shit. I forgot.’ Her expression darkened. ‘I ran into Eden.’
‘And?’
‘It’s Neil.’
‘What’s Neil?’ Jess was impatient.
‘He’s dead. Hanged himself.’
Jess froze. Another death. Patricia Smalls rolled her eyes. Bogna shook her head.
‘There was a note.’ Mary was subdued, with the Irish respect for bad news. ‘Eden didn’t tell me what it said, but apparently it was only six words long.’
Kidbury Road.
The bridge.
The long-stay car park.
The medical centre.
The vet’s.
And then the long turn into the main thoroughfare.
The last journey.
The sameness of the route didn’t irritate Jess anymore. It was comforting. A nice little furrow she could follow without thinking too hard. From now on she would travel without a map.
A Seven Stars lock-in. Late. Loose. Castle Kidbury unlaced its corset after weeks of fear. Laughter slightly too loud. The fairy lights over the bar fuzzy and bright.
Rupert was back to his groomed self. He smelt of Penhaligon aftershave, not chlorine. ‘Cheers!’ He clinked his glass of definitely-not-house-white with Jess’s Coke.
‘Cheers yourself, Rumpole. Gotta wee.’ Jess stood up.
‘Ever the lady.’
In the toilet, Jess encountered Mary. And Moose.
‘Jaysus, the lack of talent in this pub should be punishable by law.’ Mary hoicked up her combat trousers and checked her teeth in the mirror.
‘What about Squeezers?’ Jess competed with the whine of the hand dryer. Moose looked at it, weighing up whether it was a threat to his women. ‘He’d be a tender, inventive lover.’
They both laughed. And then they both felt bad. They both said, at once, ‘Poor Squeezers.’
Jess had bugged Eden once more, earlier that day, about the police harassment of Squeezers. She might as well, she’d thought; she’d soon be gone and her stock was high on the back of the arrests. ‘Get Beefy Dave off Squeezers’ back,’ she’d said, hotly.
Eden had lowered his voice, drawn her into his office. ‘Beefy Dave doesn’t exist.’
‘He does,’ Jess had insisted.
‘Have you ever seen him?’
‘No, but that doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Squeezers isn’t just some dotty little fellow who adds colour to Castle Kidbury. The poor man has serious mental health issues. I’ve spoken to social services on his behalf, but they can’t help him if he won’t cooperate. If I arrest him regularly he gets a night in a warm cell and a square meal.’
Jess had been chastened. ‘I’ve been accusing you about him since I got back.’
‘Like I said, Jess. It’s all under control.’
It was good to know.
As they braved the bar together, Mary whispered, ‘You look at Rupert’s mouth when he talks. That’s a dead giveaway, sister.’
A corner table came to life. ‘Here she is!’ Doug half-stood. ‘Our amateur sleuth!’ His bow tie had come undone. ‘Brava, Jess!’
Richard raised his glass. Graham, his nose red and his expression petulant, had to be nudged to do the same.
‘We saw you being interviewed on Sky News,’ said Richard.
‘Oh God, did you?’ Jess had been accosted as she left the hospital. ‘Did I make any sense?’ She hadn’t mustered the courage to watch her performance.
‘You made perfect sense, my darling,’ said Doug.
‘Looked awful, though,’ slurred Richard. ‘I said to you, Doug, didn’t I, poor cow looks dreadful.’
An arm squeezed Jess’s shoulder. She was pulled against a capacious and warm bosom. Meera said, ‘Hey, be nice to this lady. She might have saved your lives.’
Jess leant her head on Meera’s shoulder. It was that sort of shoulder.
Graham said, ‘Who’d bother killing Richard?’
‘Me!’ said Doug. ‘If it meant I didn’t have to listen to Lloyd Webber ever again.’ He narrowed his eyes at Jess. ‘You didn’t come in for your shift yesterday.’
‘Doug!’ Meera was sharp. ‘She fended off two serial killers. Give the girl a break.’
‘Harriet,’ said Richard, ‘wouldn’t let a little thing like mass murder get in the way of her loyalty to the shop, that’s all I’m saying.’
Meera gave Jess a friendly shove. ‘Go, love. Leave these idiots to their crème de menthe.’
It felt like a boozy last supper. This time, Jess could leave Castle Kidbury knowing she’d done something worthwhile.
Rupert seemed a long way away. The Seven Stars was a quicksand of people reaching out to say congratulations, or well done, or God you looked knackered on Sky News.
In full WAG armour, eyebrows like mouse skins and foundation the colour of the sun, Carli was wrapped around Ryan. ‘Hey, Jess,’ said Ryan. ‘Top bird.’
