Prime Suspect 2: A Face in the Crowd (Prime Suspect (Harper)) by Plante Lynda La

Author:Plante, Lynda La [Plante, Lynda La]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harper Paperbacks
Published: 2011-10-04T07:00:00+00:00

8

Tennison had to steel herself not to show repugnance as his breath wafted over her. It seemed to her she had been sitting by his bedside for an eternity, breathing in the foul miasma of death. She herself felt soiled by it, as if it had entered her pores, and she had to use every ounce of willpower to repress the shudder at the touch of his cold, damp hand.

Her face betrayed none of this. And her voice stayed quiet and calm, almost soothing.

“All right, David . . . let me take you back to what you said originally. That you were with your sister in Margate on Sunday and Monday, and not at Honeyford Road.”

“Lies,” Harvey said drably. “I didn’t stay the night. I came back Sunday. Sunday afternoon. Not Monday like I said.”

“So—did you ask Eileen to provide you with an alibi?”

Harvey shook his head weakly. “No. She knows nothing of this . . .”

Tennison frowned. “But she must, David, because she confirmed your story. She said that weekend was the anniversary of your wife’s death. It wasn’t. She said you spent it with her. You didn’t.”

“I don’t want my sister dragged into this,” Harvey insisted, his voice thickening. He was staring at Tennison, blinking rapidly.

“I’m afraid she already is, David . . .”

“Leave her out of it.” Suddenly angry, he levered himself up on one elbow, the effort making him gasp. His eyes were wild, rolling. “I’ll tell you nothing if you drag her into it!”

Tennison put her hand on his shoulder, and he slowly subsided, flecks of spittle on his mustache. He lay flat, his chest heaving. The vehemence of his reaction puzzled her. She had seen real fear in his eyes . . . but fear of what? Involving his sister? His emotion had been too fierce and panic-stricken for that alone, Tennison thought. Unless he was trying to shield Eileen, divert suspicion from her possible complicity in what had taken place that weekend.

Harvey went on, almost in a drone, as if talking to himself. “I hated it down there anyway. Godforsaken cold bastard of a place. Thought I might as well go home—do something useful, get some work done in the garden . . .”

“So what time did you get back to London?” Tennison asked.

“About five. I did some more work, then I went inside. I was watching the TV in the front room when I saw her.”

Tennison leaned forward, her eyes narrowing a fraction. “Who did you see, David?”

“I saw the girl. Joanne.” Harvey stared into the shadows, as if seeing her now. “She was standing at a bus stop. Waiting for a bus that didn’t run on a Sunday.”

“What time was this?”

“ ’Bout half past eight, nine. It was just getting dark. I watched her . . .” His voice took on a dreamy, faraway tone. “She stood with one leg behind the other, sort of swinging herself. I thought I’d better tell her. I went out to her. I told her the bus didn’t run.

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