“Come on, we’ll sit outside, shall we?” Elise asked.
The garden table was crusted with salt, seagull droppings, and seeds from a bird feeder but they both pretended not to notice.
“So how is it?” Ronnie said.
“Exhausting,” Elise said, kicking off her shoes and flexing her toes.
It was the first time she’d admitted it to anyone. The act of concentrating for long periods had run down her batteries like in an old mobile and she’d found herself zoning out during important conversations. Caro knew how tired she got but she hadn’t let on and quietly texted Elise key points afterward.
“Perhaps you’ve gone back too soon?” Ronnie said.
“I hope not. But it’s a bit more intense than our Thelma and Louise routine.”
“I miss that.” Ronnie drained her white wine.
“I know.”
Elise knew she’d dumped Ronnie like a used tissue and the guilt sat in her throat. She wondered if Ronnie still had her incident room up in the kitchen.
“You must be dead on your feet, I should go.”
“No, stay, Ronnie,” she said. “Look, I could do with talking through some things.”
“What things?” Ronnie sniffed. “To do with the case?”
“Yes.”
Ronnie’s eyes widened and she reached for the wine.
“Okay, I know who was trying to see Charlie’s daughter, Birdie. A man who lived in the same squat as Stuart Bennett in 1999. And whose fingerprint was on a phone found in Charlie’s bag.”
Ronnie crashed her glass down dangerously and Elise discreetly screwed the top back on the wine bottle.
“Who is he?” Ronnie demanded. “Why aren’t you questioning him now?”
“Because Philip Golding died two and a half weeks ago.”
“Good God!” Ronnie said as she put another olive in her mouth. “Cause of death?”
“Don’t get too excited—I’m waiting on the postmortem report, but he was an alcoholic found dead on a park bench. I need to find Stuart Bennett now.”
“But he’s in prison.”
“Nope, he’s out. And he hasn’t been seen since the festival weekend.”
“Could he have been involved in Charlie’s death, then? That would be a fantastic twist.”
“Hmmm. You do know that most investigations are not thrillers, don’t you? Most of them are solved by good solid police work.”
“Yes, yes. So could he?”
“We don’t know. The Met has put out a warrant for his arrest for breaking his license conditions, so we’ll see what they come up with.”
“I bet Stuart Bennett’s number is on Phil Golding’s phone,” Ronnie said, and sat back, closing her eyes in the sunshine.
Fifty-five
SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 2019
Elise
The Saturday morning yoga attendees were doing their usual competitive mat shuffle, trying to claim pole position in front of the bendy nymph about to torture them. Spinning was Elise’s class of choice but her thighs weren’t ready yet. Instead, she stood at the back of the hall, where tall girls always lurk, with the wrong clothes and attitude. She didn’t own matching leggings, crop top, and Oh, my God, Millie Diamond has got the barre socks as well. But she noted that despite having the outfit, Mrs. Diamond still looked very subdued. Not chatting with the nymph or stretching showily.
Elise sat on her borrowed mat, which smelled of other people’s feet, as the women talked among themselves about Charlie’s death. Last week, he hadn’t even merited an aside. Then it had all been about “that drug-stuffed festival” and the guilt of Pete Diamond. It had been loud enough for Millie to hear but she’d just hugged herself and swayed as if in a trance.
“They’re still questioning Pauline,” one said as she pulled off her sweatshirt.
“I know—I wonder if they’ll charge her,” the woman on the mat next to Elise said. “They’re calling her the Black Widow in the pub.”
Elise studied a patch of stubble she’d missed when shaving her legs—she wasn’t sure if the women knew she was in charge of the case but she wasn’t going to engage.
The tinkle-tinkle music finally started and everyone was told to close their eyes and center themselves.
Elise tried but she was all over the place. The link between Charlie and Stuart Bennett was messing with her head. And what had St. Charlie of Ebbing been up to here?
She found herself still wobbling in a tree pose when the rest were lying prone under blankets to meditate. One of them was snoring.