Let Me Lie(83)

Murray rubbed a hand over his head. ‘Are you saying I’m going bald?’

‘Not at all. You’re just follicularly challenged. You need to stay in the left-hand lane here.’

‘Maybe we should do this more often.’

‘Track down dead people who aren’t really dead?’

Murray grinned. ‘Take road trips.’ Sarah was scared of flying, and in the forty years they had been together, they had only been abroad once, to France, where Sarah had had a panic attack on the ferry, hemmed in by cars waiting for their turn to drive off. ‘There are so many beautiful places to see in this country.’

‘I’d like that.’

Another reason to retire properly, Murray thought. If he was at home all the time they could take off whenever they wanted to. Whenever Sarah felt up to it. Maybe they could buy a motorhome, so she never had to worry about other people. Just the two of them, parked up in a pretty campsite somewhere. He would see this job through – he’d never yet given up on a case, and he wasn’t going to start now – and then he would hand in his notice. He was ready to go now, and for the first time in a long while he looked to the future without misgivings.

Coton in the Elms was a pretty village a few miles south of Burton upon Trent. According to the pile of pamphlets in their room – a nicely finished double on the first floor of the Wagon and Horses – there was plenty to do within a short drive, but little in the village itself. Murray couldn’t imagine it had been the most scintillating of destinations for two young women, although he supposed if you lived in inner-city London, the contrast of fresh air and beautiful countryside was a holiday in itself. In the photograph, Caroline and Alicia had looked as though they hadn’t had a care in the world.

In the recently refurbished bar, the landlady was putting up decorations for the following night’s New Year’s Eve party.

‘It was lucky you only wanted one night. We’re packed out tomorrow. Pass us that Blu Tack, will you, duck?’

Sarah obliged. ‘Are there many places to rent in the village?’

‘Holiday cottages, you mean?’

‘Something more permanent, really. Flats, perhaps. Cash in hand, no questions asked – that sort of thing.’

The landlady looked over her glasses at Sarah. She narrowed her eyes.

‘It’s not for us.’ Murray grinned. He’d worked with a few detectives whose questioning skills lacked refinement, but Sarah beat them hands down.

‘Oh! No, it’s not for us. We’re looking for some people.’

‘The couple you mentioned on the phone?’

Murray nodded. ‘It’s possible they’re in the area. If they are, they’d want to stay out of the spotlight.’

The landlady gave a snort of laughter that wobbled her ladder. ‘In Coton? Everyone knows everyone’s business here. If your pair were here, I’d know about it.’ She took another piece of Blu Tack from Sarah, and stuck a bunch of silver balloons onto a fake beam. ‘Speak to Shifty, tonight. He might be able to help.’

‘Who?’

‘Simon Shiftworth. Shifty suits him better, though. You’ll see why. People who can’t get a council flat get one of Shifty’s. He’ll be in around nine – always is.’

Sarah looked at Murray. ‘It’s a date.’

They ate in the village’s other pub, the Black Horse, in order to ask the landlord if he knew of any incomers to the village. He didn’t. Murray was surprised to discover he wasn’t overly bothered by their lack of progress. In fact, if the entire trip proved to be fruitless, he didn’t care. Sarah was looking happier than he’d seen her in months. She had polished off steak and chips, and a treacle tart, along with two glasses of wine, and the pair of them had laughed in a way Murray didn’t think they’d laughed since they first got together. A change was as good as a rest, they said, and Murray could feel his own spirits lifting, as surely as if he’d spent a week in a health spa.

‘If Shifty’s not here, we can just go to bed,’ Sarah said, as they walked back to the Wagon and Horses.

‘It’s still early, I’m not …’ Murray caught Sarah’s wink. ‘Oh. Good plan.’ He hoped Shifty would decide to have a quiet one at home. But as they headed to the bar to get a nightcap to take upstairs, the landlady jerked her head towards the snug.

‘In there. You can’t miss him.’

Murray and Sarah exchanged a glance.

‘We’ll have to see him.’

‘But …’ It had been a very long time since Murray had had an early night.

Sarah suppressed a laugh at his obvious frustration. ‘We’ve come all this way.’

They had. And with any luck, their chat with Shifty wouldn’t take long. Plenty of time for an early night.

The landlady had been right; there was no missing Shifty.

In his sixties, he had greasy yellowed hair pasted across a bald head, and thick-rimmed glasses so smeared it was a wonder he could see through them. A cold sore wept in the corner of his mouth. He wore pale blue jeans, black trainers with white socks, and a leather jacket, cracked at the creases of each elbow.

‘He looks like a public service announcement for paedophiles,’ whispered Sarah.

Murray shot her a look, but Shifty showed no sign of having heard. He looked up as they approached.