Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [17]
Goodhew nodded. ‘And you want me to get a statement from him?’
‘Just a confirmation of time and place of his recent whereabouts, if he can. But he’s made himself scarce and I’m guessing you’d love to spend some time hunting for him.’
‘You can’t tell me we’re seriously relying on any statement he provides?’
‘Absolutely correct, we’re not. Just call it belt-and-braces stuff, and don’t moan, because I’m sure you’ll turn it into something interesting. It’s late now, so I suggest you start first thing in the morning. In fact, just so there’s no ambiguity, I’m insisting that you leave it until then and, right now, go home.’ Marks stood up and Goodhew followed suit. ‘And the next time there’s a major investigation, I would like to think we could at least attempt to solve it faster than by depending on an anonymous envelope, eh?’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Goodhew agreed cheerfully as he followed his superior from the room and down the stairs.
Marks waited until they were on the half landing to suddenly stop and turn to face him. The move was so abrupt; Goodhew almost piled into him and would have apologized had Marks not cut in first.
‘No, Gary, it’s more than hope so. I don’t want it to ever happen again, and if it does, I will root out the individual responsible and see that he’s thrown on the scrapheap – no matter how promising his career might seem.’ And it didn’t take an expert to identify the diamond hardness in the inspector’s eyes.
Goodhew didn’t really believe that Marks knew anything whatsoever about the source of the anonymous letters, but he was curious as to why and how his boss had achieved such an accurate stab in the dark. Perhaps he would ask him sometime. But then again, perhaps not. Some things were best left well alone, especially if, as his grandmother suspected, he didn’t have the makings of a plausible liar.
EIGHT
Lorna loved the feeling of midnight: one day completed and the clocks restarting at zero for the next. Twenty-five minutes had passed since Cambridge had travelled through that magic moment and, even so, she still felt the buzz of opportunity that came with a fresh day.
They’d arranged to meet on the Victoria Avenue Bridge, which in itself was unusual, but Lorna chose to take it as a sign that her own enthusiasm for night-time walks had finally sounded tempting enough to put to the test. And it was a good evening for it; so still, with patches of fog staining the air and hanging between the bridge and the tree-lined paths leading into the heart of the city. The moon glowed just enough, like its dimmer switch had been turned to minimum. The city itself was hushed.
Lorna leant on the balustrade and tried to see her reflection in the water below, but it was too wide to look directly downwards, so instead she contented herself with gazing at the rippling reflection of the white walls and blue gables of a boathouse further downstream. Her freckled skin looked creamy against the grey stone of the bridge, and behind her, the streetlamps dropped pools of light on the railings and verges. She held the pose and listened. She guessed that she was already being watched, that two keen eyes were studying her through the mistiness.
Within minutes, she heard approaching footsteps. They stopped beside her, and she only turned her head when she felt another arm slide alongside her own on the balustrade.
‘Why here?’ Lorna asked.
‘I liked the idea.’
‘You’re strange sometimes.’
‘Yes, a bit chilly, I guess. Any goosebumps yet? Let me feel.’ Lorna gave a bemused smile as the hand rubbed up and down the back of her arm. ‘No, you’re still nice and warm. Shame, because I brought us drinks.’ For the first time, Lorna noticed the two insulated beakers resting on top