Rocco leant back on the pillows; hands tucked behind his head. “There’s one thing you have faith in.”
“What’s that?” I said, hooking up my bra. I was annoyed at being put on the spot.
“You. Every instinct tells you that Scarlet was not depressed. Perversely, you also believe that she meant to do what she did. Except you don’t understand why and, sure as hell, you can’t understand why the police have wrapped it all up. In fact, you think it’s a whitewash.”
I stopped getting dressed. How had he intuited that much from the little I’d said, or had I revealed more than I thought? Pillow talk was a dangerous activity.
“I follow the news, Molly,” he said, rolling his eyes, pretending to be exasperated.
Did this explain how he could read me so well?
He reached up and pulled me back down on the bed with a thump. When he reached for and gathered me close, I felt the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath my ear. “So, what’s this ridiculous crime you’ve committed?”
I pulled away a little. “I haven’t broken the law.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” He gave my arm a playful squeeze.
No way would I tell him about Charlie Binns. “I visited Heather Bowen,” I said, fudging it.
He looked genuinely impressed. “Was this before you found out about the lawsuit against your brother-in-law, or after?”
“Before. She’s no longer going after Scarlet’s estate.”
“That’s quite a turnaround.” Suspicion narrowed his eyes, but I wasn’t going there. “Even so, doesn’t talking to the opposing side complicate things?”
“Maybe. I’d hoped she’d tell me something new.”
“And did she?”
I revealed highly edited highlights of the conversation. “What do you think?” I finished, shamelessly fishing.
He didn’t speak for a moment.
“Heather might be right about how they met, in a professional capacity.”
“Might have started that way.”
“But you think it developed into something more. Like this. Us. Naked. Having sex.” Rocco’s eyes locked onto mine. Searching. Urging. “And that’s why she—”
“I’ve been through this a hundred times. The lovers’ scenario doesn’t stack.”
“No?”
“Scarlet wasn’t sentimental. She wasn’t dramatic.”
“Wasn’t it Sherlock Holmes who said, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth?”
I twisted round, pinned down by Rocco’s searching gaze. “Huh?”
“Conan Doyle,” he said, with a ‘where have you been all your life’ expression.
As I thought about the quotation, a blade of fear shot along my spine, making me gasp with sudden knowledge. “She acted in cold blood.” Isn’t that what contract killers did? I sat up straight.
“To shut him up.”
There was a lot of shutting up going on. Someone had wanted to shut Binns up, me too. “She hired the Jeep days before the accident.”
“For the job.”
Coming from Rocco’s mouth, it gave it more weight somehow. I baulked at his uncanny ability to say out loud what I most dreaded. “If she’d driven her own car, Bowen would have seen her coming. He would have recognised her. A surgical strike,” I murmured, ignoring the obvious medical pun.
“Still comes back to the same question,” Rocco said.
“Yeah” I said, wide-eyed and not a little excited.
He pressed a knuckle under my chin and tilted my head. Have you spoken to Zach?”
“Zach?” I shook my head. “My brother isn’t into conspiracy theories.”
Rocco’s expression sharpened. His mouth twisted, as if I’d insulted him. “You think that’s what it is?”
“I don’t know.” I spoke quietly. Why was Rocco narky? This wasn’t his problem, wasn’t his brother. “As yet, I don’t have a shred of evidence to support any particular theory.” I realised that I was parroting my father’s words.
“Then find it.”
I glared at him. He made something difficult sound easy. I was mourning. I was confused. “Heather said there were no texts, no emails, no phone conversations between my sister and her husband so how did they communicate?”
“Maybe they used dead drops.”
“Dead what?”
“Spies use them.”
I jumped up. “For goodness’ sake, Rocco. This isn’t a game or an intellectual exercise. I can’t think straight with all your crazy suggestions.”
“Please don’t get angry, Molly.”
“Well, shut up then.” I was too rattled to cut him slack.
Cool and composed, he pulled me back again, ran his fingers lightly down my arm. “Dead drops are messages in hidden places.”
Like hotels in London? “Next, you’ll be talking about secret codes—”
“And cut-outs?”
“As in cardboard?’ I was bewildered. A big grin broke out on his face. It took all the heat out of me. “I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about.” I settled back into him, the shadow of a forgiving smile in my expression. He sneaked an arm around my shoulder.
“Third parties. So-and-so gives a message to someone who then gives a message to someone else.”
I had a little think about it, tried the messenger idea out for size, wasn’t sure either way. “Do you really work for MI5?”
“I wish; simply an interest in espionage. It’s a boy thing.”
I didn’t know any men like that. Zach wouldn’t— Oh goodness, had Zach acted as a go-between? Is that why Scarlet saw him before she died? “Even if I could establish that they were actively communicating, how am I supposed to find out what Scarlet was allegedly protecting?”
He flicked a smile. “Allegedly – I use that word all the time at work.” I wasn’t sure what he meant or whether he was taking the piss. He waited a beat. “From what you’ve told me,” Rocco said, “seems the cops are doing a good job of whitewashing. You should talk to your father.”
Caught up in Zach, I blinked. I already had. It hadn’t ended well. My laugh was as dry as it was cynical.