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He nods and smiles, then looks down at my desk, eyes sweeping over my notebook and the notes I’ve made about tomorrow’s Oxford trip.
‘And off to Oxford too,’ he says. ‘You get around, don’t you? It’s a nice city, Oxford. Satish and I spent New Year there, actually. We went for a run along the canal on New Year’s Day, to blow away the cobwebs, you know? We had to stop earlier than we wanted to though because there’d been that murder in the early hours, and they closed the towpath. You know, the woman lawyer, the one you were looking at a photo of the other day? Anyway, I’ll let you get on. Laters.’
My heart thuds. I open my mouth to reply, but he’s strolling slowly away, not looking back. I watch him go, my mind racing.
Hang on – what did he just say? He and Satish were in Oxford on New Year’s Eve?
I knew they were friendly, but I didn’t realise they were close enough to go away together. And I didn’t know they were runners either. Both are lean, I suppose, and Satish looks pretty fit, but Edward? He’s never struck me as the running type, although I suppose runners come in all shapes and sizes. But it’s that last bit that’s making my heart rate speed up. That last thing he said.
‘There’d been that murder in the early hours, and they closed the towpath …’
Edward and Satish were in Oxford the night Lisa Turner was killed. I suppose there’s been no real reason for Satish to tell me about that – we haven’t had any conversations about what we did over the holiday period, not today or previously – but why on earth didn’tEdwardmention it when he saw me looking at Lisa’s photo on Monday, and commented on how macabre my job was?
And the running thing, I think. Police in Birmingham are looking for a runner, who they suspect of murdering Jane Holland. A coincidence, or something else?
There’s a knot forming in my stomach now, my breathing quickening as I try to process what’s just happened. Is it just another coincidence, like the one of Pete recently visiting Jane Holland’s casino? I sink my head into my hands, trying to calm myself.
Am I overthinking all this?
Pete was in Birminghamweeksago, ages before anything happened to Jane Holland. And Oxford’s exactly the sort of place people visit all the time for mini-breaks. Hundreds of people probably went there for New Year’s Eve, and loads of people like to run on New Year’s Day. It’s a first day of the new year starting-as-you-mean-to-go-on thing. So should I tell the police about Edward and Satish and their trip? Or would that just be a waste of everyone’s time, and the perfect way to really piss off people you have to work with every day?
I’ll think about it, I decide.I’ll think about it, on the way to Oxford tomorrow. A day or so won’t make any difference, will it?
I take a deep breath and sit up straight in my chair, then swallow hard. At his desk halfway down the room, Edward is now chatting animatedly to Satish, who’s standing over him and leaning in close, nodding. As I watch them, they both turn simultaneously and look at me, then quickly look away again and my breath catches in my throat.
Is something going on here? Am I being ridiculous?
But Satish is walking back to his own desk now, and Edward’s head is down as he flicks through some papers on his desk, then reaches for his keyboard and begins tapping it. My eyes flit from him to Satish and back again, and then I look around the room, and everything looks normal, just another ordinary afternoon at The Hub. People working, chatting on the phone, typing, sipping coffee.
It’s just my imagination, working overtime, isn’t it? Stop it, Mary. Get a grip.
I take another deep breath, pack up my bag, and head for home.
