‘Fuck that bitch,’ Martin replied. He said it so quietly, so calmly, that Tomek almost didn’t hear him. ‘Yeah. Do you know what? You’re right. Fuck. That. Bitch.’ Then he downed the rest of his pint, slammed the glass on the table, and said, ‘Right. Who wants another? Next round’s on me. And I’m in the mood for doubles.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Tomek felt embarrassed by how much his head was pounding the following day. Now he knew how Johnny Whitaker had felt for the past week, drowning his sorrows at the end of a row of bottomless drinks. Tomek had told himself that he would only stay for one – Martin’s round – but one had turned into two, two into three, and then by the fifth he’d been forced to walk home. Kasia, to her credit, hadn’t given him any sympathy as he’d stumbled through the door at the still respectable hour of nine o’clock, nor as he’d emerged from his bedroom, having overslept, the following morning. He wasn’t twenty-one anymore, and he was fooling nobody if he thought he could keep up with Chey and Rachel, who were considerably younger than him. The walk to the pub car park that morning had felt like the walk of shame, each step reminding him of the hangxiety, anguish, and regret. Stepping through the office, however, his emotions brightened slightly as he realised everyone else was also just as worse for wear. Rachel’s hair was loose and untidy, her make-up even more so. Chey was slumped in his chair with a large two-litre bottle of water resting under his chin, waiting to be consumed at any moment. Martin was wearing a pair of sunglasses, and Sean had a packet of paracetamol beside his mouse, which, from the looks of it, had been emptied by the rest of the staff.
‘Morning, team!’ Tomek bellowed loudly on purpose, to a chorus of groans.
He suddenly felt a lot better. And on the balance of things, he was probably the least hungover out of everyone. Maybe he could pretend to be twenty-one again after all.
‘Trust we all had a good night’s sleep, but we can’t let ourselves get complacent. We—’
‘Tomek,’ Sean interrupted weakly. ‘I love you and everything, but shut the fuck up.’
Before Tomek could respond, the landlines in the office rang. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel and Chey cup their ears and turn away from the phones. After a few moments, nobody had answered, and nobody looked willing either.
‘I’ll get that then, shall I?’
Tomek reached for the nearest phone and answered it.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi,’ the voice said. ‘It’s Sharon. Is one of you able to come down? There’s a woman here who’d like to speak to someone about the Angelica Whitaker case.’
‘Did she say what it was about?’
Tomek could sense Sharon shaking her head. ‘No, sorry.’
‘No problem. I’m on my way down now. Tell her I’ll be two minutes.’
Tomek’s immediate thought was that the woman who’d stolen Angelica’s heart from Xanthia and Emilia Solveig had come through the doors – they had so far been unable to find the mysterious welder from The Nights of Eden parties – but it wasn’t that at all. The woman who had entered the police station that morning was in her sixties. Sylvie. Small, petite, with professionally- styled, bleached blonde hair. She wore light make-up on her face and was dressed smartly. She looked as though she had been attractive when she was younger, and after years of continuing to look after herself, she still looked attractive now.
‘I hope I wasn’t interrupting you from anything,’ she said.
‘Not at all,’ Tomek replied. ‘We’re always happy to help. What was it you came in for?’
Tomek had prepared a box of tissues on the table in case whatever she wanted to discuss was raw and painful and would bring a multitude of emotions to the surface. She ripped a tissue from the box and began playing with it, more as a form of comfort than for the removal of any tears.
‘I understand a young woman named Angelica Whitaker was murdered the other week,’ she said softly.
‘That’s right.’
‘Have you made any arrests yet?’
‘We have,’ Tomek answered after a short pause.
‘I was wondering if you might be able to tell me who it is you’ve arrested?’
Tomek took another moment. This time to stop himself from accidentally leaking Johnny Whitaker’s name to a complete stranger.
‘I can’t share that with you, no. It’s a private and confidential matter.’
‘Ah. I see. Well…’ She made a small tear in the tissue. ‘If I say his name, will you make a note of it?’
Tomek confirmed he didn’t have a problem with that.
‘Does the name Roy Whitaker mean anything to you?’
Tomek began writing the name as she said it, then caught himself again.
‘That wasn’t part of the agreement. That wasn’t very fair.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Please, forgive me.’
Tomek set his pen on the table. ‘Why do you say that name?’
‘Because…’ Now the tears started. Slow, steady, nothing but a single tear at first. She gently hovered the tissue beneath her eye in anticipation. ‘Because, about thirty-five years ago, we used to work together. He was a pilot for British Airways and I was a flight attendant on several of his flights.’
That explained her good looks.
‘We did a lot of long-haul flights together. Bali, Indonesia, the Caribbean. And so we often had to spend a couple of nights in the hotels to get over the jet lag before we flew back. One night, we got drinking in the hotel bar in Barbados and, well, he took advantage of me.’
Tomek nodded slowly, letting her know that he was listening to her.
‘Took advantage of you, how?’
‘He… Rape. He raped me. In the hotel room. I don’t remember it fully, but I know it happened. I’d had a few, but not enough to forget what had happened the night before.’
