But there had been Aurora, too, who had turned thirteen and suddenly grown out of gawkiness into an ethereal beauty. None of them had been quite sure how to approach her after that.
None of this was useful.
“We weren’t really friends,” he said in the end. “I was three years ahead of Topaz and Benners and Connor, and I was a lofty sixth-former who didn’t socialize much with the lower years. Aurora had just started secondary school by the time I joined the sixth form, and I was already a PC by the time she died. I had friends who knew them all better because they had siblings the same age.” And, to a man, they had lusted after Topaz and been fascinated by Aurora.
“Did you have any? Siblings?” Hanson asked.
“No.”
Jonah made it clear that the conversation was not going to turn to him. He wasn’t willing to talk about his family. He didn’t want her sympathy or her morbid curiosity.
Hanson took the hint and kept quiet until she had followed the GPS through Lyndhurst and southward. A mile short of Brockenhurst, they turned off down a private driveway that Jonah had often wanted an excuse to drive down. He wasn’t alone. The press liked to come here, whether invited for interviews or not. Brett Parker’s following had been significant for more than a quarter of a century.
There was a gate, of course, and an old lodge that looked like it was occupied. But nobody came out to ask them who they were. An etched sign asked them to press the buzzer, and so Hanson angled the car as carefully as she could, wound down the window, and pushed the button.
A brief pause and then a crackling pickup. “Can I help?”
It was a female voice. Slightly harried, Jonah thought.
“I’m Detective Constable Hanson. I’m here with my DCI. We need to talk to Mr. Parker.”
“You’re from…Oh.” Another brief pause. “Of course. I’ll buzz you through.”
The gates opened painfully slowly, and Hanson tapped her short nails on the steering wheel.
“It’s a bit pretentious, isn’t it? The gates and the buzzer.”
“I guess they’re used to unwanted visitors.”
“Brett Parker…what was he? A writer?”
“An athlete,” Jonah replied. Time was passing. He’d thought everyone in the country knew Brett’s name.
Hanson revved the engine slightly before the gates had finished opening, and drove past the neat 10 mph sign at about 30. There were mature trees to each side, and the driveway followed a gentle uphill before reaching a crest a quarter of a mile along.
“Bloody hell,” Hanson said as the large, solid, but undeniably elegant stone house swung into view. It made Jonah smile, the hungry look she gave the house. It wasn’t quite so pretentious now, evidently.
It was Brett Parker who let them in, not the unidentified woman on the intercom. For Jonah it was a strange meeting. He had somehow expected Brett, the slightly uninspiring jock, to have become ever more self-satisfied. He had also expected a retired athlete to be a little overweight, a little overindulged.
Instead he was faced with a slim, gracious, self-deprecating host in a beautiful blue suit and open shirt. He looked tanned and fit, and ten years younger than Jonah.
“Come in, come in,” he said, stepping back from the door. “It’s too hot to hang around out there. I’m glad they don’t make you wear a uniform.” This with a warm smile. “If it’s a chat, shall we have it on the terrace? It’s in the shade now. I’ll get Anna to bring some drinks.”
“Thank you,” Jonah said with his own, smaller smile. He looked over Brett’s elegantly tousled gold-and-brown hair. He realized it was dyed, and felt a little better.
The terrace was still bright. Reflective patterns moved across the perfectly rectangular swimming pool a few steps below. Farther down was a lawn with a stream working its way through it. There were orderly plants in containers and in two semicircular flower beds with not a fallen leaf or petal to interrupt the prettiness.
Jonah wondered whether the garden was Brett’s space or his wife’s. “This is lovely,” he said, gesturing to the grounds. “Landscaped?”
Brett gave him a brilliant, white-toothed smile. “I’m afraid so. But done by a friend of mine. I can give you her card if you like.”
Jonah gave a slight laugh as he took a seat. “I’m afraid my garden’s a small patio with some tubs on it. Not worth anyone’s time.” He looked at the pool, not without a touch of envy. “Do you still swim triathlon distances?”
“Well, yes, but not in there.” He gave a slightly wry smile. “It’s too small. I can’t stand turning round fifty times a session. And for triathlon you want to train wild or it’s a shock when you have your head submerged in murk. I usually go up and down the brook a few times.” He gave Jonah the glance that often moves around groups of sport-lovers. One that assessed physique and fitness. “Do you compete?”
Jonah shook his head. “I’m into cycling, and to a certain extent running, but like a lot of people I’ve never been a swimmer and can’t be bothered to try it. I can see the appeal of triathlon, though. I like sports that take you somewhere.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I used to hate indoor athletics championships. Why on earth would you run without fresh air around you?”
Jonah could see him becoming more at his ease. It was hard to believe you were in trouble when confronted with friendly chatter.
Jonah was ready to unsettle him, but not yet. “How’s business going?”
“It’s going well. As far as I know.” He smiled. “Anna is the businesswoman. I just turn up and speak nicely.”
Jonah nodded. He could tell that this was a well-rehearsed line.
He caught a light clinking of ice on glass and turned. He was faced with Anna, who had a loosely tied head of blond hair, a floral dress and pearls, white-heeled sandals, and sinewy brown legs.
“Thank you, darling.” Brett stood to help her unload the tray. “This is my wife. Anna, these are…Sorry, I don’t think I…”
“DCI Sheens,” Jonah said, holding his hand out. Her slim fingers in his were ice-cold and wet from handling the glasses. She rubbed them lightly on her dress with a self-conscious smile. “And DC Hanson.”
“Is it something business-related?” Anna asked. “If so, I’d better be here, too.”
There was something of the fractious butterfly about her. She moved over to stand behind her husband. She brushed her fingers over his shoulder and then moved to a chair that she hovered over.