Chapter 20

Deliberately wiping his fingers down the front of his jeans created the look of an afternoon's work but Dempsey was so wound up he would have been hard pushed not to have made the smeary mess anyway.

The ensuing quiet brought with it an agonised period of rambling thoughts that had nothing to do with the work and everything to do with Harry.

Jeezas, she probably thought he was some kind of a pervert or at the very least acting like he'd lost his mind. He felt he needed to say something, anything, but for once he was lost for words. He couldn't even bring himself to touch the sculpture again and when he could stand it no more, he sprang forward, going to the deep, stone sink on the pretext of refilling the spray gun with cold water.

"Got something."

He latched onto those words like a drowning man.

"What?" he demanded gruffly.

"Here, on the back of this delivery note."

Makepeace tapped at the sheet.

"Do you recognise the name Peter Cotes?"

He frowned, dredging up what he could recollect of the man who had immediately sprung to mind. "Sure. Fingers, pies, high rollin', low livin'. Am I right?"

"You are but that applies to quite a number of our professional acquaintances."

"Okay, errrm, lemme think."

Dempsey applied himself and quickly came up with the detail he was searching for. "Owns a nightclub in Chelsea popular with the nose candy kids."

"And?" Makepeace prompted.

"And that's all I know. We're back to the drugs angle again, right?"

"Possibly. He's got something to do with a corporate entertainment agency, specialist travel, something like that. I once saw him at a polo club do down in Kent."

"His legit face."

"Mm. It was just a week after his club had been raided but the stock exchange yuppies weren't to know that."

"Would the stock exchange yuppies care?"

"True. Ring of vice girls operating out of the club too although as I recall, they couldn't get that to stick to him."

Dempsey had left the sink to see the piece of paper for himself. "And what are these numbers?" he asked, taking it from her.

Harry's eyes were drawn to his long, clay besmirched fingers. Most of it had been rubbed off onto his jeans but traces were still evident in the fine creases of skin.

The one question that had been in her mind as she watched had been 'What is he thinking?' She would never forget that expression on his face as long as she lived. Who had he envisaged as he trailed those fingers over the clay – Odette or Harry? Maybe neither. Maybe he had just been taken up by the beauty of the female form and that was the reason for the wave of emotion she had witnessed surging through his body. But the way his hands had caressed the pregnant belly, it was almost like he was suffering with the enormity of feeling it evoked. She would swear she had seen a kind of pain mixed up there as though it had overwhelmed him for a moment. That wasn't merely the effect of 'art', no matter how good it was, it went deeper.

Harry couldn't keep her mind on track now. Had there been somebody in his past? Had there been a woman? A girl? Someone who had been 'the one', someone he had made 'forever plans' with? Or had there actually been a pregnancy somewhere in his murky past that had ended in miscarriage or abortion? Of course it was possible that there was a child out there; a teenager or an adult even? It was quite possible.

"Any thoughts on that?" Dempsey asked and Harry realised just how long she had been fixated on his hands for.

She looked up sharply. "Sorry, on…?"

"On the numbers."

No wisecrack from him. Nothing that might incite her to bring up what she had borne witness to she noticed.

It felt awkward.

"Well, they must be the dimensions of something. 'They're exes in between, aren't they - multiply by. Three two zero by four four zero by one zero zero," she read out, leaning over to place her index finger on the line of digits.

"Okay, I see that but what measurements are we talkin'? Feet, inches, God-damned cubits?"

He moved back. Harry was too close for comfort. He could smell the fragrance she wore at her throat, lifting up warm and familiar into his nostrils. It instantly triggered memories of last night when he had felt real, warm flesh beneath his fingertips.

"How does this help us?" he cried. "Could be the size of anythin'. What is it you use over here…millimetres?"

That was a first, Dempsey being concerned about his own personal space. He'd backed away from her as though something about her caused him offence. Was it this damned bump? Well he wasn't the only one it was bothering.

"It would work out about seventeen and a half inches long …"

And then she did something rather silly.

Maybe in a bid to provoke an explanation for what she had seen, she let her right hand fall to the rise of the pregnancy where she continued to rest it as she had seen pregnant women do a hundred times before.

"But we have to assume that Peter Cotes gave him those measurements, whatever they're for and bearing in mind that Charlie was a sculptor, it would make sense that it relates to something he was working on."

She saw his gaze drop to where her hand was now placed, absently stroking the bump, before he completely turned away, running his fingers through his hair anxiously.

"Not inches then, huh, cause we'd be lookin' at somethin'…what, like over thirty-six feet long... or tall. The studio just ain't big enough for that."

He was nervous. She was making Dempsey nervous!

"So four hundred and forty centimetres would be…" she calculated.

"Hey, don't ask me. Americans like to keep it simple. Why d'you have to have this metric crap when you already use imperial?" he griped.

Harry frowned as she worked the sum out in her head. "Four thousand four hundred millimetres divided by twenty five…four…forty…a hundred and sixty… plus sixteen is a hundred and seventy six divided by twelve…"

"Fourteen and a half feet, give or take," he finished. "Still sounds kinda big to me, you think?"

