The Honeytrap: Part 4 Read Online Free Page B

and asked, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had any news on Sylvie?’
    ‘Nothing useful. They let Keynes go yesterday.’
    Jess’s eyes widened. ‘What? Are you kidding me?’
    ‘He admitted giving her a lift to Chalk Farm Tube but claims that was the last time he saw her.’
    She didn’t ask where he’d got the information – he was an ex-cop and still had contacts in the Force – but she baulked at it. ‘And they believe him? They can’t. He’s lying. He has to be.’
    Mac gave a shrug and she could see that his mind wasn’t on it; he was, understandably, preoccupied by Harry’s plight. ‘Okay, well … let me know if you hear anything else.’ She closed the door, passed through reception and headed upstairs.
    It was six months since she’d last been in Harry’s flat, shortly after he’d first moved in and they’d been investigating the Minnie Bright murder. It had changed a lot since then. The walls had stayed white – she’d started painting them herself – but their starkness had been relieved by a couple of framed Edward Hopper prints, dark red curtains, a Persian rug and a soft brown leather sofa. It was still a very masculine space but it had a touch of warmth too.
    The next thing she noticed was the two mugs on the coffee table, both of them full to the brim. She stood and stared at them for a while. Cold coffee. A conversation interrupted or two people who had changed their minds? Maybe two people who had decided to skip the small talk and … There was a crumpled blanket on the sofa. She bent down, picked it up and held it to her nose. Yes, there was a definite whiff of scent. A woman, then – and the first name that sprang into her head was Ellen Shaw.
    There was nothing to prove it one way or another but her lip curled at the thought of the two of them together. Surely he wouldn’t? Not that it was any of her business what he did in his private life, but that woman was acid. She was corrosive, destructive, the type who could burn the soul out of a man and not think twice about it.
    Jess chucked the blanket back on the sofa and went through to Harry’s bedroom. She opened the wardrobe and stared at the contents. It was then that it really struck her that he might not be coming home again. Trials were unpredictable and juries got it wrong. If Harry was charged, tried and convicted he could be looking at twenty years or more.
    Quickly putting that thought aside she ran her fingers along the rail of suits, about ten or so, and tried to decide on the most suitable. Her eyes alighted on the grey Armani but she dismissed it instantly. It was too smart, too elegant. She chose instead a navy blue that was smart without being ostentatious. She laid it on the bed and added a couple of white shirts, two ties – one red, one blue – before going in search of some underwear.
    Jess didn’t feel entirely comfortable rooting through Harry’s smalls, but she gathered up some pants and socks, added them to the pile and took the whole lot through to the living room. As she laid the clothes on the sofa, she noticed a slip of paper lying on the floor. She bent down and picked it up. It was in Harry’s handwriting:
Back in half an hour. Please wait for me
. And then she was in no doubt at all. Someone had been here last night, and that someone must have given Harry the gun.

25
    Jess sat in the Mini in the car park of the Fox and scrolled through the menu on her phone. Mac hadn’t been quite as impressed by the note as she’d hoped – or convinced that it had anything to do with the case.
    ‘So maybe he had a friend round. There’s no law against it and there’s nothing to say it was Ellen Shaw. And even if it was, what’s the link between her and Caroline Westwood? Why would she want to kill the woman?’
    ‘I don’t know what the link is but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Ellen met Danny Street on Saturday night. He dropped her off right here, across the road.’
    Mac’s ears had pricked