Peter Lovesey - The Headhunters

‘Should have taken that right fork,’ Hen said. ‘Hold on, I’m going to reverse.’

She backed about fifty metres, found a gateway to turn in, and drove back past the parked cars outside the pub. The fork came up and she took the sharp left along a wider, more promising stretch of lane.

‘Are you watching both sides?’ she asked. ‘He could have taken it off the road and switched his lights off.’

‘I’ve only got one pair of eyes, guv.’

She clicked her tongue, but he was right. It was impossible to see everything. She was doing fifty and it felt like eighty. She switched to full beam. ‘That any better?’

‘A lot.’

‘But of course he’ll see us coming now.’

They came to a T-junction.

‘What now?’

‘We’re going round in circles,’ Gary said. ‘If you turn left you’ll be heading for the main road again.’

They turned right and recognised the series of bends they’d originally taken.

‘We’ve been right round,’ Hen said. ‘He’s beaten us, the tosser.’

After the Chinese meal Jake insisted on walking Jo home, the perfect gent. She was sure he didn’t expect to be invited in. Their friendship was progressing at an old-fashioned tempo. Wham-bam, thank you, ma’am wasn’t this man’s style. In a way, Jo approved, yet she was up for a relationship if and when he was.

They waited for a gap in the traffic at St Pancras and when the time came to cross, he took a light grip on her arm and guided her across. The contact encouraged her but he let go when they were on the other side. Fortunately he wasn’t sure which way to turn, so she tucked her hand under his arm and said, ‘It’s up here and to the left.’ She held on all the way up Alexandra Road to the house.

At the front gate, he signalled he was about to leave by saying it had been a nice evening.

Jo said, ‘You’ve time for a coffee, haven’t you?’

He took a step back and showed her his palms as if she was about to spring at him.

She stepped closer, took his arm again and steered him to the door. ‘Live dangerously.’

He gave an uncertain grin.

In the flat she offered wine, but he said black coffee was what he wanted. She said, ‘You don’t have to worry about missing the last bus. I can easily drive you home when you want to leave.’

He said, ‘That might be against my principles.’

‘What-leaving a lady at the end of an evening?’

He started to say, ‘I meant… ’ and then stopped, outwitted. Instead of saying his piece about private cars and exhaust fumes he shook his head and laughed.

That was the moment she knew he would spend the night with her.

At first light, Hen was directing a search of the Chidham peninsula. Every building capable of concealing a car south of the A259 was assigned to a group of officers. She was convinced Fiona’s Picasso was still there somewhere. Last night Francisco had known he was being tailed. He wouldn’t have risked moving it. He’d probably searched for the bug and found nothing, but that would only have added to his anxiety. He’d be afraid it was concealed somewhere he hadn’t detected.

The task wasn’t huge. The whole area amounted to about two square miles, and much of that was open ground. The populated part, containing the roads they’d driven along, was a section in the middle about half a mile across and a mile from north to south.

‘He may not have used a building,’ Gary pointed out. ‘He could have hidden it out of sight down some farm track.’

‘Do you think I haven’t thought of that?’ Hen said. She hadn’t fitted in much sleep. ‘We’ll check the buildings first and then scour the rest of the place.’

Searches are heavy on manpower. Officers have to be diverted from other duties, but a murder enquiry takes priority over most things. Hen had promised everyone it wouldn’t take long. In theory she was right, except that the consent of the owners had to be sought at each location, and nothing is quick when members of the public are involved. ‘If the ACC should ask what this is about,’ she told Stella, who was back at the ranch running things, ‘you’d better tell him we’re looking for a stolen Picasso. That should silence him.’

The same morning, Jo stirred about six-thirty. In her drowsy state she became aware she wasn’t wearing the XXL T-shirt she always slept in. From there her brain reminded her why. He’d been a marvellous lover, discovering what turned her on, treating her gently when she wanted it, and bringing them both to amazing climaxes. She’d felt appreciated, a giver and sharer of passion better than anything she’d ever experienced before.

But had it really happened? She had a worrying suspicion she was alone in the bed and she was scared to turn over and see if he was there. The potential for disappointment was huge. Could she feel the warmth of another body, or was it simply her own? She listened for breathing and couldn’t hear any. Then there was a sound from the kitchen, the purring of the kettle. He was out there making coffee.

Modesty took over. She hopped out of bed and snatched some things from the drawer, got under the duvet again and pulled them on just before he entered with two mugs. He was fully dressed.

‘I woke you,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s all right. I’m not used to getting coffee made for me.’

‘You see, I know it’s Sunday, but I have to get to work.’

‘I’ll drive you in.’ Oops, she thought. That would be against his principles. ‘If I had a bike, you could borrow it, but I don’t.’

‘I can get the bus.’

‘If I drive you, we’ll have time for breakfast. And don’t you dare say you never eat it.’ Oh, hell, she thought, that sounded awfully like nagging.

But cooking for him and driving him to Pagham were important, as if to demonstrate that last night hadn’t just been about the sex. If she had remained in bed and let him go out of the door, the whole thing would have seemed like just another one night stand.

In the car he said, ‘I’m not used to this.’

‘Being driven?’ Jo said, knowing he meant something else.

‘Sleeping with someone.’

‘It didn’t show. I mean, it was… really special. I’m not promiscuous either, by the way.’

‘Nice slogan for a T-shirt.’

‘We should get two made. Ah, but imagine what Rick and Gemma would make of it. They’d never let it rest.’

‘I expect they spent the night together.’

‘I’m not sure. The last time I mentioned it to Gemma she said they hadn’t. I think if they had, she’d be only too keen to crow about it.’

‘Can’t she keep a secret?’

‘Gemma?’ She laughed at the notion. ‘Only when it amuses her to keep people dangling, like they did about her boss and what happened to him.’

‘That’s just talk,’ he said. ‘They don’t know anything.’

He said this with such certainty that momentarily it crossed Jo’s mind that Jake knew the truth about Mr Cartwright’s disappearance. But how could he? She dismissed the idea.

A silver Xsara Picasso was found shortly after midday in a field on the west side of the Chidham peninsula. A grey cover was over it. The plates and road fund licence had been removed, but no one had much doubt that it was Fiona’s.

‘I want this area taped off and nobody else touching the thing until forensics have been by,’ Hen said. She’d been confident, but it was still a relief to have found the car.

The searchers who had made the find had folded back the cover from the bonnet to check the make and registration. It’s a truism among crime scene investigators that everyone visiting a crime scene brings something to it and takes something away. Fortunately there was a good chance of recovering some DNA from the interior and perhaps from the cover as well.