Cold Light (10 page)

“I assumed …”

“Of course. People do. But her friend, Nancy Phelan, seemingly didn't.”

“I told you, Inspector, I know nothing about that. Nothing about that at all. I may have noticed her once or twice in the course of the evening, talking with Dana. At least, I assume it was her. But later, no. I'm sorry. I wish I could be of more help.”

“When do you think you'll be back down here, sir? In the city.”

“We'd planned to stay here until after the New Year.”

“There are some addresses we still haven't been able to track down,” Resnick said. “You've no objection if we ask your assistant for her help?”

“Yvonne? No, of course not. The firm will do anything it can.”

“And you, Mr. Clarke? Yourself?”

“Of course, but I really don't see …”

“Thank you, Mr. Clarke. Thanks for your time.”

When Andrew Clarke went back through the flagstoned kitchen, seeking out some fifteen-year-old malt, his wife remarked that for some reason he seemed to be sweating, She hoped he wasn't coming down with something, a cold.

Divine's back was aching, sitting in the same position too long, asking the same questions. Naylor had been out in search of a takeaway and returned empty handed, everywhere shut tight as an old maid's arse. Even the mints had run out.

“Oh, her with the dress and the legs,” a voice was saying at the other end of his phone. “You kidding? Course I remember her. What about her?”

There was a moment when Dana arrived back at the flat when she was certain Nancy would be there. It lasted only as long as it took to push the front door closed behind her, slip the catch on the lock, and feel the emptiness settle round her shoulders like a shroud.

Twelve

“Another cup of tea?”

“Say what?”

“Another cup of tea?”

Gary reached out and turned the TV down, unable to hear Michelle from the kitchen above the roar of pre-recorded laughter.

“Tea?”

By that time she was in the doorway, ski pants and sweater, and even though the sweater hung loose he could see how she was getting her figure back after Natalie. See: he knew. Strands of hair hung loose across her face. Gary wanted to give her a look, the look towards the stairs, but he knew what she would say. Karl's this minute dropped off; the baby'll be awake soon anyway.

“Gary?”

So, all right, what was wrong with down here? Least, in front of what was left of the fire, they'd keep warm.

“C'm here,” he said.

“What for?”

But she knew the grin, the way it was meant to make her feel. “I've got the kettle on,” she said.

“Then take it off.”

“Oh, Gary, I don't know.”

“Well, I do. Come on.” Winking. “While it's hot.”

Pushing the hair out of her eyes, Michelle went back into the kitchen and switched the kettle off. She'd been so pleased when Gary had come home, late on Christmas Eve, relieved, she would have made love to him there and then, but all he'd wanted was to carry on about the bastard coppers, the bastard law, bastards at the Housing whose fault it all was anyway. Hadn't even wanted to see the kids. Ask after Karl. Take a look at his face.

She hadn't told Gary about that. Not any of it. The social worker, visit to the doctor, none of it. It would only make more trouble. He couldn't stand it, Gary couldn't, not ever, every Tom, Dick, and Harry coming round from Social Services, barging into the place as though they owned it, telling him how to bring up his own kids.

“Get us a decent place,” that was what he'd said last time. “Get us a decent place and then we'll bring 'em up decent, you see.”

But what if they don't, Michelle had wanted to ask? What if we have to stay here? What then?

“Michelle? You coming or what?” When she got back into the room, he had switched off the television, turned out the light, pushed the settee closer to the fire. He was leaning back against the far end of it, legs stretched out, slightly parted. Those jeans on, no way she couldn't tell he was excited.

“Well?”

Forcing a smile on to her face, she started towards him; if only she could get the memory of him hitting Karl out of her mind, it might be all right.

He was kissing her, tongue pushing against her teeth, one hand reaching under her sweater when Lynn Kellogg knocked sharply on the door.

