CHAPTER 14
HE WAS HESITANT TO TELL HER FOR FEAR OF HER REACTION; FOR fear she would weep again, which was the next thing to unbearable. But she should know, if for no other reason than to be made wary.
Doyle spent the greater part of the day doing background work and phoning potential witnesses who were by and large unhelpful. She texted her symbol to Acton on the hour and wondered if he would want to see her again tonight or if he was too busy catching up with his caseload, what with the recent spate of murders—perhaps there was to be no fieldwork today. Unless he had gone out without her. This thought gave her pause and she decided to ring him; she phoned him on his business line and he answered immediately.
“Constable.”
There must be others about. If she was truly wicked, she would say something provocative. She was not, however, and so didn’t. “I’ve been lookin’ into Smythe and Capper. While Smythe is a known associate of the trainer, Capper is not, and his phone records show no contact.”
“I see.”
I am telling him nothing he doesn’t already know, she thought. Exasperating man.
She persisted. “Which brings us back to your question—why would Capper risk so much to talk to the trainer in person?” After a moment’s hesitation, she suggested, “Perhaps Capper was the killer, after all.” This would contradict all working theories, but it would certainly tie up the cases nicely.
“Any indication that the trainer had a falling-out with anyone recently?”
“Not as yet; or no one wants to speak of it leastways. As it turns out, there is a connection with Giselle, however. The trainer was goin’ to visit her folks’ house in Yorkshire, according to one of the owners.”
“Was he indeed?”
Ah; here was something the omniscient DCI did not already know. Pleased she had been of some use and had also managed a vocabulary word, Doyle continued, “It’s a wrinkle—by all accounts he was gay and there is no indication the acquaintance was long-standin’.”
Acton’s tone was thoughtful on the other end. “It is interesting. Perhaps he felt he had to go to ground where he couldn’t be easily found; I imagine Giselle had a connection to the track.”
“A beautician, she was,” Doyle pointed out doubtfully. “Unless she was braidin’ the horses’ tails or somethin’.”
“We’ll see; it’s a significant fact, that he may have been trying to go to ground—it means he knew he was a target. Good work.”
Doyle made a wry mouth into the mobile. “Then he should have gone to ground sooner, and recall that you are not to humor me.”
“I am not humoring you,” he protested, and it was the truth.
She could hear voices in the background that sounded a lot like a field team, and debated for a moment whether to ask, then decided there was nothin’ for it. “Where are you, then?”
“We’ve pinned down Capper and are waiting for a warrant.”
“Are you? Well, that is excellent.”
He must have heard her carefully concealed disappointment. “I’ll need you in the gallery for his questioning.”
“Of course. Give me a ring; I’ll be here. ”
She rang off and contemplated her mobile’s blank screen. She wished he had asked her to go with him, mainly because she would have overseen Capper’s arrest with relish after the trick he had pulled on her. Acton knew this, of course, but didn’t ask her to come. On the other hand, it was undeniable that Acton would have her close to hand at all times if he had his druthers. So—she thought with an attempt at stoicism—there is a reason I was not asked, and I have to try not to be such a baby about it. I have to be careful not to start thinking I have the ordering of him; it is that personal versus professional thing again.
“Who was that?” Munoz asked through the partition.
All it needed was Munoz, needling her. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop, Munoz. It is impolite.”
“You sounded as though you were trying to make it up to Acton.”
“I’ll not dignify that remark with a response.”
Munoz appeared over the partition. She is the only person I know, thought Doyle, who still looks good under fluorescent lights.
“What did Drake want?”
Doyle made a face. “To look down my top, mainly.”
Munoz laughed, swinging her long hair back. “I told you. Did you let him?”
“No.”
“I don’t know why he bothered, there isn’t much to see.” Munoz had a very fine figure.
Doyle remembered that a certain chief inspector had found nothing to complain about and felt generous. “I can’t hold a candle to you.”
Habib appeared in Doyle’s entryway, his dark eyes bright. “What is this? Do I hear that Munoz bests you, Doyle?” He was trying to be funny in his own awkward way—he had a giant crackin’ crush on Munoz, as did everyone else with an XY chromosome. Except Williams, apparently. And Acton, of course.
Munoz gave Doyle a sidelong look. “We were speaking of my spreadsheets, which are far superior.”
“Sad but true,” Doyle conceded. “Many admire them.”
Pleased to be participating in the banter, Habib spoke to Doyle but allowed his eyes to stray to Munoz. “You can better yourself.”
Gravely, Doyle demurred, “I think not, sir; it’s a gift, is what it is.”
Munoz could not contain herself and sank down, away from sight.
With regret, Habib dragged his gaze back to Doyle. “I am hearing the chief inspector will bring in the prime witness on the Kempton Park racecourse murder.”
“Yes, sir. I am hearin’ the same—he has requested that I attend.” This so that Munoz would not have the satisfaction of thinking she was in the doghouse.
“Has a link been established between the cases?” He fixed his dark eyes on her.
He is like Acton, she thought; it is hard to tell what he is thinking. “Other than the second victim was shot shortly after speakin’ to us, no.”
“He was on the scene for both, though. The witness.”
Doyle knit her brow. “I don’t know if we have him on the scene in Giselle’s flat as yet, sir. Not enough to pin him down for a time frame.”
Habib tilted his head in a gentle admonition. “Nevertheless, sometimes the best suspect is the most obvious.”
This was inarguable and a basic tenet they taught you on day one at the Crime Academy—that, along with the dire consequences of becoming sexually involved with a superior officer. “Do you want me to ring you when the interrogation goes forward, sir?”
“Oh, no, no,” he said immediately, shaking his head. I am only interested from afar.” He withdrew.
A very odd duck, thought Doyle; I’m having my share of them today.
Munoz’s voice was heard. “I’d like to attend the interrogation. Let me know.”
Doyle had the immediate conviction that Munoz was casting a proprietary eye on her case and bristled. “Why?”
“I’d like to watch Acton’s technique.” Munoz’s tone was as mild as milk. It was true; Acton was famous for his interrogations.
Doyle was reminded, “I should call Owens, too. He’d like to work on his interrogation technique.”
“Who is Owens?”
“A new TDC.” Doyle hid a smile. “I think you’ll like him.”