Chapter Eighteen
She hit ‘Start Again’ to go back to the show’s nine p.m. start and was surprised to hear a quiver in Edward’s voice as he told his listeners: ‘Tonight we’re asking questions about the motorbike crash on Sidmouth Promenade.
The first one is “who”. Who did it? As we now know from the latest official police statement, the man who sadly died was Ukrainian.
But from the Donbas, the part that leans towards Russia.
And the bike he was riding had false plates.
So we do need to ask who this man was, and why we seem to know so little about him. ’
There was some programme music, and then Edward came back in. ‘The second question is “why”. Why would he do that? What if it wasn’t an accident? What if it was an attack? We don’t want to speculate recklessly, but as long as there are no official answers, I feel we need to. False plates?’
Kim felt herself waking rapidly as she listened.
‘The third question is “what”. What was the motorbike rider doing there? Why have the police not only kept the barriers up but extended them further? What is going on in that pizza parlour that we don’t know about?’
Edward repeated: ‘Who, why, what?’
She snapped herself fully awake. There was an urgent pitch in Edward’s voice.
He was a relaxed broadcaster normally, but this did not sound relaxed.
This police statement was new information, and Edward was clearly drawing connections between the identity of the rider and the extended police perimeter.
He brought callers into the conversation on the radio.
And then he made what sounded like an official appeal – ‘The police have again stated they need to make contact with everyone who was in the pizza parlour when the bike crashed there. Please don’t worry, but do call Devon Police in Sidmouth or Exeter tomorrow at the latest if you were there. ’
She went to bed after an hour and woke again with Edward’s body beside her.
It was four in the morning. She had almost forgotten he was staying tonight.
Agitated, she went downstairs in the dark and put the kettle on.
Edward’s offer still made her smile: ‘Come and live with me in a condemned house.’ ‘Why would I live in a dangerous wreck like that?’ ‘Because you sold it to me.’ Maybe she was the dangerous wreck.
At least she had divorced Anthony. But the arrival of Roddy in Stevie’s life was like nature rebalancing, an ancient law proven – vicious men would always find partners. She hated the idea of having to watch Stevie get hitched. She made weak tea and drank it, thinking: Down with Roddies.