The Order of Things by Graham Hurley Page B

strength?’
    ‘Strength?’
    ‘Do you know any of these people?’
    ‘Only Nikki Drew.’
    ‘And Bentner?’
    ‘He knows her too. She’s part of the same team.’
    ‘So you manage her?’
    ‘I do.’
    ‘And?’
    There was a brief silence. Then Forshaw was back on the line.
    ‘What is it you want to know, Mr Suttle? Let’s not waste each other’s time.’
    ‘I want to know whether she and Bentner might be close.’
    ‘You mean sexually? Emotionally?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘That I doubt. Nikki is already in a relationship.’
    ‘With another guy?’
    ‘I didn’t say that.’
    ‘I see.’ Suttle made a note. ‘So where does she live? Ms Drew?’
    ‘Topsham.’
    ‘You have the address? Contact details?’
    ‘Of course.’ Suttle heard a sigh. ‘I’ll put them in an email.’
    The conversation came to an end. Golding had drifted across the MIR and perched himself on Suttle’s desk. The force helicopter had been criss-crossing Dartmoor for the last hour. It had an infrared camera aboard, and if Bentner was still out there somewhere, there was just a chance that body heat might give him away. Nandy had also put in a bid to use Royal Navy and coastguard assets if another search area presented itself, but so far there’d been no response to either request.
    Houghton, intrigued by Bentner’s recent interest in letterboxing, had also tasked a team of officers to start scouring likely sites on the southern fringes of the moor. Maybe Buzzard ’s fugitive may have left some kind of message. Maybe this was another back passage to the wanted man.
    Suttle wanted to know whether any other leads had emerged.
    ‘The guys boshing Reilly’s cottage called in. They’ve just finished.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘They’ve found bits of glass and wine stains around the living room. They’re thinking someone tried to clear it all up but didn’t do a great job. The pattern suggests some kind of fracas.’
    Suttle nodded. This latest news fitted the picture of Reilly and Bentner that was beginning to develop: their volatility, their passion for each other, Bentner’s fondness for strong drink. Then he had another thought. Stupid , he thought. I’m so, so stupid .
    ‘The scene at Bentner’s place,’ he said. ‘Reilly on the bed.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘She had a tan. She’d been somewhere hot.’
    ‘Like the back garden?’
    ‘Not a tan like that. No way. We need to check it out. Try the practice. Or maybe those neighbours of hers. Find out whether she took a break over the last couple of weeks. Then cross-check with Sheila Forshaw.’
    ‘I’m not with you, skip.’
    ‘See if Bentner went too.’
    Golding headed for his own desk, then paused. He wanted to know whether it might be safe to bank on having the evening free. Serafin had scored a couple of tickets to a stand-up gig in Taunton and Golding fancied going along.
    ‘Stand-up?’ Suttle could use a few laughs himself.
    ‘Yeah.’ He named a couple of broadcast comedians Suttle had never heard of. Golding’s nod covered the entire room. ‘This inquiry’s nearly through, skip. All we have to do is wait for Bentner to show up. A few beers won’t do us any harm.’
    Suttle smiled. His PC signalled an incoming email. It was Sheila Forshaw with Nikki Drew’s contact details. She’d just talked to Nikki, and she was happy to have a conversation with Suttle this evening if that might help.
    Suttle responded, accepting the invitation, then sat back. Golding was still waiting for an answer.
    ‘You go.’ Suttle nodded at the screen. ‘I’ll sort this.’

Thirteen
    W EDNESDAY, 11 J UNE 2014, 17.01
    Frances Bevan lived on an estate on the edges of Lympstone. Its sturdy properties had been built as council houses and later sold to their tenants on very favourable terms. Over the last couple of decades the village had become a trophy postcode and prices had gone through the roof. Frances Bevan was one of the original tenants who’d stayed on. And so, as it turned out, was