Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(82)

‘Still deciding. Has Poppy been barking again?’

‘No. Nothing like that. We had a visitor just now – a reporter from the Daily Mail. He said that Elias has been released from Rampton.’

‘He’s here for a few days.’

‘Under guard?’

‘He’s recovered. A mental health tribunal has released him.’

Mr Gibson glances over his shoulder. Mrs Gibson is probably watching from their front window. She’s a curtain twitcher, who seems to scowl disapprovingly at even the slightest change in the streetscape.

‘As convenor of our neighbourhood watch, I think I should have been informed,’ says Brendan.

‘Why?’

‘He’s a … he’s a … He’s a convicted killer.’

‘No. He was never convicted.’

‘He killed your family.’

‘His schizophrenia led to their deaths. A state of acute psychotic distress.’

‘He was out of his mind.’

‘Exactly. And now he’s well again.’

Brendan begins to argue, saying residents should have been consulted. ‘There are laws,’ he says.

‘No, there aren’t,’ I reply. ‘You have no rights to be informed or to even ask about Elias’s record or his health status. He isn’t a sex offender or a paedophile. He’s a schizophrenic and he’s fully medicated.’

‘Hello,’ says a voice from behind me. ‘What a lovely morning.’

Elias appears. ‘Mr Gibson, isn’t it? Lovely to see you again. I’m Elias.’

He holds out his hand and smiles disarmingly. The older man seems unsure of what to do. Prejudice clashes with politeness and the latter wins out. They shake hands.

‘Your garden looks wonderful,’ says Elias. ‘I can’t wait for the spring. What have you planted along the side fence? It looks like a climbing rose.’

‘The Pippin,’ says Brendan. ‘It has a double bloom.’

‘What colour?’

‘Warm pink, with just a hint of orange on the petals.’

‘I was only saying to Cyrus that I’d love to get a cutting.’

‘Are you interested in gardening?’

‘I did quite a bit at Rampton. They had a lovely garden. But I’m nowhere near as knowledgeable as you. I’d love to do something with our back garden. Perhaps you could give me some pointers.’

I can almost see Brendan’s chest puff out.

‘Having a dog doesn’t help, but I could offer some suggestions.’

‘That would be wonderful. I’m only here for a few days, but when I come back.’

‘Yes. Right. Of course.’

‘Give my regards to Mrs Gibson.’

‘I will.’

The door closes. Elias grins at me. ‘That went well,’ he says.

Yes, but there will be more reporters coming and more neighbours knocking or gossiping. More rumours. More ghost stories. How long before local children are daring each other to ring the doorbell and run away?

Boo Radley has come to live with me.





54


Evie


The film crew has set up outside the Little Drummer. There are guys with hipster beards and girls in low-slung jeans and baseball hats, who spend a lot of time clipping lights onto tripods and hooking up cables that snake across the footpath. Each scene takes forever to set up and only seconds to shoot.

They have taken over the bar for the evening, filming indoors and outdoors, which must annoy Brando. I haven’t seen him since he fired me.

Cyrus says this reconstruction is important because it might trigger people’s memories and encourage them to come forward with information. He says that sometimes small details that seem inconsequential can prove to be the most crucial. I wanted to say that I’m a small detail and I’ve never been important, but he’d have some perfectly reasonable argument that made me feel selfish and even smaller.

DCI Hoyle is also here, walking around with a straight back and clenched buttocks like he’s got a stick up his arse. I’ve noticed that he doesn’t make eye contact with women when he talks to them. Instead, he looks past them, or over them. It could be nervousness or contempt.

A female police officer has been dressed up to look like Daniela, but the wig looks stupid and she’s forty pounds heavier. If I ever go missing, I want them to choose someone hotter than me for the reconstruction. I know that sounds vain, but I don’t want to look like a meth-addict or a baby-shaker. Cara Delevingne would be good, or that girl from Emily in Paris.

The police have found traffic-camera footage of the car, a stolen silver Prius, which was filmed about four streets from the bar. A day later, it was found burned out in a layby in Gedling. According to Cyrus there are more than two hundred CCTV cameras in Nottingham, filming intersections and public spaces. He said the local council hires people to sit in a room and watch them all day. I could do that. It couldn’t be worse than those TV shows about room renovations, or fat people trying to lose weight.

‘Everyone in position,’ shouts the director.

I walk to the door of the bar. The Daniela lookalike gives me an encouraging smile. Someone holds a blackboard in front of our faces and claps his hands. The director yells, ‘Action!’