Rania Algafari never asked to be different, and when she escaped the war in Syria and moved to the UK, her only goal was to live her life in peace. Get up, go to work, avoid talking to the dead - that sort of thing.
But not everyone dies quietly, an...
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I mashed the accelerator to the floor in the BMW, wishing I'd borrowed RJ's Porsche so I could have shaved two minutes off my journey into town. I hadn't wanted to leave Rania alone at Daylesford Hall, but I couldn't afford to pass up the chance to speak to Aiden. Why had he suddenly reappeared and gone to the cinema? That was hardly the action of a guilty man.
RJ couldn't tell me what film Aiden had gone to see, so I bought a flat white in the coffee shop some enterprising soul had opened in the foyer of the Odeon and found myself a table overlooking the escalator that brought the moviegoers back from the screens. Please, say I hadn't missed the guy.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and I was just studying the film listings on my phone to see what was on when I caught sight of Aiden coming towards me from Screen Four, head down and shoulders slumped. He was alone, and he looked thoroughly miserable considering he'd just watched—I quickly checked the schedule—the new James Bond movie.
I fell into step behind him, then accidentally-on-purpose bumped into him as we both went to open the same door.
"Sorry, I— Aiden?"
He gave me that blank look. You know, the one where you have no idea who a person is, but you desperately don't want to admit that? Then it came to him, and relief washed over his face, quickly followed by the shutters coming down.
"You're that detective."
"Will Lawson. How are things going?"
"Okay," he said, but he sounded far from sure about that.
"Really? I thought you might still be struggling to get over the death of your girlfriend."
He stopped dead in his tracks, exactly as I'd hoped. First, his face paled to a deathly white, then brightened to red, and he glanced around at the thinning crowd in the cinema. No, still too many people. He didn't dare make a scene. So he tried for denial instead.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Let me refresh your memory. Wednesday evenings, the Lanefield Park Hotel, Helene, room service, a little—"
"Stop!" Now his eyes glistened as he battled the full spectrum of emotions.
"We need to talk. You've lied to me, you've lied to the police, and I'm betting you're smart enough to understand that's bumped you right to the top of the suspect list."
"I didn't kill Helene!" A couple of people turned to stare, and Aiden lowered his voice. "I loved her."
He tried to push past me, and a woman who reminded me of my high school biology teacher glared as he bumped her arm.
"If you don't talk to me, you'll have to talk to the police, and I doubt they'll be so understanding about your bullshit."