Turning from the bar, a glass in each hand, Luis Unthank said, ‘Happy now? I’ve been dumped. We were in love and now it’s over because of the police dragging me in all the time.’
‘Dumped? But you’re married.’
‘She knew. She understood. It’s complicated.’
Mary said, ‘I heard she didn’t know about the baby. That’s what got you dumped, mate.’
‘Tell me,’ said Jess as Luis downed his beer in one, ‘why Hellcat?’
‘That’s my wife’s nickname for me.’ Unthank smirked. ‘In bed.’
Yuk. ‘And the strophalos?’
‘The what? On my card? Just a striking image I nicked from the internet.’
There I go again, thought Jess. Joining dots that aren’t even there.
Somebody jostled her and apologised. It was Tallulah, dragging Danny along in her wake.
‘You caught the murderer,’ said Danny, as he passed.
‘I kind of did,’ agreed Jess.
Rupert had guarded her seat. ‘You’re a celeb.’
‘You were in the paper too, Rumpole,’ said Jess.
‘They didn’t print my picture because I’m not a pretty laydee.’
‘Did I ever thank you for rescuing me?’ asked Jess.
‘I wouldn’t call it rescuing—’ Rupert stopped short. ‘Actually, I would. I did rescue you and, no, you haven’t thanked me.’ He sat back. Waiting.
‘Is that . . .? It bloody well is!’ Jess jumped up. ‘How has Pan got the nerve to show his face?’
‘Hey, hey, easy!’ Eddie lifted a tray of empties over his head as Jess barged past. ‘What’s that look on your face, Jess? No trouble tonight, not at a lock-in.’
‘I need to tell Pan he’s not wanted.’
‘I get it,’ smiled Eddie to the back of her head. ‘You come back and you solve all Castle Kidbury’s problems? Be careful, Jess.’
‘S’cuse me, Squeezers.’ Jess pushed past him. At their feet, Moose bumped noses with Darling.
‘You haven’t seen me.’ Squeezers tapped the side of his nose.
‘Well, I have.’
‘I’m on a secret mission. No, don’t give me the third degree!’
‘I’m not interest—’
‘All right I’ll squeal! Beefy Dave wants me to kidnap a member of the royal family.’ Squeezers shrank back, his dingy colouring a perfect camouflage in the wood-heavy pub.
Over by the quiz machine, it was business as usual for Pan. In a T-shirt bearing the slogan ‘#1 SUSPECT’, he commanded the attention of two long-haired, crop-topped, prettier-than-they-knew teenage girls. As Jess drew closer, she heard his self-righteous drone.
‘The state, you see, can’t handle my realness. I’m, like, on this level.’ Pan held his hand above his head. ‘They’re, like, down here.’ He bent down, touching the floor. ‘You damsels, you vessels of light, you’re way more clever than the so-called leaders.’
The girls tee-hee’d. Hair was flicked.
‘I’m a bad boy, you see.’ Pan’s eyes had stars in them. Dark stars.
‘That’s true.’ Jess barged in, a black exclamation mark among the sugary girls. ‘This boy’s so bad he has herpes.’
The girls looked at each other and melted into the crowd.
‘Don’t you know when you’re not wanted, Pan?’
‘I am wanted, petal. By you, if you’d stop fighting it.’ Pan’s grin was a scythe. ‘Give in. Undo that chastity belt.’
‘Where are your followers?’ Jess made a play of looking high and low. ‘Oh gosh. They’ve all gone. Seen through you and scarpered. Without them you’re just a man who’s slightly too old for his tight black trousers.’
‘There are plenty more where they came from, my sexy little sleuth. Always a rich crop of fucked-up middle-class girls to harvest. I’m doing a public service. I should be available on the NHS.’ He leant down, almost nose to nose with Jess. ‘You know how it goes, Jess. I take up the slack for all the stern daddies and their struggling little girls who grow up not sure if they’re loved or not.’
She drew back. ‘I hear you’re being evicted at last. No-more times has arrived, just like you said.’
‘You heard wrong. I bought the lease to Pitt’s Field. Here to stay, my deario.’
‘What did you buy it with? Magic beans?’
‘My last loyal and faithful disciple sorted out all the sordid money stuff. Here she comes now.’
Caroline didn’t make eye contact with Jess as she handed Pan a pint.
‘You’re joking, Caro. You bought the field?’ Jess persisted until her old friend gave in and looked at her.
‘You don’t understand.’ Caroline was sullen.
‘You’re right, I don’t. Where’s Delphi?’
‘There.’ Caroline gestured downwards. Delphi, nose runny, clothes jumble-sale, was curled up on the pub carpet. Caroline lowered her chin. ‘I’m number one, now. Not number three.’
