Believing the Lie - Elizabeth George [67]
Logically he thought something had come up, which was what he asked her.
She said, “I’m not talking about professional need. There are certain actions I don’t want another member of the team to engage in for me.”
He smiled at that. “Well, that’s good to hear. I didn’t much fancy sharing you with DI Stewart.”
“Don’t push your luck. When will you be back?”
He looked out at the lake. He’d come through the plantation of poplars and he stood on the path with the morning sun falling on his shoulders. It was looking like a very fine day. For a moment he gave casual thought to what it would be like to be sharing the day with Isabelle. He said, “I don’t know, actually. I’ve only just got started.”
“What about a brief encounter? I’m missing you, and I don’t like to miss you. When I miss you, you start preying on my mind. I can’t have that and do my job properly.”
“A brief encounter would solve that for you?”
“It would. I have no defence to offer: I enjoy you in bed.”
“At least you’re forthright.”
“And I always will be. So have you the time? I can come to you this afternoon— ” She paused and he pictured her checking her diary for a time. When she went on, he knew he’d been right. “Round half past three,” she added. “Can you free yourself then?”
“I’m not near London, I’m afraid.”
“Really? Where are you?”
“Isabelle….” He wondered if she’d been trying to trick him. Dangling the prospect of sex to divert him first and then sweeping in for an inadvertent admission on his part regarding his location. “You know I can’t say.”
“I know you’ve been instructed by Hillier to keep your mouth shut. I wouldn’t expect that to apply to me. Would it have applied— ” She stopped herself. She said, “Never mind,” and that told him what she’d been on the edge of asking: Would it have applied to your wife? But she wouldn’t say that. They never mentioned Helen because to mention Helen ran the risk of taking their relationship in a direction that led from the purely sexual to an area she’d indicated from the first she had no intention of going. “At any rate, this is ridiculous,” she said. “What does Hillier think I’m going to do with the information?”
“I don’t expect it’s personal,” he said. “I mean, the fact that he doesn’t want you to know. He doesn’t want anyone to know. To be honest, I never thought to ask him why.”
“That doesn’t seem like you. Did you want to leave London for some reason?” And then quickly, “Never mind. This is the sort of conversation that can get us in trouble. I’ll speak to you later, Tommy.”
She rang off. He was left with the mobile in his hand. He put it back in his pocket and continued to the boathouse. Best to keep his mind in the here and now, he thought. Isabelle was right about conversations that could muddy the waters of what was going on between them.
The boathouse, he found, was kept unlocked. The time of day made its interior darker than it had been on Lynley’s previous visit, so he was glad he’d brought the torch and he switched it on. It was quite cool within: the result of the water, the stones, and the time of year. The air bore the tang of damp wood and algae. He worked his way round to the spot where Ian Cresswell’s scull was tied.
There, he knelt. He used the torch’s light against the edges of the stones that formed three sides of the gap remaining when the other two had gone into the water. There was little enough to see. Mortar was a rough surface anyway, and years of wear and usage had caused cracks, gouges, and splintered edges in more spots than just this one place. But what he was looking for was an indication of some tool used to ease the process of disintegration along: a chisel, perhaps, a screwdriver, a wedge. Anything would have done the job. Anything would also have left a mark.
He could see nothing. He realised that a closer examination under full light was going to be necessary, rather hard to pull off if the pretence he was merely a visitor was to be maintained. He also realised that his previous conclusion about the missing stones was now confirmed: They had