Believing the Lie - Elizabeth George [197]
“It would, yes. That’s what it amounts to.” Lucy Keverne stood then and offered Deborah her hand to shake. She said, “I hope I’ve been some help to you.”
She had, in some ways, Deborah thought. But in other ways there were miles still to go. Nonetheless she stood and expressed her gratitude. She knew more now than she’d known before. How it related to the death of Ian Cresswell— even if it related— was still unclear.
VICTORIA
LONDON
The name Raul Montenegro took Barbara Havers a few steps forward. She got onto a photograph of the bloke, along with an article written, alas, in Spanish. She followed a few links by means of this article and finally found herself looking at Alatea Vasquez y del Torres. She was quite a creation, looking like a South American film star. It was difficult to understand what she was doing in the photo on the arm of a bloke who resembled a toad, warts and all.
This was Raul Montenegro. He was a good eight inches shorter than Alatea, and an even better thirty years older. He wore a frightening Elvis Presley rug and he had a growth on his nose the approximate size of Portugal. But he was grinning like a cat with the cream, the canary, and sixteen mice, and Barbara had a feeling his expression was all about possessing the woman on his arm. Of course, Barbara couldn’t be sure of that, and there was only one way to know for certain.
She printed the page in question and she dug her mobile out of her shoulder bag. She rang Azhar at University College London.
He would help her, of course, he told her when she had him on his mobile. Latching on to a Spanish speaker would not be a problem at all.
Barbara asked should she come to Bloomsbury. Azhar said he would let her know. It would take him some time to locate the person he had in mind who could do the translation she needed. Where was Barbara?
In the bowels of the beast, she told him.
Ah, he said. You’re at work, then? Is it best if we come to you?
Just the opposite, Barbara told him. My life is safer if I do a runner.
Then he would ring her as soon as possible, knowing that their meeting would have to take place elsewhere, Azhar told her. And then he said carefully, “I must apologise, as well.”
“Why?” Barbara asked. And then she remembered: his morning altercation with Angelina. She said, “Oh. You mean the row. Well, it happens, doesn’t it? I mean, two people living together… One always wants to think love conquers all. Books and films and happily-ever-after with the love of one’s life. I don’t know much in that department, but what I do know tells me the ever-after’s a road with potholes no matter who you are. Seems to me the way of the wise is to hold on to what’s there, even though it’s not always easy, eh? I mean, what else is there at the end of the day but what we have with our fellows?”
He was silent. In the background Barbara could hear the noise of crockery and raised conversation. He must have taken her call in a cafeteria or a restaurant. This made her think of food and the fact that she hadn’t had any for hours.
He finally said, “I shall ring you back presently.”
“Sounds good to me,” she told him. “And, Azhar…?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for helping me out.”
“That,” he told her, “will always be my pleasure.”
They rang off and Barbara considered the likelihood of another run-in with the superintendent if she went in search of food. This would take her to the canteen if she had something relatively nutritious in mind. Otherwise, there were vending machines. Or there was leaving the Yard altogether and waiting somewhere for Azhar’s return call. There was also having a smoke, which sounded bloody good to her at that point. This meant slinking off surreptitiously and hoping not to get caught in the stairwell. Or it meant going outside. Decisions, decisions, Barbara thought. She decided to buck up and stay and see if there was anything more that she could dig up by plugging away at Raul Montenegro.
BRYANBARROW
CUMBRIA
Tim decided to go to school