"Not impossible though and I daresay if he had done a piece that sort of size somebody would remember it."

"Okay, we can find that out easy enough. Somethin' like that, somebody woulda taken an interest I would guess."

"Of course, this is all just supposition. Those numbers aren't forced to be anything to do with his work."

"What else do we have to go on right now?" he answered dully. "We get pulled off the case tomorrow morning unless we come up with something solid."

Makepeace sighed. "There must be something here!" She flung her arm out indicating Weathervane Studios as a whole. "Either we aren't asking the right questions or someone knows more than they're letting on."

Dempsey nodded, a small smile lighting his face. "Yeah! And why might somebody here be holding out on us, huh?" he prompted.

"Because they're in whatever it is up to their necks too!"

"Exactly. Maybe it's time to let 'em know their buddy's turned up dead on a Cornwall beach, see if it gets any fish jumpin'."

Again, the Corn-waul pronunciation that she didn't correct.

Makepeace was still flicking through the paperwork. Not that she was expecting to find anything more but it meant she didn't have to keep eye contact with Dempsey for longer than was absolutely necessary.

He was covering it well but she knew him and he couldn't hide the embarrassment that still lingered on in his stilted body language.

"We could request a little meeting," Harry said, "tell them Sir Alan has been in touch to let us know Charlie was found murdered."

"Okay," he agreed. "I know how you like to play the psych major."

"You're better at it though," she allowed him. "Nothing gets past you, does it? Not a twitch, a crossing of the arms nor a licking of the lips.

She had told herself not to say that last part just a split second before it came out. It was almost cruel but she spared him her scrutiny as she slowly turned over another sheet to place face down.

She was poking him with a stick and she knew she shouldn't do it but what she had seen had so taken her aback that she simply couldn't help herself. She needed to know what had been in his mind for those few minutes because…because… what if he actually had feelings for her?

"Woulda thought Gloria would of stuck her beak around the door by now. Thought they all took a lunch break together."

So he wasn't to be drawn on the subject of body language.

"Perhaps she doesn't want to impose herself on us."

He gave her a 'you kiddin' me?' look in reply.

"Well what do you want to do then?" Makepeace asked tartly. "We're getting nowhere fast here in case you hadn't noticed."

Dempsey scowled. "I've noticed, okay?" he grated. "But that's here. Believe me, baby, I'm gonna get some answers out there tonight whatever it takes."

He jerked his thumb back and grinned rakishly. Makepeace felt her lips purse at the meaning behind his promises. It was his way of digging himself out of the hole he clearly felt he had created; it made him feel better about the fact she had caught him out in his emotional experience.

It just made Harry feel sick.

"Pillow talk, Dempsey?" she asked casually. "I expect you're quite fluent."

"I've had some practice, yeah… know all the lingo."

Again, that lascivious grin – a study in the art of provocation.

"I'm expecting great things then."

"So's Inga," he chuckled.

Would he? In the line of duty, would he sleep with this woman should the opportunity present itself? Although she was aware Dempsey was goading her, surely he wasn't stupid enough to climb between the sheets with a suspect – that suspect.

There was a knock upon the studio door and their eyes met briefly.

"Just a second," Dempsey called out.

He nodded to Harry, indicating that they should assume their roles.

He went and opened the door to a smiling Gloria.

"Hello dear. Only me. I hope I haven't interrupted you," she said, craning her neck to find 'Odette' who was making a show of retying the belt of her robe.

"No, it's fine, don't worry," she called.

"The delightful Ms. Freeman-Kelty is welcome to stop by any time," Dempsey fawned. He stood back, sweeping his arm across to bow her in.

"No, no, I won't come in," Gloria fluttered. "I'm just taking Frobisher out for walkies and wondered if you'd like anything bringing back for your lunch. I mean, it isn't like you can do a packed lunch when you're living in a hotel, now can you? Are you hungry? Shall I bring you something back?"

"That's very nice of you," said Dempsey, "but we ate already."

Makepeace hurried to the door. "Errrm, Gloria, whilst you're here, we've just had some news."

Dempsey watched her as he said, "About Charlie."

Her eyes lit up eagerly. "Really? Has he been found? Has he turned up?"

"Maybe we could get everyone together?" Harry suggested.

"Is he alright? He is alright, isn't he?" she pursued.

Fluffy white Frobisher stood up and circled restlessly, his claws clicking on the tile.

"Well, we were thinking," said Makepeace, "that if you could possibly let the others know, we could tell everyone at the same time."

"Oh, of course, yes. Shall we say twenty minutes? I'll just take Frobisher to do his business and then I'll gather the gang together."

Gloria was clearly delighted to have been placed in charge of proceedings and right now, the nature of the news seemed almost unimportant to her.

"Bloody hell!"

Masters was the first to speak.

"Poor old Charlie."

There was another stretch of silent contemplation before Jenna asked, "How did they kill him?"

"They?" Paul queried so Dempsey and Harry didn't have to. "What makes you think it was more than one person?"

Jenna shrugged. "Dunno. It's just something you say, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"Yeah, Paul, it is!" she fired back fiercely, "and I don't like what you're implying. I don't know any more than you do… in fact, maybe I know less."

