Page 57 of The Girls in the Lake
‘Why don’t you jump in? I’m starving so we could go get something then I’ll give you a lift home. If you’re not doing anything else, that is.’
Ethan couldn’t believe his luck. ‘That would be amazing, thank you, Grace.’
He opened the passenger door and she swept an empty crisp packet, handbag and a pair of headphones onto the floor. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess. I haven’t had time to clean it.’
‘You should see my cabin, it’s not much better.’
She parked the car, but left the engine running with the heater blasting warm air onto his face. If there was a God then his prayers had been answered. He’d so hoped to see Grace again and never imagined for a minute it would be so soon.
Five minutes later she was rushing out of the doors back to the car.
‘God, she’s a complete psycho at times; she does nothing but moan about what I’m doing and who I’m with.’
He laughed. ‘Who?’
‘My mother, she works here.’
‘I’m sure it’s because she loves you.’
‘It may well be, but she still gets on my nerves. Where should we go for something to eat?’
‘What do you fancy?’
She looked him straight in the eye. ‘You.’
He felt a rush of warmth flood his cheeks and laughed. She’d seemed so quiet last night. Wasn’t alcohol supposed to free your inhibitions? Maybe she’d felt a little out of her depth with all the rich kids. He knew that feeling all too well. Looking at her, he didn’t quite know what to say.
‘I suppose we could get a pizza and go back to my place, but it’s not up to much and according to my friend James it stinks.’
She laughed. ‘James sounds like a right charmer. I’m sure it’s not that bad. Pizza sounds great. I’d say we could go to mine, but my little sister is there with her friend and I can’t take any more Justin Bieber YouTube video sing-alongs.’
He laughed too. ‘I can’t say I blame you; pizza and my cabin by the lake it is then.’
She reached out, patting his hand. ‘Perfect.’
Sixty-Four
When the phone on Josh’s desk rang with news that James Marshall’s solicitor, Oliver Millen, was here, he was seriously impressed. The Marshalls must have more money than even he’d imagined, for them to have a solicitor arrive so fast on a dreary Sunday evening. He’d gone downstairs and signed him in, then led him through to the custody suite. Both Marshall and Johnson had been taken through there to the formal interview rooms. Both had an officer waiting with them until their legal representation arrived. Johnson hadn’t specified a particular one so he would get the duty solicitor, who would not be arriving here so fast.
Josh and Sam made their way through the station to where Marshall was being held. With a solicitor beside him, it would be ‘no comment’ from here on in from James, but they had to press him, nonetheless.
The door opened and the solicitor stuck his head out.
‘We’re ready now.’
Josh shook his hand and introduced both himself and Sam. He glanced over at James Marshall, who still looked as calm and cool about the whole situation as when he’d been approached at the marina earlier. All of them took a seat except for Marshall, who was already sitting down. Josh turned the tape on and did a full introduction. He then read James Marshall the caution. Marshall interrupted partway through.
‘Hang on a minute, you said this was a friendly chat about last night. Why am I being cautioned; in fact, why have I been brought into here?’ He threw his arms in the air.
Sam answered. ‘We did want a friendly chat, but then you asked for legal representation. We had no choice but to make it formal. This is your decision, Mr Marshall. We are only following your wishes.’
Josh finished the caution. ‘As we said earlier, at the moment we need to ascertain the circumstances surrounding Tamara Smythson’s death.’
James jumped up, his hands in front of him. ‘Whoa, no one said anything about her being dead. She wasn’t dead last night when she was pulled out of the lake. I don’t know anything about this. It’s nothing to do with me.’
Millen clamped his hand around James’s arm. ‘Sit down, James, remember what we discussed?’
Josh knew what was coming next; the age-old dance between criminals and their lawyers.
