Take Out by Felicity Young Page B

felt like a celebration.
    ‘Time off so you can look after Inspector McGuire?’
    God he was irritating. Why did he have to call Mont ‘inspector’ all the time? ‘Yes, if he lets me,’ she said, scooping the beer from the counter. The delicate green bottle of water looked incongruous in Fowler’s thick hand.
    They carried their drinks to the only free table in the lounge, rammed against a sidewall near the loos. The place was more crowded than usual, many of the clientele fixated on a soccer game on the wide-screen TV above the bar. Fowler poured his Perrier into a glass and Stevie checked her missed calls, an emergency call from the hospital foremost in her mind. There was nothing from the hospital, she discovered to her relief, but she did find a voice message from Skye.
    Stevie stared at her phone. The message had been sent the day Skye died. The illuminated screen swam before her eyes. Her first tears for Skye could not have come at a worse time. Swivelling in her chair she turned her back on Fowler, took a steadying breath and dialled 101. After listening to the message she placed the phone on the table and slid it toward him.
    ‘Are you okay?’ he asked stiffly.
    Stevie sniffed, swiped her eyes with a table napkin. ‘Do I look it?’
    Frowning, he picked up the phone and glanced at the screen. ‘From Skye?’
    ‘Have a listen,’ Stevie said, lifting her glass and swallowing several mouthfuls of beer.
    He listened, unmoving, then put the phone back on the table. The sparkling water in his glass ticked through the silence between them.
    ‘She said she thought there was a connection between Ralph Hardegan and the Pavels,’ he said at last.
    Stevie kept her eyes on her glass of beer. ‘And Mrs Hardegan thinks she was murdered.’
    There was another long silence as they considered Skye’s last words, both floating in their own private bubbles of misery. Everyone else in the tavern seemed to be laughing and flirting, roaring at the soccer game, getting on with having a bloody good time. Someone put a coin in the jukebox. The noise hammered at her ears and sank into her chest.
    ‘I thought the old lady was talking crap,’ Fowler shouted above the racket. ‘But I’m not so sure now—she might be right.’
    Stevie pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I can’t think in here. Come outside.’ He followed her into the street where she turned and asked abruptly. ‘You still on the Pavel case?’
    Fowler leaned into the brick wall of the tavern as if he needed it to stay upright. ‘Only helping out now. When the pathologist IDed the body and confirmed that it belonged to Delia Pavel, I handed the case over to the Serious Crime Squad. The officer in charge is an acting DI called Angus Wong; he seems very efficient. I’ve been delegated some tasks. ’
    Stevie ignored the bitterness of his words; she had enough problems of her own without worrying about Fowler’s shattered career and flimsy ego, although she did agree with his assessment of Angus’s efficiency. ‘He’s Monty’s right hand man, “acting up” while Monty’s on sick leave.’ She paused, rested her hands in the back pocket of her jeans and considered the possibilities. ‘What tasks have you been given?’
    ‘Mainly reinterviewing the neighbours and the people Jon Pavel worked with. I think it’s worth mentioning the disappearance of Ralph Hardegan to Wong, even though the man might just be away on business. He was interviewed when Pavel first disappeared, but not by me. I don’t think he was able to shed any light on it. I’ll see if I can get clearance for an APB and a nationwide search. We need to talk to him again.’
    Stevie nibbled at her bottom lip; maybe it was time to put aside some pride. Through the closed tavern door she heard The Panics singing ‘Don’t Fight It’—maybe they had a point.
    ‘Need a hand with these tasks?’ she asked, keeping her gaze fixed on the dirty slabs of the pavement.
    Out of the corner of