Paul just laughed quietly.

"Now, now you two," Gloria admonished with a forced gaiety. "We've just had horrible news, let's not be at each other's throats. It's all upsetting enough as it is."

Makepeace saw her eyes glisten with emotion and wondered if she too should turn on the water works. "He was hit over the head," she told them.

There were murmurs of disbelief.

"What was he doing in Cornwall, anyway?" Paul asked.

"No one seems to know," replied Makepeace, trying to let her mind wander just enough to latch onto something sad that might force a tear or two. "Sir Alan said the police seem to think he might have been meeting someone down there… whoever it was who…" she allowed herself to stumble, "…who killed him."

She felt Dempsey's eyes upon her as she lowered her head briefly. The tears weren't forthcoming – she was concentrating too hard on the reactions of the artists but she was more than capable of acting upset.

"You okay, honey?" he asked.

She nodded rapidly and smiled. Play-acting over. She had displayed sufficient emotion; any bigger show and Dempsey might feel obliged to offer her comfort and she couldn't, with any sort of conscience, put him through that after the uncomfortable episode earlier.

Gloria gave her a sympathetic look. "You really don't need something like this do you, dear?"

"I just hope they throw away the key when they catch him," she said.

Billy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rubbing his knuckles up and down his forearm as he asked, "Have they got any leads yet then? I mean, you'd think with him being in Cornwall, it'd be easier 'cause he must've gone there for a reason."

"Maybe he was on the run from loan sharks!" Gloria threw in dramatically.

Jenna rolled her eyes. "Doubt that very much. He'd have just got daddy to bail him out again."

"Maybe daddy told him no this time," said Paul.

"I do wish you two wouldn't be quite so flippant," she cried, obviously not recognising the glibness of her own remark. "It's not a thing to joke about. He's dead… Charlie is dead!".

"We're not joking, Gloria," said Paul, "we're just lightening the mood, that's all."

"Well I wish you wouldn't," she sniffed.

"Sir Alan doesn't know of any connections Charlie might have had in Cornwall," Dempsey said in answer to Billy's question. "The place they found him at was a rented property on the coast. He paid the owner by bank cheque two weeks before."

"So whatever he was doing down there, it was planned," said Masters, "it wasn't necessarily some moonlight flit."

"Who knows?" replied Dempsey. "Could be he knew he was overdue what was coming to him and got organised before it hit the fan."

"What's the police take on it? What are they saying?"

Makepeace raised her head and answered sombrely, "Following leads and making enquiries. That's what they say, isn't it?" Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dempsey fold his arms against his chest. "Whatever they're doing, it won't bring him back."

There was a forlorn note in her voice and the tiniest catch. She couldn't help herself, she knew it was wrong but she wanted to know how Dempsey would handle it when she pushed him. She was forcing him into a corner, making him react to Odette's pain as Montgomery surely would. She wanted to know if he could bring himself to touch her.

"Awful, just awful." Gloria shuddered as she moved to Harry and linked her arm through hers, thereby exempting Dempsey from any husbandly duties. "That poor young man. I mean, I know he could be silly sometimes but he didn't deserve to be beaten to death."

They each agreed with varying degrees of sober reflection.

Dempsey decided to go for it. "It sounds like the police may be coming back to ask some more questions. Apparently they seem to think there was some special piece he'd been working on – something big… size-wise," he clarified. "Does that mean anything to any of you?"

"Nope," said Billy succinctly and the detectives watched the others shake their heads, puzzled by the question.

"So whadya think? You hear anything back there to get your Spidey senses tingling?" Dempsey asked.

"Can't say as I did."

"No? You didn't think that little comment Jenna made to your guy was significant?"

Harry felt her chest tighten.

"I think I've told you before, Dempsey, he isn't 'my guy'."

The smug look that he made no attempt to hide infuriated her. She really shouldn't have risen to that one again.

"If you're talking about her saying that maybe he knows more than her, then no, I don't think it was particularly significant."

Dempsey huffed. "Were you even listenin', Makepeace?" He flung his arms up in frustration. "Her exact words were, 'I don't know any more than you do, in fact, maybe I know less', did you hear that, huh, or were you dippin' your toes in la-la land again?"

"Me?" Her voice rose in disbelief. "You're suggesting my mind was elsewhere after…" She stopped. She would always long to know what had been running through his mind as his hands caressed that clay but it was one of those forbidden questions that would always remain unspoken.

"Just that I heard it like there may have been background, ya know?" he answered gruffly. "Sounded like hostility to me. You didn't hear that?"

He was right of course. She hadn't really picked it up at the time because her thoughts had been straying. She simply wasn't working to the best of her ability and they both knew it.

"Maybe," she conceded. "Or maybe he was just winding her up. I got the impression he was enjoying it."

"Well whadya know, me and your guy have got somethin' in common."

Was she supposed to find that amusing?

"We'll get Chas to run a check on Cotes, see what his current connections are, you never know," said Harry, ignoring his comment with ease. "What time do you think we we can reasonably get out of here?"