Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(90)

‘How are things?’ Ebony asked.

Helen Tapp obviously hadn’t found the time to brush her hair that day. She looked like she was nursing a hangover. She put Alfie into a highchair, put a plastic pelican bib around his neck and went to fetch him a biscuit from the cupboard.

‘It must be very difficult for you? Does Alfie go to nursery?’ Helen shook her head. ‘It must be hard work being the one who stays at home for the kids.’ Helen didn’t answer; she bent down to give Alfie his biscuit.

‘I chose it.’ She kissed his head

‘What did you do before you had kids?’

‘Years ago, before Alex came along, I was in publishing. After he went to school I went to work for a literary agent, handled their foreign rights deals. It was really interesting, going to the book fairs, talking to authors.’

‘Did you ever think of going back to it?’

‘I haven’t since Alfie was born . . . Alfie wasn’t planned . . . a miracle baby . . .’ She smiled and then turned away and began cleaning the work surface.

‘You’ve been married for a long time, haven’t you?’

‘Eighteen years.’ She didn’t turn around as she answered. She was searching for sugar to put in Ebony’s cup.

‘You must have been very young when you married.’

‘I was twenty.’

She turned around and leant her back against the counter, staring out at the garden, the low winter sun in her face, her eyes pools of sadness. Her face was dry and grey. Through the bay window the day was not getting any lighter and it was only just past eleven. Freezing rain hammered against the windowpane. ‘I suppose I was young, but I was sure . . . then . . .’ She turned back from the window, close to tears.

They heard the sound of the front door opening, the noise of traffic driving through the rain.

‘Michael?’

They heard him throw his keys on the hall table. ‘Who else would it be?’ they heard him say.

Michael Tapp stopped at the lounge door. He wasn’t expecting to see Carter. He looked embarrassed at first and then indignant.

‘Any news?’

Carter shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. Do you have the afternoon off?’ Michael Tapp was dressed in a suit.

‘No.’ He blinked a few times, gave a look that said: what business is it of yours? ‘Excuse me . . .’

They heard his footsteps going up to the bedroom. Ebony watched Helen as she stopped what she was doing, frozen with one of Alfie’s toys in her hands, listening to her husband. She knew every meaning of hard or soft feet on the stairs, quick or slow pace, whistling to himself or breathing through his nose. His disappointment in her had a language all of its own.

Ebony saw Carter looking at her from the hallway. He nodded, flicked his head towards the stairwell. ‘Helen . . . can you just tell your husband that I need to ask him a couple of questions? I’ll look after Alfie for you . . .’ said Ebony.

Helen didn’t need asking twice: she was itching to go to him, he had a magnetic pull for her, but it brought her nothing but pain.

Ebony listened to their words coming from upstairs. She heard the heated exchange that was squashed into a loud whisper.

Helen walked down the stairs, blowing her nose. She came back into the kitchen, bent down and picked up Alfie’s dropped biscuit from the floor.

‘He’s coming.’

After five minutes Michael came downstairs. He had changed into T-shirt and tracksuit trousers.

‘My wife says you want to talk to me?’ He went into the lounge where Carter was looking at the bookshelves.

‘Is she alright?’ Carter turned back from the bookcase and nodded in the direction of the kitchen.

‘She is finding this a great strain, as we both are. It’s not easy for any of us at the moment. What do you need to know?’

‘I need a DNA test from you.’ Carter took one out of his pocket, cleaned his hands with a wipe and tore off the top then handed it to Tapp. ‘Swab it around the inside of your cheeks for a minute. Make sure it’s good and coated, turn it as you press; we need the cheek cells not saliva.’ Tapp handed it back when he had finished. ‘You been a Gunner all your life?’ Carter picked up the picture of Michael Tapp standing with David Seaman outside the old Arsenal stadium.

Michael nodded. ‘Since I was a boy and used to live near the Arsenal. My dad had a season ticket.’

‘I support Spurs.’

Michael Tapp grinned and groaned. ‘Someone’s got to.’

‘Yeah, I know . . . wish I could go more often; I’m always working and you know how expensive tickets are these days, don’t you?’ Michael Tapp’s face registered that he knew when he was being led. His smile disappeared; he began tidying up Alfie’s toys. ‘You must have paid a lot for three tickets.’ Carter got out his phone and checked a memo. ‘Upper tier, block 102, Row 11. Three seats – 310, 311, 312 . . . very nice.’ He looked up at Tapp. ‘You bought yourself a ticket but you didn’t go to the match with the boys?’

‘That’s right.’ He stacked Alfie’s toys into a corner.

‘But you intended to?’ Tapp started shaking his head. ‘You bought three tickets.’

Tapp stopped what he was doing for a moment then renewed his tidying at double the speed. ‘That’s right. I bought three tickets but I changed my mind.’