anyway,” Jonah said, thinking of what Coralie had said about Connor. If he really had been up later on, then perhaps Aurora had got up and had some kind of altercation with him.
“Do you need me to come to the station now?” Jojo asked. “To give my statement?”
“God, no,” Jonah said. He gave her a grimace. “I want to go home. Tomorrow will do fine.”
She gave him a look that was at once wary and slightly humorous. Then she pulled one shoulder up in a shrug and smiled.
“Whatever you say, Copper Sheens.”
“Nine o’clock?”
He saw her hesitate.
“Is that a difficult time?” he asked.
“I’m pretty grumpy before ten,” she said with a small grin.
“Well, ten is probably all right,” Jonah said. “Anything for a quiet life…”
“Great. I’ll see you then.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his cards. It was slightly bent, but she took it with a momentary sober nod.
“In case you need to talk to me about anything before then. Enjoy your climb.”
Despite being lost in thought as he let himself back onto the street, he still recognized the neck-crawling feeling of being watched, and turned quickly to look over to his right. He had only a glimpse of a figure in a large coat and hat before it disappeared round the edge of the building.
He jogged the length of the building and turned the corner, but whoever had been there was now out of sight. The road was glistening wet and empty.
* * *
—
O’MALLEY INSISTED ON what he called a “proper” pub, instead of the refurbished, brightly lit bar opposite the station.
“If there isn’t dim lighting and cloth-covered stools, it’s not a real watering hole,” he told them both.
So they ended up walking half a mile to an unpromising-looking place called the Boathouse, which had a grubby black sign and a freestanding blackboard on the pavement with a badly spelled quote about drinking.
Inside, it was better, Hanson decided. The furniture looked comfortable rather than ragged, and it was warmly lit. Given the rain that had soaked into her suit, she was glad of the unseasonal fire, too. She made her way toward the table in front of it and hung her bag over the back of a chair.
“I’ll get this round,” she said.
“Ah, no, you’re all right,” O’Malley replied. “My idea, my shout. What’ll you have?”
“Umm…Staropramen. But I’ve got to drive, so it’s going to have to be just the one.”
“Pale ale for me,” Lightman said. “I don’t really mind what kind.”
As O’Malley made for the bar, Hanson asked, more for something to say than anything, “What was Mackenzie like, then? Did he say anything interesting?”
“The chief thought he was a little odd,” Lightman replied. “He seemed quite emotional about it all.”
“Mackenzie, or the chief?” Hanson asked with a small smile.
Lightman laughed. “Mackenzie. DCI Sheens isn’t known for breaking down in interviews.”
“What about you?” she asked, because she was curious. “Do you find cases get to you?”
There was a brief silence, and then Lightman said, “I try very hard not to let them. I don’t think it helps. And I don’t play the emotional card in interviews. I’m not much good at getting people to warm to me.” He paused again. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything. Particularly with murder investigations. Some of them…I mean, when you’re interviewing a mother about the partner who’s just killed her daughter in a fit of rage, it’s hard not to feel for them.”
Hanson gave a slow nod. She remembered, vividly, going to investigate a house where a baby had been screaming for hours and the neighbors had reported it. She’d been a constable back then. She remembered her sergeant questioning the exhausted, tearful mother, his gentle fiddling with items of baby gear on the counter. And then how eventually he’d picked the kid up and looked in his mouth, and then told the mother quietly that they were going to have to go to the station. The mum had been putting boiling water into her tiny son’s bottles, and his mouth had been full of blisters.
Hanson hadn’t been able to sleep properly for a week after that. She would find herself thinking about the defenseless child, or about the slow nod of the mother who knew she had been caught, and how she’d asked if it meant someone else would look after the boy now. She’d been so hopeful. It had made Hanson afraid that you couldn’t trust anyone when they were pushed too hard.