“Thanks, Eric.”

“One more thing. Nobody seems to know anything about the tracksuit you asked me to take down to evidence. My shirt’s filthy from that thing. I got a real bollocking from the super about it.”

“Sorry. I must have been mistaken.”

She rang off and grinned.

“It looks like you’re going to get your office back,” she told Killian. “Forensics have confirmed it. The shovel found in Dennis Albarn’s shed was the same one that was used to slice Stanley Green in half.”

“That’s that, then. Everybody wins. We’ve found our murderer, we don’t have to spend taxpayers’ money on trials and incarceration, and we’ll all see the back of DCI James and his motley crew.”

“He wants to go out and celebrate tonight.”

“Just go. Enjoy the fruits of your hard work. Southern and Carrick aren’t too bad.”

“I suppose you’re right. I can go for a couple of hours. There’s something else I need to ask you.”

“You’re pushing your luck now.”

“I’m exhausted. I have some leave owed to me and I was thinking of taking some time off. I was wondering if you would approve a couple of weeks.”

“Consider it done. And now, if there’s nothing more, I have to get going.”

“There is one thing. You’re not really thinking about taking early retirement, are you?”

“Have a nice evening, Taylor.” Killian walked back to his car.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Taylor was glad DCI James had not chosen the Unicorn to celebrate the end of the investigation. She didn’t think she could handle the place two nights in a row. The car park of the Parade Hotel was almost full when she drove in. She parked next to an old VW camper van that obviously belonged to a group of keen surfers, with three surfboards tied to the roof. The tourist season was definitely in full swing.

Taylor thought about her own holiday. She really needed a break. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been away. Danny was always too busy doing whatever he did to even think about a break. She realised the last time she had been out of the country was on her honeymoon. That was a brief stay in a dreary hotel in Paris. Danny had needed to get back to work after a few days. After that, Taylor had spent most of her annual leave on her own in their house in Edinburgh.

I wasted three years of my life on that bastard. It’s time I lived a bit for myself.

She heard the team inside before she saw them. DCI James was particularly loud. Taylor almost turned round and left. Then she remembered what Killian had said — she would endure a few hours with the detectives from Exeter and leave. With any luck she would not have to set eyes on Warren James ever again.

“Harriet,” James shouted. He was holding a pint in one hand and what looked like a large whisky in his other. He was obviously already very drunk.

Here goes, Taylor thought. She walked up to their table. DS Southern stood up as she came closer.

“Glad you could make it.” He offered her the chair next to DI Carrick, “I took the liberty of ordering you a drink. Tonic water, wasn’t it?”

“Thanks.” Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

“Now we’re all here,” James stood up unsteadily, “I’d like to make a toast. Everyone raise your glasses. Exeter and DC Harriet Taylor, you’ve done me proud.”

Taylor took a sip of tonic water. She was completely unprepared for what happened next.

“And as for Trotterdown,” James downed his whisky, “Fuck Trotterdown.”

Half the room turned to see what was going on.

“Fuck Trotterdown,” James was not finished yet, “we came, we saw, and we bloody well conquered.” He finished the beer. “Fuck Trotterdown,” he said again under his breath and belched.

“How much has he had to drink?” Taylor whispered to Southern.

“He started as soon as the results came in from forensics,” Southern muttered. “He has a bit of a problem.”

“What are you two whispering about?” James said. “Another round? I’m buying. It’s all on me. Two days, I tell you, two days and we nailed it. How long do you think you lot would’ve taken to figure it out?”

His glazed eyed tried to focus on Taylor’s face. He smiled at her. “Two years?”

She’d had enough. She couldn’t help herself.

“Warren,” she said, “it’s all right if I call you Warren, isn’t it? I’m still not convinced this investigation is over.”

Everyone at the table stared at her in disbelief.

“Come again?” James said.

“Something’s bothering me about it. Something’s not quite right.”

“Bothering you?” He stood up and teetered from side to side. “Bothering you? The only thing bothering you is that you lot are so inept that you had to beg for our help.”

“And we’re grateful for your help.” She now wished that she’d kept her mouth shut. “I just need to check a few things before I’m happy about all of this.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” James thrust his head forward aggressively. “This investigation is over. It’s been put to bed. You do not want to make an enemy of me, Constable.”

He said the last sentence with such venom that she flinched.

“Take it easy, boss. We’re here to celebrate.” Carrick’s attempt to calm the situation fell on deaf ears.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” James glared at Taylor. “And do you know who I am? Detective Chief Inspector Warren James. Youngest DCI in the history of the Exeter police department. I have the best clear-up rate in the west of England. And you are?”

“I think you’d better leave,” Southern said. “He gets like this sometimes. He’ll come and apologise in the morning.”

Taylor stood up and left without saying a word.

As she drove away from the Parade Hotel, Taylor shook off James’ little outburst. It hadn’t surprised her and it had given her an excuse to leave. It was still early and she wasn’t tired. It was still light on this never-ending longest day.

She didn’t feel like going home. A reckless idea suddenly struck her — she decided to take a risk for once in her life. She found the card in her purse, took out her phone and tapped in the number.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Dr Jon Finch entered the Old Boar pub in Polgarrow, stooping to get through the low door. His hair was wet. He’d obviously had a quick shower after Taylor had phoned him. She waved to him from the table closest to the bar.

“Dr Finch. Sorry to drag you out on a Sunday evening.”

“Are you kidding? Drinks with a charming lady beats Antiques Roadshow hands down. And please call me Jon.”

Taylor laughed. Finch was wearing the same aftershave as when she’d first met him. Danny’s aftershave. Something Italian, she recalled.

Finch got them both drinks — her usual tonic water, a pint of lager for himself — and joined her at the table. “I believe congratulations are in order. You ought to be out celebrating.”

“News travels fast around here. And I’m done with the celebrating thing. It didn’t go down too well.”

“Cheers anyway,” Finch took a sip of his lager. “I wasn’t expecting you to call, to be honest.”

“I bet you give your card to all the ladies. And false modesty doesn’t suit you, especially with those eyes.”

“I told you. They’re more of a curse than anything else.”

“I need a favour, Jon.”

“Interesting. The case is closed, so you’re not here in a professional capacity. What sort of favour are we talking about here? We barely know each other.”

“Very charming, I’ll give you that. Dennis Albarn, the man who died in the fire, I need to have another look at the autopsy report.”

Finch’s bright blue eyes darkened slightly and he pursed his lips.