wasn’t busy but you could never tell who was eavesdropping, albeit unintentionally.
Ken swallowed and putting his cutlery down, dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. ‘In a word, no.’ He let out a sigh. ‘All circumstantial evidence at the moment. We’re hoping that Stella Harris regains consciousness and can remember something. It’s not looking good, though. Lampard’s prints are at the scene; on the door, on the furniture, etc. and her blood is on his clothing, but his explanation for that is that he found her. At the moment we have nothing to suggest otherwise.’ Ken shifted in his seat and Donovan sensed his friend wasn’t telling him everything.
‘What else?’ he prompted.
‘Lampard’s being a bit elusive.’
‘Elusive? As in you can’t get hold of him?’
‘Yes, exactly that. We needed to check something with him yesterday but he wasn’t at his home address and he hadn’t turned up for work either.’
‘So now you have a probable murderer on the loose.’
‘The girl’s not dead yet,’ said Ken. ‘We haven’t been able to charge him with anything so couldn’t arrest him. Asked him to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. We’re on the lookout for him, naturally.’
‘You need to find him fast. He’s dangerous.’
‘Innocent until proven guilty,’ said Ken.
‘Bollocks,’ said Donovan, picking up his mug of tea. ‘You know as well as I do, that bastard attacked Stella Harris. Have you got any leads as to where he might be?’
‘We’re looking into a few. Just thought I’d give you the heads up.’
Donovan frowned as he recalled his meeting with Lampard. The frown deepened slightly. ‘Ah, yes. The “watch your back” threat.’ Donovan shrugged. ‘I’ve had them before. It’s just bullshit. Comes from low self-esteem. Designed to intimidate others and make the perpetrator feel empowered.’ He smiled at his friend, who rolled his eyes. ‘Do you want me to continue with a more in-depth analysis?’
‘Spare me the psychobabble,’ said Ken. ‘We’ve got more serious things to deal with, like a fresh brew.’
‘My thoughts exactly.’
After a rather longer breakfast than planned, Ellen was anxious to get Izzy to school. The traffic around Chichester was always heavy and particularly so at school drop-off time.
‘Come on, Izzy, time to go,’ said Ellen. She adjusted the emerald-green ribbon on Izzy’s school hat. ‘There, you look beautiful. Bye, Carla! Bye, Mrs Holloway!’
Ellen gave a small shiver as they crunched across the gravel drive to the carport where the little blue Fiesta was parked. Despite the sun being out, there was definitely a chilly autumnal feel in the air today. Izzy skipped on ahead, reaching the car first.
‘Ellen!’
‘What’s up?’
‘Come here, look what’s on your car.’
Under the windscreen wiper was a single red rose. Ellen lifted the wiper and retrieved the bloom. She looked for a note but there appeared to be none.
‘Can I smell it?’ said Izzy reaching up to take it.
Ellen handed it to her. ‘I don’t think it smells of much. I wonder who left it there.’ Was it Donovan? It wouldn’t be anyone else – she didn’t know anyone else. She took the rose back from Izzy and unlocked the vehicle. ‘In you get, Izzy. That’s it. Sit back and fasten your seat belt. Good girl.’ Getting in the car, Ellen placed the rose on the passenger seat. It must be from Donovan. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. A rose was something associated with love. Why would Donovan do that?
Ellen switched on the engine and drove out onto the road, her thoughts still very much on the rose. She didn’t know Donovan in any great depth, but, somehow, leaving a rose on her car didn’t seem his style.
Ellen drove on, turning out of the beach estate and onto the road leading to Chichester. The only logical explanation was that he was testing the water. A good response from her would give him the encouragement to pursue things.
The lights at the end of the village were on red and Ellen drew to a stop, first in the queue. She glanced down at the rose. If she gave a negative response to the gesture, then Donovan could simply deny any knowledge of it and claim he hadn’t put it there. It was a clever plan, she decided. He couldn’t lose.
The blaring of a car horn made Ellen jump. The lights had turned to green and she was just sitting there. She shoved the car into first gear and jerked forward, kangaroo-hopped and stalled the hatchback in the middle of the set of traffic lights.
‘Shit,’ muttered Ellen as she started the engine again, trying to ignore more hooting from the car behind. She glanced in the rear-view mirror. Some impatient boy racer sporting a beanie hat and sunglasses.
‘You said a naughty word,’ Izzy piped up. ‘Daddy says it’s rude to say shit.’
Oh no, just what Ellen needed; a reprimand from Izzy about swearing, especially when she was struggling to start the blasted car whilst holding up the traffic and incurring the wrath of Boy Racer. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. Daddy is right. Come on car! Please … Yes!’ Another sudden jerk forwards and they were moving again. Ellen took a deep breath and settled herself. She looked once again in her rear-view mirror.
Great. Boy Racer was now tailgating her. What was his problem? Ellen checked her speed. A steady thirty. Right on the button of the speed limit. Boy Racer could get himself all worked up if he wanted, she on the other hand wouldn’t. In fact, she would pull over at the next convenient place and let him pass.
The petrol station a few minutes down the road provided her with this opportunity. Ellen turned onto the forecourt and pulled round past the pumps. She looked over to the road waiting to see Boy Racer go by. He didn’t. So where was he? Surely he hadn’t needed petrol too? She turned in her seat and looked through the back window. Her heart gave a nervous jump. Boy Racer had pulled his Astra on to the forecourt too and was sitting on the other side of the pumps. She strained to get a better look at him but couldn’t make anything out from this far away. Ellen toyed with going over to confront him but dismissed the idea almost immediately.
‘What are you looking at?’ asked Izzy, trying to twist around on her booster seat to look out of the window.
‘Nothing, don’t worry. Thought I saw someone I knew.’ It was a rubbish excuse but apparently plausible for an eight-year-old. Izzy didn’t ask any more questions. Ellen turned back and put the car into first gear. ‘Right, we’re late as it is, let’s get off to school. Your teacher will be wondering where you are.’
The traffic was building up and as Ellen pulled into the stream of cars, she was relieved to note that Boy Racer was still sitting on the forecourt. The rest of the journey to school proved uneventful and Ellen was glad nothing more had come of the incident.
‘Ellen
