Chapter Nine
And there's a reason why I keep my distance
Don't think you're gonna understand
This is the last thing that I need right now
"Last Thing" - Diana Anaid
Try as she might, Nan found it was impossible to avoid Jimmy entirely. It didn't help that the case had escalated to such a level that none of them were ever far from the office. Everywhere she turned there he was, his eyes silently beseeching. They had spoken, but only of matters relating to the case; Nan would allow nothing further. She wouldn't respond to messages on her answer-phone or pleas for understanding. If Jimmy's unspoken hope moved her in the least, she didn't show it. She was as unyielding as ever.
It was pouring rain again on Wednesday. Geoff drove her to the nick late in the morning. They were quiet on the way, listening to a classical station. The Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields was playing Vaughan Williams's 'The Lark Ascending.' The music was slow and so beautiful that it gave both Nan and Geoff a glorious pain inside as the orchestra swept through the car, moving perfectly with the rain falling outside.
"What are you thinking, old girl?" Geoff asked teasingly. "You've a bit of a dreamy look about you."
Nan snapped to attention. She had been resting her head against the cool window and thinking, despite herself, of Jimmy's warm smile. Glancing at Geoff, she grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, just a million miles away."
"I'm seeing more and more of that in you these days." Geoff nudged her with his elbow and laughed. "Are you in love?"
"What possessed you to say that?"
He shrugged and manoeuvred a turn. "Don't know. Just something in your eyes. Not the usual hard-nosed Nan I'm used to being around."
"You're the only one who thinks so," she snorted.
Geoff did not respond, but Nan could tell by the subtle play of his lips that he was amused at her retort. Geoff probably knew her better than anyone, Granddad and Uncle Jamie included, and that could be extremely irritating at times. Not that she was in love, because he was wrong about that. He was very wrong.
"You're just not yourself," he said finally, after a particularly beautiful interlude in the song.
Nan sighed and leaned over to rest her head on Geoff's shoulder. She buried her nose in his thick, shampoo-smelling black hair and said, "I've made another mess, Geoff."
"Oh, dear, dear," he said with mock solemnity. He clucked his tongue in a fatherly fashion. "What's our incorrigible Nan done now?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Of course you do." He spoke with absolute certainty.
With a flush of shame, Nan pressed her face against Geoff's warm wool jacket and mumbled her confession.
Geoff paused in the midst of driving to reach over and turn down the radio. "Sorry? I didn't quite catch that. It sounded as if you said, 'I've slept with another of my co-workers.'"
Lifting her face from his sleeve, Nan briefly met Geoff's sidelong gaze. Her cheeks were bright red. "I did."
Pursing his lips tightly together, Geoff choked back an unholy burst of laughter. His cheeks clearly showed what an effort it was.
"Go ahead, laugh, you bastard. Laugh at my expense."
And then he did. His laughter filled the car the way the music had only moments before. He tilted his head forward for a moment, his long black fringe falling over his forehead. Nan glared at him, arms crossed over her chest. She was leaning against the car door, as far away from him as she could get.
"Glad you're finding this so funny."
"Oh, Jesus..." Geoff wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry, Nan," he said after he had somewhat composed himself. "Truly I am. I just started thinking of what everyone called you at school."
"Don't say it..."
He giggled. "Not-so-Naughty Nan."
"Shut it."
"But it's pretty funny, isn't it?" he exclaimed rather gleefully. "I mean, all through school you had this reputation as Little Miss Touch-Me-Not; never had a boyfriend, didn't even let the boys near you, and now look at you! Breaking men's hearts all over the London Police Force! You've probably got one in every nick, haven't you?"
Her eyes were narrow slits of fury. "I hate you."
"No, you don't. You love me. Now come on, tell Uncle Geoff all about it."
"Why? You're just going to run over to Dru's and tell her."
"No I'm not, I swear. Come on, Nanny-bear. Just because she's my girlfriend doesn't mean I can't keep a secret from her."
"Right."
"Come on, Nanny-bear."
"Don't call me that! You're a complete git and I don't let complete gits call me 'Nanny-bear,'" she replied witheringly.
"But it's my name for you." He poked her with one slender finger. "Come on then," he coaxed her. "Come on, Nanny-bear, tell me. Tell me all about this bloke."
"No."
He poked her again, this time directly under one rib. She squirmed and squealed in protest. "All right, all right," she relented. "I hate you, but I'll tell you anyway. His name's James Hickok and he's one of the New York officers over here on that exchange program."
"He's not like Pete Binchy, is he?"
