to prefer something a little less strong. They might still be officially on duty but he didn’t give a damn. It had been a long day and he had the feeling that it wasn’t anywhere near over yet. He was supposed to have been seeing his cousin Gianni for beer and pizza in front of the TV with the DVD of Downfall , but that plan had had to be shelved and, as far as the weekend was concerned, he could kiss goodbye to that too. He ordered two large helpings of lasagne and salad and settled himself at a table in the far corner by one of the windows. He had just started on his pint when Donovan appeared through the main door, pink-faced and out of breath, her hair damp from the air outside. She swung her satchel onto the floor and stripped off several layers of clothing, down to a pair of baggy black trousers, held up with braces, and a red and black striped T-shirt that reminded him amusingly of Dennis the Menace. He liked the way she dressed; it suited her, even if it was rarely ever feminine. She could usually pass for a pretty young boy.
Donovan quickly rubbed her hair with the edge of her scarf, making it stand up in short tufts, then flopped down in the chair opposite him. ‘That’s better. Cheers,’ she said, taking a gulp of bitter and wiping her top lip with the back of her hand. ‘God, I needed that.’
‘We’re checking on Kramer’s two mates. They both live close together, which makes it easy.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Should hear back soon. What time are you seeing the girl?’
‘Not for a while. Her mother said she wouldn’t be home before ten at the earliest, as it’s Friday night.’ She took another large sip, then leaned back in her chair, legs stretched out in front of her. ‘This isn’t going to be easy,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘I think Gemma was leading a secret life and I don’t think her parents had a clue.’ She told him about her conversation with Kramer and her initial impressions of Gemma.
He listened carefully, asking the odd question here and there. When she’d finished, he sipped his pint in silence for a moment. Although there had been a few famous cases over the years, stranger killings were rare in London. Usually the killer was to be found within the victim’s close circle of family, friends and colleagues and the majority of murders were relatively straightforward to solve, with the main challenge being to get sufficient proof for a conviction. From what Mrs Brooke had said, Gemma had seemed to know the man she met outside the church, so hopefully it was only a matter of time before they’d find out who he was.
‘What do you make of Kramer?’ he asked, after a minute. ‘I know you say he doesn’t fit the description but…’
‘He’s an odd bloke and really overprotective. But unless he’s a brilliant actor, I think he genuinely cared about Gemma. What’s strange is that he seemed unable to grasp the fact that her death is suspicious. It’s as if he’d already made up his mind about what had happened.’
‘Or knew what had happened?’
‘No. I don’t think he would have harmed her, or knowingly let any of his friends mess about with her.’
He gave her a searching look. He could tell from her expression that there was something else. ‘What is it?’
She cradled her nearly empty glass in her hands, swilling the brown liquid around the sides before taking a last gulp of bitter. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s holding something back. I just don’t have a clue what it is. I’ve been over and over in my mind what we talked about but there’s nothing I can pin it on, nothing in particular that he said or did that struck a wrong note. Until, that is, just after we’d said goodbye. I was about to drive off and he’d relaxed, thinking I was going. I saw something, just a glimmer in his expression, nothing more than that. He looked as though he’d gotten away with something.’ She drained her glass and grimaced. ‘Maybe I’m reading too much into
Donovan quickly rubbed her hair with the edge of her scarf, making it stand up in short tufts, then flopped down in the chair opposite him. ‘That’s better. Cheers,’ she said, taking a gulp of bitter and wiping her top lip with the back of her hand. ‘God, I needed that.’
‘We’re checking on Kramer’s two mates. They both live close together, which makes it easy.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Should hear back soon. What time are you seeing the girl?’
‘Not for a while. Her mother said she wouldn’t be home before ten at the earliest, as it’s Friday night.’ She took another large sip, then leaned back in her chair, legs stretched out in front of her. ‘This isn’t going to be easy,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘I think Gemma was leading a secret life and I don’t think her parents had a clue.’ She told him about her conversation with Kramer and her initial impressions of Gemma.
He listened carefully, asking the odd question here and there. When she’d finished, he sipped his pint in silence for a moment. Although there had been a few famous cases over the years, stranger killings were rare in London. Usually the killer was to be found within the victim’s close circle of family, friends and colleagues and the majority of murders were relatively straightforward to solve, with the main challenge being to get sufficient proof for a conviction. From what Mrs Brooke had said, Gemma had seemed to know the man she met outside the church, so hopefully it was only a matter of time before they’d find out who he was.
‘What do you make of Kramer?’ he asked, after a minute. ‘I know you say he doesn’t fit the description but…’
‘He’s an odd bloke and really overprotective. But unless he’s a brilliant actor, I think he genuinely cared about Gemma. What’s strange is that he seemed unable to grasp the fact that her death is suspicious. It’s as if he’d already made up his mind about what had happened.’
‘Or knew what had happened?’
‘No. I don’t think he would have harmed her, or knowingly let any of his friends mess about with her.’
He gave her a searching look. He could tell from her expression that there was something else. ‘What is it?’
She cradled her nearly empty glass in her hands, swilling the brown liquid around the sides before taking a last gulp of bitter. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s holding something back. I just don’t have a clue what it is. I’ve been over and over in my mind what we talked about but there’s nothing I can pin it on, nothing in particular that he said or did that struck a wrong note. Until, that is, just after we’d said goodbye. I was about to drive off and he’d relaxed, thinking I was going. I saw something, just a glimmer in his expression, nothing more than that. He looked as though he’d gotten away with something.’ She drained her glass and grimaced. ‘Maybe I’m reading too much into
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