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.Emma had finally agreed, though not without a series of resentful sighs that had caused him to grit his teeth.Devoted to Catherine? She had no idea what devotion meant.Emma’s litany of complaint was bringing an unattractive shrillness to her voice.“Well, I hope they’re not expecting a statement,” she said.“I’m not going to hang around all day.”“They just want to hear what you have to say.”“But that’s the point I haven’t got anything to say, have I? Not really.Why can’t they talk to Ben, for heaven’s sake? He’d be able to tell them much better than me.”“I’m sure he will, once he gets back.”She shot him a curious look.“Yes, why is he away? There’s nothing wrong, is there?”“Like I said, he had to rush off.”She shook her head and murmured admiringly, “Ben!”This reaction had a dreary familiarity for Simon, who had yet to meet a woman who wasn’t prepared to forgive Ben behaviour that would be judged totally unacceptable in anyone else.They stopped at some lights.“Why didn’t she get the calls traced?” Simon asked.“Mmm?” Emma had leant her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.“Why didn’t Catherine dial 1471? Or get an intercept put on the line.”“Didn’t take it that seriously,” Emma murmured groggily.“She told you, though.She mentioned it to you.”After a while she muttered, “I don’t think you can get an intercept on a mobile, can you?”They were moving off again and Simon was forced to look at the road.“The calls came on her mobile?”“Mmm.”“You didn’t say that.”Reopening her eyes, Emma peered blearily ahead.“I definitely said it was her mobile.”Letting this pass, he asked, “How long ago did it all start?”Emma pressed her forefingers into the corners of her eyes, the scarlet talons like tears of blood.“November?”“And they’ve been going on all this time?”“Haven’t a clue.You see? I’m really not the person to ask.”“And Catherine had no idea who this guy was?”Emma’s golden hair swung around as she slowly shook her head.“Someone who had her number at any rate.”“Oh, that could have been anyone, couldn’t it? You know how it is in her line of work.”He didn’t know, and said so.“Well, all her clients would have had her number for a start, wouldn’t they? And all her would-be clients.And her suppliers.And all the little men who lay paving stones and build arbours and plant trees, who might have got the hots for Cath over the nasturtiums, or whatever it is that turns garden people on.And then there’s the TV.Once you’re on TV well, you’re inviting weirdos, aren’t you?”Remembering the three or four rather serious-minded programmes on garden design that Catherine had made for a minority network, Simon failed to see how this followed.“Weirdos?”“Sad people.Men in anoraks.People who get fixed on someone they see on TV.That’s how I got on to the idea of a stalker.Though come to think about it, far more likely to be a wanker, isn’t it? An anorak who wants a quick thrill with a soggy newspaper cutting.”Simon winced.He could never get used to the way some women talked, the coarseness of their thinking, the ugliness of their language.“But her number how would he have got hold of it?”“Oh’ she spun a hand through the air ‘a thousand ways.”“Like?”“Oh God She couldn’t believe she was having to explain something soobvious.“Well, he could phone the TV producers saying he wanted Cathto design this massive park for his stately home and could he have hernumber please, or he might phone the owners of one of the gardens inthe programmes and say he was longing for a divine little knot gardenjust like theirs and what was the number of that clever little designerperson, or-‘“I think I’ve got the picture,” Simon interrupted caustically, not taking kindly to being talked down to in this fashion.Staring glassily ahead, he maintained a firm silence and when he next glanced across it was to see Emma fast asleep with her head wedged against the window.She groaned when he woke her.“Shit.I hope this doesn’t take long.”The lobby of Netting Hill police station was built to withstand the assaults of an ungrateful public.The duty officer sat behind reinforced glass, and when Wilson appeared it was through a heavy steel pass door that swung shut behind him with a deep thud.The sergeant was a lean wiry man of about forty with a straight back, a rapid handshake and an intense manner that suggested honesty, energy and dedication.His mouth shaped itself into a brief professional smile.“Good of you to drop by, Miss Russell [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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