Nan caught the worried tone to her friend's voice. "No."
"Good. You know, Pete's an all right bloke, Nan, but you two had nothing in common beyond the job. No common interests, no common opinions or personality traits. I never liked that."
"Me either."
"Anyway, go on. Tell me about this James Hickok."
Nan launched into a description of Jimmy, his physical characteristics duly noted to such an extent that Geoff rolled his eyes in amusement; she spoke of his personality and their initial mutual dislike. She told him about the olive branch Jimmy had extended Sunday night, which had turned into something more, and of her behaviour the following morning. She spoke at such great length that before she realised it they had arrived at the Ladbroke Grove station and she found she was still talking.
Geoff glided slowly to a halt before swivelling in his seat to look at her. He studied her face-lovely as ever, but pale, with a strange, starry look in her dark blue eyes. There was something there, maybe not love, but a woman didn't take note of a man the way Nan had obviously taken note of James Hickok without there being something behind it.
"You're interested in the bloke."
"Am not."
"Don't let's start this sort of discussion," he protested. "I know you, Anna Kenworthy; you may have been pissed as a newt, but you never would have spent the night with the man if you weren't attracted to him."
"Nonsense. It was the gin. I need to stop drinking."
"People are always blaming drink for things they did themselves. You don't have a drinking problem, Nan. You wanted to spend the night with this Hickok bloke, but you were afraid to; the gin just gave you the courage to go through with something you already wanted to do in the first place."
"You're mad."
Geoff grinned his marvellous crooked, thin-lipped grin. "I love you, Nan, you know that, but you're the one who's mad. Now go on...time for work. Try not to sleep with any co-workers on the way in."
The door was brutally shoved open. Nan jumped out of the car and stood in the rain, leaning down to growl, "I hate you, Geoff Devanney."
"So you said, so you said."
She slammed the door shut again. Geoff blew her an affectionate kiss and pulled out into the London traffic.
Upon reflection, Emma Shannon noticed that DI Kenworthy and Lieutenant Hickok had ceased to be so mercilessly at one another's throats. She was pleased; obviously her little chats with them had done a world of good. True they were still not exactly the best of friends, but at least there had been no more bloodshed.
In a subconscious attempt to make Jimmy and Nan become friends, Emma decided to send the two out to interview Julian Westward. The look on both their faces was utterly priceless.
"Guv, I don't think-"
"Guv, maybe it's not-"
"I mean, I really think-"
"I'd like to pick Cody and Buck up from the airport, if you don't-"
"I didn't ask for a discussion, did I? No, I don't think I did. Louise and Kid are picking Sergeant Cross and Sergeant Cody up at Stansted; you two are going to interview Julian Westward. Now clear off, the pair of you!"
Nan saw immediately that there would be no arguing with Emma. She and Jimmy grabbed their macks and umbrellas. They didn't meet each other's eyes on the way out. Jimmy did his best to bore holes into the back of Nan's coat. His pleas for her understanding had given way to his own fury. She had closed herself off from him, refusing to brook any argument or discussion; it was infuriating, absolutely maddening, and completely childish. She seemed to think she could ignore things into submission.
"Just so you know," he said when they had settled into the car, "I'm not any happier about this than you are."
"Excellent. Then we're agreed."
"How long a drive is it to Wimbledon?"
"About thirty minutes."
"Great."
"Your sarcasm is not lost on me, Lieutenant."
"No, Inspector, if there's one thing I'm not worried about, it's your ability to recognise sarcasm."
Nan gave the steering wheel a rather vicious tug as she pulled out of the parking garage at the station. Jimmy turned on the radio. He fiddled around a bit until he found a station playing old 30s and 40s songs. Louis Armstrong's husky voice poured out.
I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
Nan glanced at Jimmy in surprise. Immediately he turned to her, defensive. "What?" he demanded. "I like this song. Is that a problem?"
"It's not a problem."
I see skies of blue, clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
She didn't add that she loved this song and always had, that it gave her a nice, warm feeling inside, that Louis Armstrong's voice sent warm shivers down her spine. She just glared right back at him and didn't reply.
The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people passing by
I see friends shaking hands saying, How do you do
What they're really saying is, I love you
I hear babies crying, I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll never know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
"Jimmy-"
"Yes?"
Yes I think to myself
What a wonderful world
"Do you have Julian Westward's file?" That wasn't actually what she had intended to say.
He looked at her in annoyance. "What? You don't think I'm capable of bringing along one stinking file?"