‘Only because numbers one and two had the good sense to get the hell out. Caro, please!’
‘Don’t call her that. You’re not friends anymore.’ Pan pulled Caroline to him. ‘I’m all she needs. We’re rebuilding. We are conduits to the supernatural, the pagan.’
Jess said, ‘Actually, come to think of it, it’s weird that we should have this conversation on the feast day of Sala.’
‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Pan.
‘Sala, the Wolf of Love. Offspring of Viggo and Serkis.’
‘The Wolf of Love!’ Pan threw back his head and howled. Heads swivelled. Eddie popped up above the crowd, alert for trouble. ‘I celebrate his feast day every year.’
‘Caroline,’ said Jess, leaning in. ‘Sala, Viggo and Serkis are three of the actors in Lord of the Rings.’
‘Bitch.’ The word struck Jess as she turned away.
A glass was pressed into her hand.
‘On the house.’ Eddie winked as he passed. ‘Only Coke. It should be champagne. Good work, love.’
Eddie never gave anybody a drink on the house.
Except me, thought Jess. She swam back towards Rupert. Towards the back of his head. It was distinctive, with its chipper hair.
‘See you tomorrow?’ Moyra’s flushed face was in Jess’s. ‘For your usual? A nice hot chocolate and a natter.’
‘No, Moyra.’ Jess thought of her one pathetic bag, sitting packed on the rug by her bed.
Concerned, Moyra opened her mouth to say something. The women locked eyes. She thought better of it. Patted Jess’s arm instead.
As the throng finally parted and delivered Jess to Rupert, Mary sprang up from his lap. ‘Here you go. Just keeping him warm for you. Me and Moose are off to the Druid’s Head. Better class of bloke there, by which I mean worse, if you see what I mean.’
Jess did, and wished she didn’t. ‘Mary.’ She followed her to the door. ‘Why are you staying in Castle Kidbury? I don’t get it.’
‘You don’t, do you, you eejit. This place is gas now the serial killers are gone. People travel the world to find a town like this, and it’s your home. You do what you like, but I’m staying put.’ She took Jess’s chin in her hand. ‘I do love you, you wassock,’ she said, and kissed her on the forehead. Moose barked. Mary whooped. They were gone.
‘Over here!’ The designated coppers’ table was by the door.
‘Here she is!’
‘Cheers, Miss Marple!’
It was the fag end of the evening. They were all past their sell-by date. Except for Detective Constable Karen Knott. Crisp in chain-store jeans. Sipping a sherry. A daring dot of lipstick. ‘You broke every rule in the book,’ she said. ‘Next time you might not be so lucky.’
‘There won’t be a next time.’ The Morris Traveller was filled up with petrol. A note to the Judge had been written, with a PS for Bogna.
‘I still think Squeezers had something to do with—’
‘Shush, Knott!’ Eden stood up. He was tipsy. Just a touch; his tie was undone. This was tantamount to a state of undress.
Jess perceived a distance between John Eden and the rest of the boys in blue. He wasn’t one of the guys.
‘Helena’s been refused bail,’ he said.
‘Shit. Why? She’s hardly a threat to the community.’
‘You say that, Jess, but she crucified a neighbour.’ Eden rubbed the back of his head. The hair fluffed up. This would not happen if beer had not been taken. ‘I wish there was something I could do for her, but my part’s over.’
‘A tragedy twenty years in the making. Four lives ended.’
‘And many more ruined. A murder,’ said Eden, swaying slightly, ‘is a pebble dropped in a puddle. The ripples last forever.’ He seemed as surprised as Jess at this foray into philosophy. He downed a squat glass of something yellowish. ‘Time to reintroduce myself to my house.’
‘I can’t imagine you at home.’ Jess tried. Armchair. TV. Nest of tables. Nope. ‘You’re a copper through and through.’ She smiled. She would miss him. ‘A good copper.’
‘Maybe.’ The whites of Eden’s eyes were pink. He slurred slightly when he said, into her ear, ‘But you’re the real deal, Jess.’ He pulled away, brushing her arm with his hand. ‘You read people. You get stuff.’ He paused to sigh. ‘You have solid-gold instincts.’
‘What happened to Mr Procedure? Isn’t policing about science and footwork and putting the hours in?’
‘Police work, yeah.’ A sober Eden would never say ‘yeah’. ‘Mysteries, though, need intuition. Don’t quote me, but you’re a natural, Jess Castle.’
He said goodnight. He left.
Jess pushed people out of her way and grabbed Rupert by the arm. He spilled his drink. She dragged him outside.