Free Turnstone by Graham Hurley Page B

How was Cathy coping?
    ‘I’ve sent her home, sir. She’s pretty upset.’
    Faraday was trying to work out whether Bevan knew about Pete drinking. He’d reluctantly agreed to take the blood test and it would only be a matter of days before the results came back.
    ‘I understand Lamb’s doing the Fastnet.’ Bevan was looking at a calendar on the wall. ‘Is that the case?’
    ‘Absolutely. He’s had leave booked for months.’
    ‘And when does it start?’
    ‘This Saturday. Though I think he’s over in Cowes from Thursday evening.’
    ‘Good.’ Bevan nodded. ‘Best bloody thing.’
    Late afternoon, Faraday made time to drive up to Cathy’s Portchester house. The curtains were drawn in the front room and he thought at first that she must be asleep, but eventually she came to the front door. She was wearing patched jeans and an old T-shirt with a print of Freddie Mercury across the front. She looked drawn and weary, and the mascara under her eyes had smudged where she’d been crying.
    ‘Pete?’ Faraday gestured beyond her, into the gloom of the tiny hall.
    Cathy shrugged.
    ‘Out somewhere,’ she said.
    ‘Like where?’
    ‘I haven’t a clue. I’m only his wife.’
    She looked at him for a long moment, wanting him to go away, but Faraday didn’t budge. Finally, she invited him in. A small table lamp in the lounge threw a soft light on to the sofa. The cushions were still indented with the shape of Cathy’s long body.
    Faraday settled himself in the armchair beside the fireplace.
    ‘What’s the problem, Cath?’
    Cathy shot him a look, refusing him the satisfaction of an answer.
    ‘Are you here as a friend?’ she said at last. ‘Or should I phone for a lawyer?’
    ‘Depends what you want to talk about.’
    ‘I don’t want to talk about anything.’
    Faraday shrugged, then lay back against the plump headrest of the armchair, peering up at the clip-framed photos around the wall. Cathy’s grin spoke volumes about her personality. Big-hearted and spontaneous, it lit up her entire face. Most of the photos featured Pete as well, though his smile was more guarded.
    ‘Things been OK between you?’
    Cathy closed her eyes and shook her head. Her voice was very low, as if she was talking to herself.
    ‘I don’t need this,’ she whispered. ‘Truly, I don’t.’
    ‘You may have no choice, love.’
    ‘I do, and I’d like you to leave.’
    Faraday studied her a moment, nonplussed.
    ‘You phoned me this morning,’ he pointed out.
    ‘I was upset.’
    ‘And now?’
    ‘I’m knackered. I’m serious. I’d like you to go. I’m grateful and everything, and I know you mean well, but I’ll sort this on my own.’ She stood up, reaching out to the mantelpiece for support. ‘No offence,’ she said, ‘but I’ll be better by myself. It’s nothing new, I promise. I’ve been rehearsing for weeks.’
    She offered him a weak smile and nodded towards the door. Faraday got to his feet and turned to go, then paused.
    ‘I know how you feel,’ he said, ‘if that helps.’
    Cathy nodded.
    ‘I know you do,’ she said wearily. ‘That’s what frightens me.’
    Back at the station in Kingston Crescent, Faraday found a note from Bevan Blu-Tacked to his computer screen. He’d had yet another call from Nelly Tseng, the woman who ran the Port Solent management company. She’d made time in her schedule for a meeting tomorrow morning at eleven and she was expecting the pleasure of his company. At the bottom of the note Bevan had added a scribbled order.
Be there
, it read.
    Next door, the CID room was empty. When he finally located Dawn Ellis, she confirmed that Cathy Lamb hadn’t done anything about organising a surveillance task force for the Port Solent car park. With Cathy away, the current CID strength was now down to just two bodies, herself and Paul Winter. What did Faraday want her to do?
    Faraday was looking at the big white board beside the door on which individual detectives tallied current jobs.