86

Friday 6 September

As the detectives drove away from the Watkinses’ house, heading back to HQ, Roy Grace turned to Polly. ‘Your thoughts?’

‘Her husband is one angry man.’

‘A right loving relationship – not,’ Grace said.

‘Has the husband found out about her affair?’ Polly asked. ‘Should we include him on our list of suspects?’

Grace, halting the car at the junction with Dyke Road Avenue, said, ‘If he was going to murder anyone it would be his wife – or Niall Paternoster. He wouldn’t have any reason to harm Eden – unless I’m missing something?’ He turned left.

‘There’s a very strange dynamic going on in that relationship.’

‘For sure. But there’s always two sides in a marriage breakdown.’

‘We’ve been focusing on Niall Paternoster as our prime suspect, sir,’ Polly said. ‘But that Rebecca Watkins, blimey O’Reilly, she is one cold fish. Hard as nails.’

Grace nodded. ‘Hard enough to have murdered Eden, to get her man?’

‘I was wondering that, sir. Does she look like a murderer?’

Grace smiled. Something Glenn Branson had once said, quoting a movie as he so often did, came into his mind. He was trying to remember which, then it came to him. ‘Did you ever see that Hitchcock film Strangers on a Train, Polly?’

She frowned. ‘I think I may have done.’

‘There’s a line in it that gives you your answer; it’s something like, “I’ll tell you what a murderer looks like. A murderer looks like anyone.”’

She nodded. ‘So true. Worth putting surveillance on Rebecca Watkins as well?’

Grace shook his head. ‘Nice idea, but we don’t have the resources. And, despite what we’ve seen of Niall Paternoster and Rebecca Watkins, I’ve still got doubts about Eden’s disappearance. Maybe we’ll know more after we interview Rebecca tomorrow. Wear plain clothing. Nothing to distract the subject.’

‘I’ve got a shirt that DI Branson would be ashamed of,’ Polly said with a smile.

‘Sounds perfect.’

87

Friday 6 September

It was just past 9 p.m. when Roy Grace pulled up outside their cottage. It was dark and as he climbed out of the car, hearing the distant bleat of a sheep somewhere, he felt a small amount of weight fall from his shoulders. The air smelled sweet and he breathed in the almost intoxicating smell of freshly mown grass. Before his thoughts returned to Bruno.

Inside their house, he could hear Humphrey barking his greeting. He stood for some moments, looking up at the hill, thinking. Thinking that Bruno would never see this again. That he would never see Bruno again.

His only link with Sandy now gone.

He put the Indian takeaway into the oven to keep warm. At least, now he was on the Paternoster case, he was no longer at risk of being called out in the middle of the night to a crime scene – someone else could have that pleasure.

‘Hey, darling, I’m home.’

He was really hungry, he realized, having barely eaten all day.