Leave the Grave Green

Hicks shrank back. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man,” he said, then wiped spittle from his lower lip. “Why don’t you ask that slut of his what she knows? Maybe she found out hell’d freeze over before he’d marry her.” He smiled, showing nicotine-stained teeth, and Kincaid found it no improvement over his sneer. “Maybe she shoved him in the river—did you ever think about that one, Mr. Bloody Know-it-all?”

“What makes you think he wouldn’t have married Sharon?”

“Why should he? Get himself stuck with a stupid little cow like that—take on some other bugger’s bleedin’ kid? Not on your nelly.” Sniggering, Hicks pulled another cigarette from the packet and lit it from the butt of the first. “And her with a gob like a fishwife.”

“You’re a real prince, Kenneth,” Kincaid said generously. “How do you know Sharon thought Con intended to marry her? Did she tell you?”

“Too right, she did. Said, ‘He’ll get shut of you then, Kenneth Hicks. I’ll make sure of it.’ Stupid—”

“You know, Kenneth, if you’d been the one found floating facedown in the Thames, I don’t think we’d have had to look far for a motive.”

“You threatening me, man? You can’t do that—that’s—”

“Harassment, I know. No, Kenneth, I’m not threatening you, just making an observation.” Kincaid smiled. “I’m sure you had Connor’s best interests at heart.”

“He used to tell me things, when he’d had a few, like.” Hicks lowered his voice confidentially. “Wife had him by the balls. She crooked her little finger, he’d come running with his tail between his legs. He’d had a hell of a row with her that day, the bitch—”

“What day, Kenneth?” Kincaid said very distinctly, very quietly.

Cigarette frozen halfway to his lips, Hicks stared at Kincaid like a rat surprised by a ferret. “Don’t know. You can’t prove nothing.”

“It was the day he died, wasn’t it, Kenneth? You saw Connor the day he died. Where?”

Hicks’s close-set eyes shifted nervously away from Kincaid’s face and he drew sharply on the cigarette.

“Spit it out, Kenneth. I’ll find out, you know. I’ll start by asking these nice people here.” Kincaid nodded toward the bar. “Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

“So what if I did have a couple of pints with him? How was I to know it was different from any other day?”

“Where and when?”

“Here, same as always. Don’t know what time,” Hicks said evasively, then added as he saw Kincaid’s expression, “Twoish, maybe.”

After lunch, Kincaid thought. Con had come straight here from Badger’s End. “He told you he’d had a row with Julia? What about?”

“Don’t know, do I? Nothin’ to do with me.” Hicks clamped his mouth shut so decisively that Kincaid changed tacks.

“What else did you talk about?”

“Nothin’. We just had a friendly pint, like. Not against the law, is it, havin’ a friendly drink with a mate?” Hicks asked, voice rising as if he might be working himself up to hysteria.

“Did you see Connor again after that?”

“No, I never. Not after he left here.” He took a last drag on his cigarette and ground it out in the ashtray.

“Where were you that night, Kenneth? From eight o’clock or so on?”

Shaking his head, Hicks said, “None of your friggin’ business, is it? I’ve had enough of your bleedin’ harassment. I ain’t done nothin’, fuckin’ filth got no right to keep after me.” He shoved his empty glass away and pushed back on his stool, watching Kincaid, the whites of his eyes showing beneath the irises.

Kincaid debated the benefit of pushing him any farther, and decided against it. “All right, Kenneth, have it your way. But stay around where I can find you, just in case we need to have another little visit.” Hicks’s stool screeched against the floor as he stood up. As he pushed past, Kincaid reached up and sank his fingers into the sleeve of his leather jacket. “If you even think about disappearing, boyo, I’ll have the lads after you so fast you won’t be able to find a hole big enough to hide your skinny backside. Do we understand each other, mate?”

After a long moment, Hicks nodded and Kincaid smiled and let him go. “There’s a good boy, Ken. See you around.”

Kincaid turned and watched Hicks scuttle out the door into the street, then he carefully wiped his fingers against his jeans.

CHAPTER

10

Not one to let good beer go to waste, Kincaid drained the last drop of his pint. He considered briefly having another, but the pub’s atmosphere didn’t encourage lingering.

Out in the street, he sniffed the air curiously. He’d noticed the smell when he arrived in town, but it seemed stronger now. Familiar but elusive… tomatoes cooking, perhaps? Finding his car free of sprayed graffiti and still in possession of its wheel covers, Kincaid stood still for a moment and closed his eyes. Hops. Of course it was hops—it was Monday and the brewery was in full operation. The wind must have shifted since he’d arrived at the pub, bringing the rich odor with it. The brewery would be closing soon, as well as most of the shops, he thought as he glanced at his watch—rush hour, such as it was, had begun in Henley.