him next best thing to a saint.’ Jen hoped that Matthew Venn had made better progress in Barnstaple than she had here in Ilfracombe. ‘But it also seems that he liked a pint or five to keep him going. What about you? I’ve tried phoning the boss, but he’s not answering.’
‘Seems Walden took a bus trip to Lovacott, that village up the Taw Valley, every afternoon for the couple of weeks before he was killed. Something, at least.’ Ross paused. ‘I’ve been digging around a bit. I’m trying to prise Walden’s army records out of the MOD.’ Jen heard the trace of a whine in his voice. Sitting in the office and working the phone wasn’t his idea of fun.
‘Perhaps the boss will let you out to play tomorrow.’ Or you could go to your best mate Joe Oldham and pull a few strings.
‘You could come back now and take over, at least help shift some of the calls that came through after the broadcast on breakfast TV.’
Ross would think that was women’s work, sifting through the recorded messages, phoning back the callers. And she would be better at it than him, more patient, more sympathetic, but she knew better than to start giving in to a man’s blackmail or flattery. She’d been caught that way before.
‘Sorry,’ she said. Sharp and tight. She needed to keep her temper. ‘I’m off to the Kingsley House Hotel to talk to Walden’s former employer. I’ll see you at the briefing tonight.’ She clicked the phone off before he could answer, before she allowed herself to be persuaded.
She sat for a moment in the car and told herself she shouldn’t let Ross bug her. He was young and brash and it wasn’t his fault that he reminded her of her bastard ex-husband. As far as she knew, he’d never punched a pregnant woman in the stomach. It probably wasn’t even his fault that he was the son of Oldham’s best buddy and the DCI had taken him under his wing.
Kingsley House was on the edge of the town, a grand Victorian pile, with gothic turrets and steep terraced gardens leading down to a small private beach. Jen drove down a shingle drive through trees just coming into leaf. In the distance, the island of Lundy looked improbably large on the horizon. The sun was high and the sea glittered. If you were forced to move away from your family and friends, Jen thought, there were worst places to be exiled.
The hotel had a reputation for understated luxury and the best food on the coast. Once it had been the holiday home of a minor royal and its marketing talked of its still having the atmosphere of a country house party. The entrance hall seemed dark and cool after the sunlight. There was a stag’s head on one wall and three huge leather armchairs were gathered around a low mahogany table. No reception desk, but a grey-haired woman in black appeared as if by magic through a door. No name badge and no uniform. Nothing as tasteless as a credit card machine in sight.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’ A flash of a smile. She wasn’t rude, because Jen could have been an eccentric guest. Most people staying here didn’t look like Jen, but the hotel might entertain a few ageing rock chicks. Wealthy ageing rock chicks.
Jen dropped her bag on the marble floor. ‘Could I speak to someone in HR, please?’
‘If you’re applying for employment, we ask you to enter your contact details and CV online.’ The woman’s voice was still kind but a little patronizing; her judgement had been spoton. This was some chancer looking for work.
‘I already have a job, thank you.’ Jen dipped into her bag, opened her warrant card and laid it on the table.
The woman only lost her poise for a moment and Jen couldn’t blame her for the brief lapse. Police officers weren’t supposed to look as she did. ‘Just a moment, Sergeant, I’ll fetch Mr Sutherland.’ She went back through the door and returned almost immediately with a tall young man in a suit.
‘Please.’ He held out his hand for her to shake. ‘Peter Sutherland. I look after staffing here. Come into my office.’ The voice was educated Brummie, the accent well-hidden. A young fogie with pretensions.
She thought of the sunshine, the smell of newly cut grass that had followed her in on her walk from the car. ‘Perhaps we could talk in the garden.’
He seemed surprised but