Free Second Shot by Zoe Sharp Page A

departed. The question burst out of her, like she’d been doing her best to wait a decent length of time, but she couldn’t contain it any longer.
    Neagley had just lifted her glass towards her mouth with the reverence of someone who has been too long deprived of caffeine. When Simone spoke she hesitated a moment, then put the drink down again, untasted, with the barest hint of a sigh.
    “Not at the moment. We’re assuming Barry—that’s my partner, Barry O’Halloran—well, that he had his case notes with him when he went into the river,” she said, with a sideways glance at Ella to check how much she was taking in. Neagley didn’t sound Bostonian to my ears, but I wasn’t familiar enough with American accents to place her beyond that. “Lotta the stuff inside his car was washed away. They haven’t found his briefcase.”
    “He went into the water?” I asked.
    Neagley turned and regarded me fully for a moment without speaking, as though trying to gauge whether I warranted the information or not. Then she saw Simone’s expectant air and said, reluctantly, “Yeah. He was driving back down from Maine. It was late at night and the last fall of snow was just getting started. The cops reckon he most likely hit some ice on a bridge and just went off the road.”
    There was doubt in her voice, though, or maybe it was just a little disbelief. Everybody thinks they’re a good driver until an accident happens to them.
    “Surely he would have kept copies —duplicates, backups —of his files?” Simone said.
    Neagley took a hurried swig of her Pepsi and her face pinched.
    “Look, I’m sorry, Ms. Neagley,” I said quickly “I know this must seem heartless to you, but you have to understand how important this is to Miss Kerse.”
    Neagley now included me in her distaste, but after a moment she nodded slowly and let her unconscious bristling subside.
    “Barry had been away for a few days,” she said, almost grudgingly. “Last time I heard from him he was in Freeport, Maine. Said he’d gotten a promising lead but it had led nowhere. I would have expected him to file a full report when he came back, if he’d come back,” she added quietly.
    “So we’re back to square one,” Simone said, trying not to sound too disappointed and not succeeding.
    “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Neagley said stiffly. “I’ll do what I can to find out where Barry went and who he saw, but it could take a little while. How long do you plan to stay?”
    Simone met my eye, steely “As long as it takes,” she said.

Six
     
    A t the concierge’s suggestion, later that morning we went to the Aquarium to fill in some time. We’d left Frances Neagley my mobile number in case of developments and, besides, Simone was going stir-crazy sitting around waiting in her suite, however sumptuous.
    The New England Aquarium was not far from the hotel, just a short walk along the harborside. The sun was out, giving a pale penetrating winter light, and the air was still cold enough to see your breath. The snow that had fallen overnight was lying thick across the whole city, muffling both the sight and the sound of it. It had snowed just before we left London, little more than a mean dusting that was nevertheless causing havoc with the transport system. Over here it seemed to be expected and embraced.
    Ella was eager to be out scuffing her booted feet in the white stuff and had to be forcibly restrained from running off to investigate the seagulls loitering at the edge of the brick-lined wharf. There seemed to be only a length of heavy chain strung on bollards between her curiosity and the frigid water.
    She was boisterous and demanding of Simone’s complete attention, but at least Ella obeyed the instruction to hold her mother’s hand, even if she pulled and dragged at her most of the time. I thought one of those retractable dog leads would have been a good idea, and she was certainly small enough. Let her get so far away, then just reel her in. But