Harry yanked on clothes without thought. Trousers, shirt, sweater. He wasn’t going to answer the door half-dressed in case he got carted off. He skittered down the stairs, his mind whirling. Had knife-man accused him of assault?
He opened the door to the sound of birds and a slab of bright sunshine that hit him straight in the eyes, making him squint.
‘Nice look, Harry.’
Detective Sergeant Elizabeth Harding. Five foot six in her Dr Martens police boots, she had dark wavy hair and sharp blackbird eyes that were, at this moment, sweeping from his bare feet to the top of his head, where he knew his hair would be sticking up in tufts.
‘Libby.’ He felt his shoulders slump in relief. ‘You got me going there for a moment.’
‘Been up to no good?’ She briefly looked amused and then she took in his hand. ‘Bloody hell. And there was I thinking it was you who got assaulted. I even brought sympathy buns.’ She raised a paper bag. ‘Cinnamon. Your favourite.’
His appetite suddenly kicked in, making him realise he hadn’t had supper last night. He was ravenous.
Stepping back, he let her in. ‘Coffee?’
‘Only if Jessie’s making it.’
He blinked.
‘Her car’s outside.’ Libby cleared her throat. ‘And there’s, um, evidence of a female…’
Belatedly, Harry remembered last night’s urgent lovemaking and realised their clothing still lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, including Jessie’s bra and knickers.
‘I’ll go to the kitchen and leave you to tidy up.’ Libby was brisk.
Gratefully, Harry scooped up the clothes and tore upstairs, dumped them in the bedroom. Jessie was already in the shower. He could hear her singing.
Downstairs, Harry switched on the coffee machine. ‘Sorry, you’ll have to have it made by me. Lungo? Vivalto?’
Libby gave an exaggerated long-suffering sigh. ‘Ah well. As long as it’s got caffeine.’
He was grateful she left him his privacy with Jessie. He’d known Libby for three years now, having helped her and her boss, DI Theo McCannon, on a murder case last year, and a mass shooting the year before. Libby cheerfully called Harry the department’s psychic, and despite the fact he’d insisted that all he’d called on was a basic knowledge of human psychology, she remained convinced he was able to see inside a criminal’s mind.
Coffee to hand and settled at the kitchen table, Harry devoured his first bun while Libby brought out her notebook and pen. ‘I saw your crime report.’
‘How come?’
‘We’re investigating a murder that happened last night. We think it might be linked to the recent knife attacks.’
Harry was startled. ‘They’re connected?’
‘We’re not sure, but something’s off. The attacks started on April the first.’
April Fool’s day.
‘How many on the day?’ Harry asked.
‘Three.’
Harry whistled. That was definitely ‘off’.
‘There was another attack in Bath last night. The victim died.’
Harry felt something akin to a spider scurry down his spine.
‘How?’
‘They were pushed into the Kennet and Avon Canal. They couldn’t swim. They drowned.’
Harry raised his eyebrows.
‘We saw it on CCTV. We’ve over two hundred secret cameras around Bath, in case you didn’t know. The attack was caught on one of them. Unfortunately, we didn’t get there in time to nab the bastards or save the vic. They wore a tweed coat and went down like a stone.’
He felt another shiver. ‘I thought canals were only a few feet deep.’
‘Not this bit. The depth was increased to two metres to allow heavier cargoes.’
She fell silent when footsteps pummelled down the stairs followed by the rattle of a drawer and keys jingling. The next instant Jessie scooted into the kitchen doorway, curly hair wet, booties on, handbag over her shoulder.
‘Hi, Libby.’ She gave her a finger wave.
‘Hi, Jessie.’
‘Don’t get up,’ Jessie told Harry. ‘I’ll text you later, okay?’ She blew him a kiss, and vanished. Three seconds later, the front door slammed.
Libby looked at the space where Jessie had been. ‘Can you keep her?’
‘Er…’
‘Not only does she make the best coffee around, but she’s not jealous, she’s not stuck-up, and best of all, she’s not–’
‘Nicole, I know.’ Libby had never got on with Nicole but liked her even less after the way Nicole had treated him through the divorce.
‘Jessie’s visa’s up to date, isn’t it?’
‘What?’ Harry was startled.
‘Don’t want her being chucked back to Australia, do we?’ Her gaze turned sly. ‘Not now we’re addicted to her excellent coffee.’
Harry rolled his eyes. ‘If you have to know, she’s got a British passport. Her mum’s British.’
‘That’s all right, then. Just don’t want you, er, you know…’
She didn’t want to see him hurt again. He was immeasurably touched. ‘Jessie’s not going anywhere,’ he told her. ‘Not as far as I know, anyway.’
‘Good.’ Libby flipped a page over on her notebook. ‘So, moving right along. What can you tell me about your attacker?’
Harry gave a description. Young white male. Floppy brown hair. Six one or two. Harry was six foot and his attacker had been taller. Hazel eyes. Soft hands. Cut-glass English accent.
‘He reminded me of those boys in Brideshead Revisited,’ Harry told her.
‘Posh, then.’
‘Yes.’
‘Clothes?’
Harry thought back to the little logo stitched on the breast pocket of the young man’s hoody.
‘Designer. Understated. Expensive.’
‘Trainers?’
‘Running shoes, yes. He went off at one hell of a lick.’
‘Didn’t want another hammering.’ She snickered as she looked at his knuckles. ‘You break his nose?’
Harry recalled the gristle crunch. ‘Probably.’
She nodded. Made another note. Looked up, expression serious. ‘The boss wants you to come in.’
Harry blinked. ‘Why? I’ve already made a report.’
‘No, it’s not that. He wants you to look at the cases. See if you can give us a bit of a hand looking into what’s going on. Use your psychological insight, was how he put it.’
‘Absolutely not,’ he snapped.
‘Don’t be like that.’ She affected hurt. ‘You were brilliant last time, remember?’
‘I nearly died, remember?’
She looked away.
‘No. Final answer.’ He put his hands on the table. ‘Now, I must get to work.’
She flipped her book closed with a sigh before putting her pen in her bag. ‘He’ll roast me for it. He told me not to take no for an answer or he’d have to take another look at my performance assessments.’
‘Don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty.’
‘It was worth a shot.’ She grinned, unrepentant.
‘Go on.’ He shooed her out of the kitchen and down the corridor. ‘Go and annoy someone else.’
She kissed his cheek at the front door.
‘Do me a favour? Try to keep out of trouble.’