Page 129 of The Mercy Chair

‘But I just don’t care.’

Chapter 113

It seemed Eve Bowman was sticking to her early morning, pre-work yoga routine. Poe was impressed. Even when he was in the army he’d hated exercise for exercise’s sake. Couldn’t believe there were people living in Cumbria who drove to the gym to sit on an exercise bike for an hour instead of cycling up and down the fells. These days he exercised by walking Edgar, sometimes for hours at a time, and by chopping logs for his wood burner. He liked cutting his own fuel; for one thing, he got warm twice.

As she had the first time he’d visited, Eve opened the door before he’d had a chance to knock.

‘Three times in a week, Sergeant Poe,’ she said. ‘If we’re not careful people might think we’re having an affair.’

‘Sorry, Eve. I’d have called first and made an appointment, but I live nearby and I don’t actually have your number.’

‘That’s OK,’ she said. She peered at him. ‘Have you been up all night? You look exhausted.’

‘It’s been a long shift,’ he admitted. ‘And it’s kind of why I’m here.’

‘Oh? You’d better come in then. The coffee’s on and the kitchen’s still nice and cool.’

She led him to the back of the house. She was right; the kitchen was beautifully cool. It was south facing, so hadn’t yet been touched by the morning sun. Eve poured him a mug of coffee and he sniffed it appreciatively. It was nectar compared to the slop in a Styrofoam cup Nightingale had handed him only a couple of hours earlier.

‘Before I forget,’ Eve said, ‘you mustn’t leave here without some of my jam. Thomas has it all labelled and ready for the pantry. You have to take some of the raspberry; it’s to die for.’

‘I will,’ Poe said. And he meant it. He didn’t ordinarily like sweet stuff, but he’d make an exception for homemade raspberry jam.

‘Now, what can I do for you, Sergeant Poe?’

‘There’s something I need to tell you and it isn’t going to be pleasant to hear. Has your husband left for work yet?’

‘No, he’s working from home today.’

‘I think he needs to hear this as well.’

‘You’re scaring me, Sergeant Poe,’ Eve said. ‘What is it?’

‘Can you call Thomas, please?’

She moved to the stairs and shouted for her husband.

‘He’ll be down soon. He enjoys a lie-in when he works from home, but he was awake and reading when I came down for my yoga.’

Thomas took the seat next to his wife and picked up the coffee she’d poured him. He was wearing pyjamas and a loosely tied paisley dressing gown. Poe watched as he put three spoons of sugar in his coffee.

‘What brings you all the way here, Sergeant Poe?’ he asked.

‘He has something to tell us,’ Eve said.

‘He does?’

‘I do,’ Poe said. ‘Things have moved quickly in the last few hours, and I wanted to let you know what I can. You’ll appreciate some of it needs to stay under wraps for now.’

He spent five minutes taking them on an evolutionary journey that began with Cornelius Green’s murder and ended with him sitting in Israel Cobb’s living room.

‘What does all this mean, Sergeant Poe?’ Eve asked. ‘While it does sound absolutely dreadful, I’m not sure it warranted you driving all the way here.’

‘Bethany didn’t kill your parents, Eve,’ Poe said, like he was ripping off a plaster.

Eve’s eyes widened then went blank. Her mug stopped halfway to her lips. Thomas put his arm around her and pulled her close.

‘Sergeant Poe, I’m going to assume you’re not a stupid man,’ Thomas said. ‘So if you say Bethany didn’t kill my wife’s parents it’s because you know with absolute certainty that she didn’t.’

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