Lynn had talked to Dana earlier, back at the station, drinking tea and trying not to mind that the smoke from the other woman's cigarettes kept drifting into her face, irritating her eyes. What is she, Lynn thought? Six years older than me? Seven? One of those round faces, not unlike her own, in the right circumstances they were full of life; dark eyes with an energy, a glow. But sitting there, on and on about Nancy, the same details, facts, suspicions, what Dana had looked was heavy-featured, exhausted, her face flabby and pale.

“Isn't there a friend you could stay with?” Lynn had asked. “Just for tonight. Rather than being on your own.”

But Dana had insisted, she had to be there, by the telephone when Nancy rang, by the door when she walked back in.

“You think she's all right, don't you?” Dana had said suddenly, clutching Lynn's arm. “You do think she's all right?

It wasn't yet twenty-four hours; there was still time for her to turn up unannounced, unharmed. A postcard. Phone call.
I just had to get away, Sorry if you were worried. Chance came along and I took it
. It happened all the time. People taking off on an impulse, a whim. Paris, London, or Rome. Those weren't the incidents Lynn had to deal with, not closely, not often. The twenty-four hours would stretch to forty-eight and if there'd been no word from her by then, no sign … Well, there was still time.

Although the lights seemed to be out, she could hear voices inside; reversing her gloved hand, she knocked again.

“Yeh?” It was Gary who finally came to the door, still pushing one side of his shirt back down into his jeans. Behind him, Michelle had switched on the light.

Lynn showed Gary her warrant card and asked if she could come in.

“What's this about then?”

“It might be easier if we talked inside.”

“Easier for who?”

“Gary …” Michelle began.

“You keep out of this!”

In the center of the room, involuntarily, Michelle flinched, a spasm of fear passing across her eyes.

Lynn set one foot on the scarred boards inside the door.

“Who said you …?”

“Gary …”

“I thought I told you …”

“Better we talk here,” Lynn said, “than back down at the station. Surely?” Gary's head dipped and he stepped away. “You'll not want to let too much cold in,” Lynn said. “Night like this.” And she pushed the front door closed.

“I was going to make tea,” Michelle said.

“She'll not be here that long,” Gary said. “This isn't going to take all night.”

“A cup of tea would be nice,” Lynn said. “Thanks.” She smiled and Michelle headed off for the kitchen, glad to be out of there and leave the two of them alone.

Except that the settee had been moved, nothing seemed to have changed since Lynn was there the day before. The same squares of worn carpet, oddments of furniture that had come from Family First. Two or three Christmas streamers, held in place with pins. A few Christmas cards. Mold in the corners, damp on the walls. Despite what was left of the fire, it was cold enough for Lynn to think twice before taking off her gloves.

“Well?” Gary lit his cigarette, then dropped the spent match on the floor.

“Where were you last night?” Lynn asked.

“You know bloody well where I was last night.”

“After you were released.”

“Where the hell d'you think I was?”

“That's what I'm asking.”

“Here, of course. Where d'you think I was going to fucking go?”

In the doorway, Michelle bit her tongue; if only Gary didn't lose his temper all the time.

“So you were here all evening?”

“Yes.”

“From what time?”

“Listen, I want to know what all this's about.”

“From what time were you here?”

“From right after you bastards let me out!”

“Which would be when?” Lynn said. “Eight? Half-past eight?”

“It was twenty to nine,” Michelle said. “Almost exactly. I remember.”

Gary looked as though he was going to tell her to keep quiet, but he scowled instead.

“And you didn't go out again?”

“Isn't that what I just said?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well …” Coming towards her now, past the edge of the settee, right up close, “… that's exactly what I'm saying now. I came in and I never went out. Not till this morning. Right?”

Lynn could smell his tobacco breath, warm on her face. Dinner. Beer.

“And Nancy Phelan?”

“Who?” But she could tell in his eyes that he knew.

“Nancy Phelan.”

“What about her?”

“You do know who I mean, then?”

“Course I know.”

“And did you see her?”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“You know bloody well …”

“Not at the Housing Office. Later.”

“When?”

“Any time.”

“No.”