"I just asked!" Her answer shot out of her mouth so fast she didn't have time to think about it. They seemed to be incapable of carrying on a basic conversation.
She had really wanted to say something to him, something about that night. That Night. The words were capitalised in her head. As was the memory of Jimmy himself. Damn, damn, damn it all. Especially Geoff and his psychoanalysing, damn him most of all. It was his fault she was thinking about Jimmy like this. Well, she wasn't going to anymore. She'd think about the rain. Yes, that was it, the lovely rain, falling outside and against the windows...and the rain clinging to the tip of Jimmy's nose and his fingertips as he held her face between his hands and they stood on the street corner waiting for the light to change...and the way it brought out the scent of his shampoo, and...
Damn.
Somehow she managed to make it through the rest of the drive to Wimbledon. They found Julian Westward's home easily, and after showing their badges to the butler they were escorted into the study where they were assured Mr Westward would be with them shortly. They were encouraged to make themselves comfortable, but it was difficult to do so: the room was lavishly done, breathtakingly luxuriant, full of what were obviously antiques; it didn't exactly lend itself to comfort.
When Julian Westward joined them, it took a moment for Nan to catch her breath. He could easily have filled in as James Bond should the need have ever arisen, with classically-cut features and a handsome, mocking mouth. His clothes draped against his elegant frame, lending him an air of casual opulence. When he spoke his voice was low, rich, and utterly posh.
"Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I'm Julian Westward."
As if there was any doubt, Jimmy noted to himself dryly. The man was as pompous as his name sounded. He noted with interest that Nan had a glazed, appreciative look in her blue eyes, and Julian's look of mutual admiration was also obvious.
"Inspector Kenworthy."
"Inspector." Julian drew Nan's hand within the circle of his. "How do you do." His voice was silky smooth.
Jimmy cleared his throat. "Ahem." Nan and Westward looked at him as if suddenly remembering he had been there all along. "Lieutenant Hickok, Mr Westward."
"A pleasure, Lieutenant." Julian indicated the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, be seated. Can I get you any refreshments? A drink perhaps?"
"No, thank you."
"No, I'm fine."
"Well then," Westward seated himself in the large leather chair behind his desk. He folded his hands together. "May I assume you're here because of the tragedies that have befallen my co-workers?"
"Mr Westward, we're here to gather some information from you," Jimmy said, playing the 'bad cop' role voluntarily. He didn't like the man already, whether or not he'd had anything to do with the robberies or murders was really irrelevant.
"I believe the police already have my statements from the parties, do they not?"
"Yes, we do."
"I was only at two of them, Lieutenant-the Claussens' and the Andropolous'. I was there, I was dining among friends and co-workers. I heard Helena Claussen scream and ran upstairs with Thomas to find her. As well as the body of Ethan Cutler, I might add."
"And the other two nights, Mr Westward?" persisted Jimmy.
"May I ask why I have been singled out for questioning, Lieutenant?"
"I wouldn't say you've been singled out, Mr Westward."
"I would. To the best of my knowledge, none of the other people at the party have been visited at home, have they? Correct me if I'm wrong."
"Mr Westward," Nan broke in, attempting to diffuse the tension. "We have every intention of continuing this line of investigation. You're merely the first we've come to."
Julian bestowed her with a charming smile. "Please, Inspector, don't patronise me. I'm perfectly aware of what's really going on. You see, I know my ex-wife paid you a visit."
"Mr Westward-"
"Rachel's paid you a visit. You needn't confirm nor deny this, I know the truth. That's why you're here today, nearly three weeks after the first murder and robbery; that's why you're visiting me first, as you put it."
"You sound angry, sir." Jimmy couldn't resist pointing out the obvious.
"Well, what else should I be, Lieutenant? My ex-wife, whom I once vowed to love, honour, and cherish, has apparently decided to unleash some sort of revenge on me."
Jimmy and Nan exchanged glances. Rachel Dunne hadn't at all struck them as the vengeful ex-wife. In fact, the fear and trepidation in her eyes had been painfully evident.
"She's very displeased that I've found happiness again, you understand. She's concocted some ridiculous story, portraying me as the cruel, mercenary culprit. Sad, really, but the fact remains. She wants to see me punished for the dissolution of our marriage."
Nan was curious despite herself, despite even her surprise at the man's change of temper. He suddenly looked very angry and impatient. "What makes you say that, Mr Westward? Why do you believe your ex-wife would make false accusations against you? Especially accusations of this nature?"
"Because she's done it before and it nearly cost me everything."