anyway.’
He guided her towards the peak of the hill. She couldn’t help but be awestruck by the magnificent structure once they crested the rise.
‘Oh, it’s brilliant!’ she exclaimed. And it was. Her bleak mood vanished at the sight of one of the most glorious medieval buildings in all of Europe.
‘We can get a closer look on our way down. They say nothing stands between its spires and the Urals of Russia,’ Jack said. ‘It was begun nearly one thousand years ago.’
‘Have you swallowed a textbook?’
‘Sorry. I admit I find history comforting.’
‘Like baking.’ She leapt back to the safe ground of work. ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking.’
‘Mmmm?’ he murmured distractedly, staring at the northern transept where work was being done.
‘Can I run a notion past you?’
He didn’t reply, still gazing at the cathedral.
‘Are you listening, DCI Hawksworth?’
‘I’m waiting for your notion, DI Carter,’ he replied.
‘Ah, right. Well, our murderer . . .’
‘Yes?’ He turned back to her, the wind that Lincoln was famous for pulling at his jacket and tousling his hair.
‘Er . . .’ Kate felt her thoughts disintegrate. This wasn’t the right time. In fact, not only did she need to take more time to think through such a crazy notion but she also needed to get a better grip on herself. Wedding or not, doubts or otherwise, this was her boss and they were working on the highest-profile criminal case in the UK right now. And while the rest of the team was applying all of its available hours to hunting the killer, she was admiring the colour of Jack Hawksworth’s hair and wondering what it might feel like if she touched it!
‘Perhaps I’ll save it for now,’ she said. ‘I need to think it through a bit.’
‘Okay, I’m all ears whenever you’re ready.’ He glanced her way quizzically. ‘Let’s go see the alleyway where Sheriff's body was dumped.’
She nodded, hiding her embarrassment by wrapping her scarf around her nose and mouth to protect her face from the wind. ‘So, have you any theories on how these two guys are connected?’
‘Well,’ he said, pointing towards the path that led down into the new quarter of the city, ‘I guess we may learn a lot more about Sheriff and Farrow if we can establish the link in Brighton.’
‘You’re thinking about the gang that Sheriff's wife mentioned, aren’t you?’
‘It’s logical, because she made it sound as though her husband had fallen in with the wrong sort. Maybe Farrow was one of them and they got up to some mischief that got out of hand, led to some crime that someone’s now trying to hide.’
‘Like what?’
‘No idea yet,’ he said, frowning as they descended a short flight of stairs. ‘Incidentally, a ghost apparently lives near these steps.’
Kate looked up, distracted. ‘What?’
‘People believe a ghost lives here and grabs you by the ankle as you walk up the steps. He sometimes appears in photos taken at this spot. People only realise when they have their films developed.’
She couldn’t resist. ‘Doesn’t he choose to appear in digital photos?’
‘Apparently not,’ Jack said, and went on before she could respond. ‘He usually turns on the light over the staircase for those.’
‘Anyone can do that,’ she replied, appreciating his helping hand on the slippery stonework.
‘Not really. They’ve never been able to make this light work.’
‘Ever?’ she asked with a shiver.
He grinned mischievously and shook his head. ‘So the story goes.’
She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but it was a good tale; definitely made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.
They’d arrived back at the Guild Hall and the traffic swirling around them and people swarming across the Mall meant all talk stopped in favour of negotiating their way through the lively activity and down towards the city’s canal where they were parked.
‘Do you know where you’re going?’ Kate asked as
He guided her towards the peak of the hill. She couldn’t help but be awestruck by the magnificent structure once they crested the rise.
‘Oh, it’s brilliant!’ she exclaimed. And it was. Her bleak mood vanished at the sight of one of the most glorious medieval buildings in all of Europe.
‘We can get a closer look on our way down. They say nothing stands between its spires and the Urals of Russia,’ Jack said. ‘It was begun nearly one thousand years ago.’
‘Have you swallowed a textbook?’
‘Sorry. I admit I find history comforting.’
‘Like baking.’ She leapt back to the safe ground of work. ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking.’
‘Mmmm?’ he murmured distractedly, staring at the northern transept where work was being done.
‘Can I run a notion past you?’
He didn’t reply, still gazing at the cathedral.
‘Are you listening, DCI Hawksworth?’
‘I’m waiting for your notion, DI Carter,’ he replied.
‘Ah, right. Well, our murderer . . .’
‘Yes?’ He turned back to her, the wind that Lincoln was famous for pulling at his jacket and tousling his hair.
‘Er . . .’ Kate felt her thoughts disintegrate. This wasn’t the right time. In fact, not only did she need to take more time to think through such a crazy notion but she also needed to get a better grip on herself. Wedding or not, doubts or otherwise, this was her boss and they were working on the highest-profile criminal case in the UK right now. And while the rest of the team was applying all of its available hours to hunting the killer, she was admiring the colour of Jack Hawksworth’s hair and wondering what it might feel like if she touched it!
‘Perhaps I’ll save it for now,’ she said. ‘I need to think it through a bit.’
‘Okay, I’m all ears whenever you’re ready.’ He glanced her way quizzically. ‘Let’s go see the alleyway where Sheriff's body was dumped.’
She nodded, hiding her embarrassment by wrapping her scarf around her nose and mouth to protect her face from the wind. ‘So, have you any theories on how these two guys are connected?’
‘Well,’ he said, pointing towards the path that led down into the new quarter of the city, ‘I guess we may learn a lot more about Sheriff and Farrow if we can establish the link in Brighton.’
‘You’re thinking about the gang that Sheriff's wife mentioned, aren’t you?’
‘It’s logical, because she made it sound as though her husband had fallen in with the wrong sort. Maybe Farrow was one of them and they got up to some mischief that got out of hand, led to some crime that someone’s now trying to hide.’
‘Like what?’
‘No idea yet,’ he said, frowning as they descended a short flight of stairs. ‘Incidentally, a ghost apparently lives near these steps.’
Kate looked up, distracted. ‘What?’
‘People believe a ghost lives here and grabs you by the ankle as you walk up the steps. He sometimes appears in photos taken at this spot. People only realise when they have their films developed.’
She couldn’t resist. ‘Doesn’t he choose to appear in digital photos?’
‘Apparently not,’ Jack said, and went on before she could respond. ‘He usually turns on the light over the staircase for those.’
‘Anyone can do that,’ she replied, appreciating his helping hand on the slippery stonework.
‘Not really. They’ve never been able to make this light work.’
‘Ever?’ she asked with a shiver.
He grinned mischievously and shook his head. ‘So the story goes.’
She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but it was a good tale; definitely made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.
They’d arrived back at the Guild Hall and the traffic swirling around them and people swarming across the Mall meant all talk stopped in favour of negotiating their way through the lively activity and down towards the city’s canal where they were parked.
‘Do you know where you’re going?’ Kate asked as
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