Daisy in Chains(71)

‘That feel right to you?’

‘No.’ Not any more, it doesn’t.

He was pretty fit when I knew him.

‘It suggests an intimacy, somehow, don’t you think? Something more than would come from sitting across a table in an interview room?’

‘Maybe.’

‘How can you judge someone’s fitness just by how they sit, stand, enter and leave the room?’

You can’t. You’ll see weight, percentage of body fat. ‘A medical doctor would be more in tune with what bodies are saying than a layman.’

‘Even so.’

Is it possible Pete and Hamish knew each other? Properly knew each other, before the arrest?

From close by in the room comes a soft, low laugh. ‘Maggie, Maggie, what are you not being told?’





Chapter 66


THE THIRD CRACKER in a row fails to snap and a heaviness sinks into the group of six people that has nothing to do with the amount of food they’ve eaten. ‘Cheap Poundland rubbish,’ Liz says, Yuletide exhaustion making her face seem thinner and paler than normal. Even her hair has lost some of its usual springiness. ‘Tell you what, we could pile them all up in the middle of the table and set fire to them. They’d spark then.’

The younger of her two sons looks up from his new tablet. ‘Yeah, Mum, can we?’

Liz glances towards the head of the table. ‘Or failing that, stick the lot down Pete’s trousers, followed by a lighted match. Might just get his attention.’

Pete starts. ‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘miles away.’

He spoons the last piece of soggy sponge into his mouth. There is still half of the giant sherry trifle left in the bowl and he has a horrible feeling second helpings are about to be forced upon him. ‘Delicious,’ he says, to head off the attack at the pass. ‘I now officially cannot eat another thing until New Year’s.’

Liz’s mother fiddles with her waistband. ‘I always say Christmas pudding is too heavy after a big meal.’

Christmas pudding is Pete’s favourite dessert. He hasn’t eaten a mouthful since Annabelle left him.

Liz’s dad nods at Pete, his pale blue eyes going from his daughter’s last-minute guest to the remains of the meal. ‘What do you say to that, young man?’

‘Delicious,’ Pete repeats, thinking next year, he doesn’t care how many invitations from well-meaning colleagues and mates he gets, he is not spending Christmas Day in someone else’s house. Minding his manners all day isn’t too bad, but the endless expectations of gratitude are soul-destroying. And having to drive himself home means he can’t even get drunk. He sneaks a look at his watch. Another two hours, at least, before he can make his excuses.

‘Do you know who killed the tramps yet?’ Liz’s dad asks.

‘Brian, that’s enough,’ says her mum. ‘Now, I suppose—’

Liz jumps up. ‘Stay where you are, Mum. You too, Dad. Pete and I will wash up. Kids, take your grandparents into the other room and entertain them.’

There is a subdued moan from one of the kids.

‘And they do not consider watching you on your iPads to be entertainment.’

Pete gathers an armful of dishes and follows Liz into the kitchen. They run water, scrape food into bins, load the dishwasher and try to organize the chaos that is a Christmas kitchen. Pete looks at the closed door. ‘This room soundproof?’ he asks.

Liz shakes her head. ‘Not remotely.’ She drops her voice. ‘And little pigs have very big ears – not to mention their grandparents.’

‘Understood.’

They work without speaking for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the TV and the boys on their iPads.

‘You could phone her.’ Liz is at the sink, her back to him, when she breaks the silence.

‘Tricky. Latimer has told me to stay away.’

She gives him a quizzical look over her shoulder.

‘Give Maggie Rose a wide berth for a week or two, maybe longer, were his exact words. He’s probably said the same thing to her.’

Liz frowns and smiles at the same time, one of the expressions he likes most to see on her face. ‘How’s she holding up, do you think?’

Pete lifts a stack of plates. ‘Keeping busy, from what I hear. Not often at home. When she is, she rarely comes out. Situation normal.’

‘She’ll be used to pressure. She won’t scare easily.’

‘I know.’

Something in his voice makes Liz give him a good long look. She wrinkles her nose before turning back to the sink. ‘What happened to Odi and Broon wasn’t your fault, Pete,’ she says.

Pete joins her at the sink and picks up a clean tea towel.

‘It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t mine, it wasn’t anyone’s fault except the psycho who held the knife.’

Pete glances round. ‘They were practically under my window, Liz. If I’d cranked it open a notch I could have heard them snoring.’

She gives him a sharp look. ‘You could not have anticipated that. No one could.’

‘We should have done.’

‘Rubbish.’ She gives him another smile. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Enough shop talk. Let’s finish this lot and get drunk.’