Death on the Lake, Jo Allen [e reader TXT] 📗

been waiting a long time to catch him alone. And had Robert turned the tables, lain in wait for Ryan and surprised him? Been cornered, perhaps? And had Miranda lied to protect him, and the two of them were sitting in Waterside Lodge knowing the threat to them was gone?

She checked her watch. ‘We should go and talk to him.’

Again she sensed his hesitation, the reluctance to challenge Robert Neilson. It wasn’t surprising. Robert was clever, not a man you’d want to approach unless you had your strategy clear. ‘I might pop down and see him tomorrow. But I think I’d like to know who Ryan is before I do.’

Twenty-Seven

‘I should probably go home.’ Ashleigh yawned.

‘Probably,’ Jude agreed, with a straight face that he managed to keep for about five seconds before he laughed. ‘No. Why should you, if you don’t want to? I’m not going to turn you out, as long as all you want to do is talk about work.’

They’d stayed in the office until past ten and now it was touching midnight, but she knew, by the hand he laid on her knee he was joking and work wasn’t first on his mind. ‘I’ll get my union rep onto you. I work far too hard and you work me all the hours God sends.’

Her mind was moving the same way as his. It often did, after days like today — endless, relentless hours dealing with the damage left by sudden death. The man they’d known as Ryan Goodall would have people waiting to mourn him, as Luke Helmsley had done, and Summer, and even George, whose time on Earth had been well-lived. Sometimes nothing but the closeness of another human being could ease the pain.

‘Glad we’re in agreement,’ he said, and shifted closer.

Getting into bed with Jude, which was where the evening would inevitably end, was the ideal antidote, if only for a moment. She was happy enough about it, though she’d been thinking too much about Scott recently, unnerved by his joking threat to take up Summer’s job. Her move to Cumbria had been, in part, to escape the complications of loving the wrong man too much, and now her past was tracking her as relentlessly as she and her colleagues were closing in on the Martindale killer. First Faye had appeared, and now Scott, teasing her with the occasional message. Haven’t heard yet. Must be taking up my references, his last text had said.

There was no-one more different to Scott’s brand of selfish but irresistible charm than Jude. It would make her life so much easier if she could have fallen in love with him. To move the conversation on, she shifted it to something that kept it personal but made it a little less uncomfortable. ‘Doddsy said Becca was going to withdraw her complaint.’

‘She has.’ He got to his feet, standing with the TV remote in his hand and shuffling through the rolling news channels for anything of local interest. She stifled a smile. He’d never change. ‘Although in fairness, she told me she hadn’t complained and I believe her. I had an email from Lorraine from Professional Standards and she seemed positively disappointed to tell me the matter’s been dropped.’

‘So it was Adam Fleetwood, then.’

‘Must be.’ Jude tossed the remote control down on the arm of the sofa and dropped back into the seat next to her.

‘Will he ever let go?’

‘I doubt it. He’s a terrier when he has a grievance, and you know what people like that are like. But he won’t get anywhere.’ Jude spread a casual arm along the back of the chair as a local news bulletin kicked off with the latest on the discovery of Ryan’s body. ‘I’m wise to him, and every time he reports me for something I haven’t done, Professional Standards get a little bit wiser to it, too.’

‘The camera loves you,’ Ashleigh said, nudging him as the film switched from long shots of the church and the white tent over George’s grave to Jude himself, looking uncomfortable in a press conference, too obviously reading out a statement.

‘That’s one thing it doesn’t do.’ He always watched himself back with a rueful expression.

Seeing him on television was the only time Ashleigh felt sorry for him, the only time he ever showed any weakness. ‘At least it shows you’re human.’

‘Oh, I’m all of that.’ He’d been about to lean in towards her, ready to kiss her as the news moved to an item about sheep rustling, but his phone interrupted them. He sighed, but he answered it. ‘If it wasn’t for this whole shenanigans up in Martindale I’d switch this thing off in the evenings. Don’t people know it’s nearly midnight? Hello, Jude Satterthwaite.’

Perhaps one day he’d learn to do that. Ashleigh sat back and watched as he listened intently, but she was too much of the same mindset even to try and change him. There would come a point where he needed to switch off before the pressures of the job overtook him but this wasn’t it. As long as there was justice to be served, his phone would be on and he’d always answer. She shifted a little closer, to hear the conversation.

‘Okay. Karl Faulkner.’ He nodded to Ashleigh, repeating the key points of the conversation for her benefit. ‘From Melbourne. Okay. Ex-army. Yes. Bluntly, I don't know how much his background in Australia is going to help us, because I have a hunch his death is very much rooted in the here and now, but send me whatever you’ve got and I’ll see what I can make of it. Right. You have it on file already, then? Right. Questioned over a car accident in Melbourne but no charges laid. Thanks. I appreciate everything you’ve done.’

Melbourne. Something flicked in Ashleigh’s brain. She reached for a pen and an envelope which lay on the side table, the envelope covered with Jude’s thoughtful doodles, an indication of the way his mind never left his work. Ask