Her Moons Denouement (Fallen Angels Book 2) by Max Hardy Read Free Book Online Page B

with a friend.  A familiar friend.  Strange’s daughter.  Is that how Sarah found out about Harry, from Strange?  No pictures of a mum?  Divorced, separated?  He’s wearing a wedding ring.  Widowed?  Is that why so much empathy? On the wall opposite the door into the room, a large, what looks like an original Munch painting, ‘Golgotha’.
    ‘I need to talk to you about Jessica Seymour.  I know that Sarah had you follow the two of us and I know that you took a great deal of pictures of our ‘liaisons’, shall we say.’  What the fuck does that mean, ‘Liaisons’.  We were screwing around and he knows it.
    He hands me a glass of iced water as he sits down on the opposite side of the desk and I can see his features are perplexed and ruminating on the best way to answer the question.
    ‘I often get irate partners banging at the door, threatening to thump me for following them, wanting someone to blame for exposing their philandering.  Part of the territory.  I don’t judge, I just help.  I don’t think I’ve ever had someone I’ve been following come and ask me about their lover though.’
    ‘Believe me, if I could ask her, I would.’
    I saw his face drop and a visage of guilty ineptitude flood over it and spill into his words.  ‘Sorry, that was insensitive of me.  How can I help?’
    ‘Apart from when she was with me, what other things did you see Jessica doing?  Did she meet up with anyone else regularly?  What places did she tend to visit?  Did you notice if she travelled much?’
    He pulled a fairly thick manila folder from the pile of documents to his right and started rifling through notes and pictures.  I noticed a few images in full that Sarah had ripped to smithereens.  Of Jessica and I kissing.  Guilt roared at me, but it was always shouted down by the aching emptiness of loss.
    ‘She spent a lot of time with you, that’s one thing I will say.  Just about every day for the two weeks I was commissioned.  Other people:  she met a few ladies for coffee occasionally.’ He pulled out some pictures of Jess, looking elegant and beautiful, laughing, coming out of a café with another woman I didn’t recognise.  Two weeks?  Was I really with Jess nearly every day for two weeks?  ‘I saw her going out in the company limousine on a few occasions, twice she was dropped off at the train station and caught the Flying Scotsman up to Edinburgh, once meeting you at the station.’
    I was never with her for two weeks solid, work and home life didn’t let that happen.  Did he say Edinburgh?  With me?
    ‘Did you say Edinburgh?  With me?’
    ‘Yes.  Here’s a picture of the two of you getting on the train.’
    Impossible.  I have never been on a train with Jess.  That’s me though.  What date, what time?  That can’t be me.  I wasn’t even in Newcastle on that date. 
    ‘Is everything alright, you look a tad overcome?’ 
    ‘Can I see the other photographs of the two of us please?’
    He passes them over and I start flicking through them, scanning the dates and times in the bottom corner.  First one, yes, I remember that, we had snuck off for lunch in Corbridge.  Pile on the left.  Next.  Yes, we were planning our weekend away in Manchester.  Pile on the left.  Next.  No, no way.  I was at the station then.  In a briefing on a case.  Pile on the right.  Next, right.  Next, right.  Next, left.  Next, right.  Next, next, next, next, next.  Jesus.  Twenty ‘assignations’.  Ten on the left, ten on the right.
    ‘Detective Inspector, are you alright?’
    I stand up in agitation, pushing my chair back, leaning over the table as I position the two piles of pictures into rows in front of me, scanning the faces back forth from left to right.
    ‘These pictures on the right Mr Massah, are you sure the dates and times are correct.  Are you absolutely sure?’
    ‘Absolutely.  Why?’
    The features are the same, the hair is the same, the build is the same and