“You didn't see Nancy at any other time?”

“No.”

“Not that evening? Later yesterday evening? Christmas Eve?”

“I told you, didn't I? I never went out.”

Michelle was hovering in the doorway. “How d'you want your tea?” she asked.

“How d'you think she wants it? In a bastard cup.”

“I mean d'you want sugar?”

“One, thanks.”

Gary turned away disgusted. He's a kid, Lynn thought, younger than me. Stuck in this place with a wife and a couple of kids. Except she isn't even his wife. And what is he? Nineteen? Twenty? Twenty-one? Is it any wonder he needs to shout? And at me. If Divine had come round instead, she thought, Kevin Naylor, he wouldn't be carrying on like this. At least, not while they were here. The anger, he'd bottle it up for later.

She remembered the flinch of pain on Michelle's face. Karl's bruising.

Injuries consistent with the mother's story that he had run smack into a door.

“I'll give a hand with the tea,” Lynn said.

“No need,” said Gary, but he did nothing to stop her going into the kitchen.

Michelle poured in the milk first, UHT from a carton, then the tea. One tea bag, Lynn reckoned, for a large pot.

“How are the children?” Lynn asked.

“Sleeping, thank heavens. They got so excited earlier, you know, presents and everything.”

“And Karl?”

Michelle paused in sugaring their teas, spoon tilting in mid-air.

“How's Karl?”

“The doctor said …”

“I know what the doctor said.”

“Well, then. That's it, isn't it? He's fine.”

“He was hurt.”

“It was an accident. He …” Michelle's eyes flicked towards the door in response to a sudden noise: the television had been switched back on.

“The sugar,” Lynn said.

“What?”

“You're spilling the sugar.”

Lynn took the spoon from her hand and began to stir one of the mugs of weak tea.

“I never told him,” Michelle said in a rushed whisper. “I never told him anything about it.”

“Never told me anything about what?” Gary said from the hallway, stepping into the room.

“Here,” Lynn said, handing him a mug. “Your tea.”

“Never told me anything about what?” Ignoring her, staring at Michelle.

Michelle's hand went to her throat.

“When I was here yesterday …” Lynn began.

“I never knew you was here yesterday.”

“That's what Michelle meant,” Lynn said.

Gary was all but ignoring her now, intent upon Michelle. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I don't know. When you came home I was so pleased, I suppose I forgot.”

“How could you forget something like that? Bloody law …”

“It wasn't important,” Lynn said. “I just dropped by, tell Michelle where you were.”

Gary had put his mug down and now he snatched at it, splashing hot tea across his hand. One taste and he had dashed it down the sink. “What the hell d'you call that? Like bloody dishwater!”

“I'll make some fresh,” Michelle said, reaching for the kettle.

“Don't waste your time.”

Between his sullen shout and a fanfare of television sound, came a whimpering from upstairs.

“It's the baby,” Michelle said, setting the kettle back down.

“When isn't it?” Gary grumbled.

“Gary, that's not fair.”

Gary didn't care; he was on his way back into the living room, leaving Natalie to cry upstairs. Michelle looked at Lynn uncertainly.

“You go up,” Lynn said. “I'll see to the tea.”

When Lynn came in from the kitchen, three mugs of fresh tea balanced on a breadboard she was using as a tray, Michelle was sitting in an easy chair with curved wooden arms, the baby restless against her breast. Gary was on the settee, pretending to watch the TV, sulking quietly.

Lynn drank her tea, chatting to Michelle about Natalie, keeping things as light as she could. She would have liked to have gone upstairs, taken a look at Karl, but sensed that if she asked Gary would object. Better to have another word with the social worker, let them do what they were trained to do.

When she got up to leave, Michelle went with her to the door, Gary grunting something from where he slouched that could have been goodbye.

Moving past Michelle at the door, Lynn said quietly, “If you need someone to talk to, get in touch. Phone me. All right?”

Michelle stepped quickly back inside, shutting out the cold.