The Walker by Jane Goodall

Author:Jane Goodall [Goodall, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2015-03-03T05:00:00+00:00

28

The day was quite overcast and the Hanging Gardens looked more subdued than she remembered. The flowers in the baskets seemed to be thinning out, in anticipation of changing weather conditions. Briony had deliberately got there ten minutes early, hoping that before Steve arrived she might catch an informal chat with Kendrick. He was obviously still wary about his place on the suspect list and she wanted to get his confidence. She was convinced he was holding something back.

‘We can sit out there,’ he said, pointing to the open back door of the pub lounge room. ‘In the garden.’

The garden was a brick paved courtyard, with dozens of baskets stacked against the walls on both sides.

‘End of season,’ explained Kendrick. ‘I’m just doing the autumn planting. Sorry about the mess. Will your colleague be long, do you think?’

‘Only a few minutes.’

‘What about a glass of lemonade?’

While he went to fetch the drinks, Briony walked over to take a closer look at the baskets and disturbed some small birds who had been pecking at their contents. She wondered how many newly planted seeds they might have found. A heap of discarded overblown geraniums was mouldering in one corner, giving off a distinctive smell. Bees were hovering around it. For a split second, the sketch of the woman with the cut throat etched itself on her mind, as if it were right there in front of her.

Kendrick returned with a tray on which were a jug, three glasses and a saucer with slices of lemon. He put the tray on the ground, poured a glass and handed it to her.

‘It must have been a terrible shock for you,’ said Briony, ‘finding the body.’

Kendrick didn’t reply, but looked at her, waiting to see where she was leading.

‘I still find it a shock myself, the sight of a murder victim. I don’t suppose you ever get used to it. Some of those older men in the force, you know, the ones who’ve attended just about every crime scene you can imagine, I often wonder if they have nightmares.’

‘Oh, the nightmares.’ Kendrick stared into his glass. ‘Nothing is the same,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost my feeling for this work. All the flowers look dead to me. Flowers and graves. They belong together, don’t they? I’m thinking of leaving here, as a matter of fact. I’ve been getting a bit of freelance work. Got to know someone in the advertising industry who’s helping me to branch out. Flower power is a very commercial proposition now, he told me. Not that I’m looking to get rich or anything. I just need a change.’

‘Still,’ said Briony, ‘it seems a shame to leave here.’

The front doorbell rang and Steve was shown in by one of the other staff. He accepted a glass of lemonade and knocked it back in two large gulps.

‘Thanks.’ He gasped theatrically. ‘I was parched.’

Briony could see Kendrick’s guard had gone up again and just when he was starting to relax. If only she’d been allowed

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