Leave the Grave Green

Kincaid met Gemma’s eyes across the table and she saw the flash of victory, but he only said, “Good man. Do you remember what time he came in on Thursday?”

“Late-ish. Must have been after eight.” Warming up to his tale, David continued, “Sometimes he came in by himself, but usually he was with people I thought must be clients of some sort. Not that I eavesdropped on purpose, mind you,” he added, looking a bit uncomfortable, “but when you’re waiting tables sometimes you can’t help but overhear, and they seemed to be talking business.”

“And that night?” Gemma prompted.

“I remember it particularly because it was different. He came in alone, and even then he didn’t seem his usual self. He was short with me, for one thing. ‘Something’s really got on his wick,’ I thought.” Remembering Gemma, he added, “Sorry, miss.”

She smiled at him. “Don’t mind me.”

“Mr. Swann, now, he could put it away with the best of them, but he was always jolly with it. Not like some.” David made a face and Gemma nodded sympathetically. As if that had reminded him of his other customers, he glanced at the table in the back, but its occupants were still too engrossed in one another to notice his lack of attention. “Then this other bloke came in, and they took a table for dinner.”

“Did they know each other?” Kincaid asked.

“What did—” Gemma interjected, but Kincaid stopped her with a quickly lifted hand.

“Oh, I’m sure they must have done. Mr. Swann stood up as soon as the other bloke came in the door. They went straight to their table after that, so I didn’t hear what they said—custom was fairly good that night—but things seemed friendly enough at first.”

“And then?” Kincaid said into the moment’s pause.

David looked from one to the other, less comfortable now. “I guess you could say they had a heated discussion. Not a shouting match—they didn’t really raise their voices, but you could tell they were arguing. And Mr. Swann, well, he always enjoyed the food here, made a point to compliment the cook, that sort of thing.” He paused, as if making sure they fully understood the import of what he was about to say. “He didn’t even finish his dinner.”

“Do you remember what he had?” Kincaid asked, and Gemma knew he was thinking of the still incomplete lab report on the contents of Connor’s stomach.

“Steak. Washed down with a good part of a bottle of Burgundy.”

Kincaid considered this, then asked, “What happened after that?”

David shifted in his chair and scratched his nose. “They paid their bills—separately—and left.”

“They left together?” Gemma asked, clarifying the point.

Nodding, David said, “Still arguing, as far as I could tell.” He was fidgeting more obviously now, turning around in his chair to glance at the bar.

Gemma looked at Kincaid, and receiving an almost imperceptible nod, said, “Just one more thing, David. The other man, what did he look like?”

David’s smile lit his face. “Very elegant, nice dresser, if you know what I mean. Tall, thin, fairish—”he puckered his brow and thought for a moment—“in his fifties, I should think, but he’d kept himself well.”

“Did he pay by credit card?” Kincaid asked hopefully.

Shaking his head and looking genuinely regretful, David said, “Sorry. Cash.”

Making an effort to keep the excitement out of her voice, Gemma congratulated him. “You’re very observant, David. We seldom get a description half as good.”

“It’s the job,” he said, smiling. “You get in the habit. I put names with the faces when I can. People like to be recognized.” Pushing back his chair, he looked questioningly from one to the other. “All right if I clear up now?”

Kincaid nodded and handed him a business card. “You can ring us if you think of anything else.”

David had stood and deftly stacked their dirty dishes on his arm when he stopped and seemed to hesitate. “What happened to him? Mr. Swann. You never said.”

“To tell you the truth, we’re not quite sure, but we are treating it as a suspicious death,” said Gemma. “His body was found in the Thames.”

The plates rattled and David steadied them with his other hand. “Not along here, surely?”

“No, at Hambleden Lock.” Gemma fancied she saw a shadow of relief cross the young man’s face, but put it down to the normal human tendency to want trouble kept off one’s own patch.

David reached for another dish, balancing it with nonchalant ease. “When? When did it happen?”

“His body was found early Friday morning,” Kincaid said, watching David with a pleasant expression that Gemma recognized as meaning his interest was fully engaged.

“Friday morning?” David froze, and although Gemma couldn’t be sure in the flickering reflection from the fire, she thought his face paled. “You mean Thursday night…”

The front door opened and a large and fairly well-heeled party came in, faces rosy with the cold. David looked from them to the couple in the back, who were finally showing signs of restiveness. “I’ll have to go. Sorry.” With a flash of an apologetic smile and a rattle of crockery, he hurried to the bar.