Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(143)

Shirl's fists punched her own hips. “What business of yours? If we want to move house, we move house. We got no duty to let the cops know where we're hanging our hats every night.”

“Mum.” Behind her, Trevor spoke. Like his mother, he was shiny with sweat and grimy of body, but not flaring of temper. He too entered the sitting room.

Three people among the boxes and the furniture were two people too many. Charlie trailed his brother and swelled their numbers.

“What d'you want?” Shirl demanded. “You had your say with my Trevor. And a fine disruption you caused in this house going about it, by the way. You got his dad in an uproar, and he needs his rest. He isn't well, Trevor's dad, and you didn't help matters one little bit.”

Barbara wondered how anyone could manage to rest in a household in which earsplitting noise was the dominant feature. As it was, they were all virtually shouting at one another simply to be heard over the vehicular crashes on the television. Rap music added another element to the auditory chaos of the household. As on the previous day, it was booming from upstairs at a volume so high that Barbara could feel the vibrations of the sound in the air.

“I want a word with Trevor,” Barbara said to his mother.

“We're busy,” she replied. “You c'n see that for yourself. You aren't blind as well as dim, are you?”

“Mum,” Trevor said again cautiously.

“Don't you ‘Mum’ me. I know my rights. And nothing in them says a cop can come here and prowl through my belongings like they were her own. Come back later, you. We got work to do.”

“What sort of work?” Barbara asked.

“None of your business.” Shirl grabbed a box and heaved it to waist height. “Charlie,” she barked, “get on with it.”

“Do you know what it looks like, moving house while the police are investigating a murder?” Barbara asked.

“I bloody well don't care what anything looks like,” Shirl replied. “Charlie! Get off that bleeding couch. Turn off that telly. Your dad'll tan you good if you wake him again.” She turned on her heel and left the room. Barbara watched through the window as she crossed the street and entered the square, where a row of cars were parked. Charlie bellowed a sigh, picked up another box, and followed his mother.

“We aren't moving house,” Trevor said when he and Barbara were alone. He crossed to the television set and doused its volume. The picture remained: a helicopter in pursuit of a flame-engulfed pantechnicon. They were on a bridge. Disaster loomed for someone.

“What's up, then?” Barbara asked.

“We got the market square in Clacton. This lumber's for the stall.”

“Ah,” she said. “How'd you come by it?”

His neck turned red. “Isn't nicked, if that's what you're thinking, okay?”

“Okay. So how'd you get these goods, Trevor?”

“Me and Mum go to car boot sales at the weekends. We buy what we can, fix it up, then flog it for a higher price in Clacton. Isn't much, this clutter, but it helps us get by.” He touched one of the boxes with the toe of his boot.

Barbara observed him closely, trying to evaluate him for his level of guile. He'd already lied to her once, so his stock was low. But this, at least, was a reasonable tale. She said, “Rachel didn't corroborate your story, Trevor. We need to talk.”

“I didn't chop that bloke. I was nowheres near the Nez on Friday.”

“So she wasn't lying.”

“I didn't have no reason to do nothing to him. Sure, I di'n't like that he sacked me, but I took my chances when I nicked those jars from the factory. So I know I got to pay the price.”

“Where were you on Friday night?”

He raised a fist to his mouth and tapped it against his lips. It looked to Barbara like a nervous movement. “Trevor?” she prompted.

“Yeah. Okay. But it's not much good if I tell you cause there's no one who can say it's the truth. So you won't believe me. So what's the point?”

“The point is trying to clear your name, which is something I'd think you'd be fairly hot to do. Since you're not, it makes me wonder why. And wondering why leads me straight to the Nez. Your time card tells me you clocked in at work at half past eleven. Rachel tells me you left her before ten. That's ninety minutes to account for, Trevor, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that ninety minutes is plenty of time for a bloke to get from the beach huts to the Nez and from there to the pier.”

Trevor's glance went to the sitting room door, perhaps in anticipation of his mother's return for another box to load into their car for the trip to the market square. He said stubbornly, “I told you what I'm going to tell you. I wasn't on the Nez that night. And I didn't give that bloke the chop.”

“And that's all you have to tell me?”

“That's all.”

“Then let's go upstairs.”

He looked immediately alarmed, the very picture of a bloke with something to hide. With his mother not there to tell him what his rights were in the situation, it was clear to Barbara that she had the upper hand. She made for the stairs. He was hot on her heels.

“There's nothing up there,” he said. “And you got no call to be—”