“Can I have a word?” he said, sounding pleased with himself.
Siobhan led him down the corridor, wanting him out of the way before Toni emerged. She was afraid Toni would think Linford was her breakfast partner for Saturday. “What is it?” she asked.
“I spoke to the lettings agency.”
“And?”
“No sign that it’s owned by Cafferty . . . seems aboveboard. The property they rented to Marber is a flat in Mayfield Terrace. Only, Edward Marber didn’t live there.”
“Of course not. He had a bloody big house of his own . . .”
He looked at her. “The woman’s name is Laura Stafford.”
“What woman?”
Linford smiled. “The woman who walked into the lettings agency and asked about renting a flat. They showed her several, and she took one.”
“But the rent comes out of Marber’s account?”
Linford was nodding. “One of his more
“Meaning he wanted it kept hidden? You think this Laura woman was his mistress?”
“Except he wasn’t married.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Siobhan chewed at her bottom lip. The name Laura . . . there was something . . . Yes: the Sauna Paradiso. The two businessmen who’d had a drink. One of them had asked if Laura was on duty. Siobhan wondered . . .
“You going to talk to her?” she asked.
Linford nodded. He could see how interested she was. “Want to tag along?”
“Thinking of it.”
He folded his arms. “Listen, Siobhan, I was wondering . . .”
“What?”
“Well, I know things didn’t work out between us . . .”
Her eyes widened. “Tell me you’re not about to ask me out?”
He shrugged. “I just thought Friday, if you’re not doing anything.”
“After last time? After you
“I just wanted to know you.”
“That’s what worries me.”
He gave another shrug. “Maybe you’ve got other plans for Friday?”
Something in his tone alerted her. “You were listening at the door,” she stated.
“I was just waiting for you to come out. It’s hardly my fault if you and your pal were yelling so loud half the station could hear.” He paused. “Still want to go to Mayfield Terrace?”
She weighed up her options. “Yes,” she stated.
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
“Ooh, look at the lovebirds!” Toni Jackson said, pausing beside them. When Siobhan shot out an arm, Jackson actually ducked. But all Siobhan did was pick a remnant of toilet paper from her face.
Mayfield Terrace was only a five-minute drive from St. Leonard’s. It was a wide avenue between Dalkeith Road and Minto Street. Those two were busy routes in and out of the city, but Mayfield Terrace was a quiet oasis, with vast detached and semi-detached houses, most on three and four floors. Some of these had been split into flats, including the one where Laura Stafford lived.
“Didn’t suppose she’d get a whole house around here for six-seventy a month,” Linford said. Siobhan remembered that property was something of an obsession with him. He would pore over the real estate agency guide each week, comparing prices and areas.
“What, do you reckon to buy one?” she asked.
He shrugged, but she could see he was doing the sums. “You’d probably get a one-bedroom conversion for a hundred K.”
“And a whole house?”
“Detached or semi?”
“Detached.”
“Maybe seven, eight hundred K.” He paused. “And rising.”
They’d climbed four steps to the front door. There were three names, three buzzers. None of the names was Stafford.
“What do you think?” Siobhan asked. Linford stood back, craned his neck. “Ground, first and top,” he said. Then he looked down to either side of the steps. “But there’s a garden flat, too. Must have its own door.”
He went back down the steps, Siobhan following him around to the side of the house where they found the door, and a buzzer with no name. Linford pressed it and waited. When it opened, a woman was standing there. She was stooped and in her sixties. Behind her, they could hear the playful yelps of a child.
“Ms. Stafford?” Linford asked.
“Laura’s not in. She’ll be back soon.”
“Are you her mother?”
The woman shook her head. “I’m Alexander’s granny.”
“Mrs. . . . ?”
“Dow. Thelma Dow. You’re from the police, aren’t you?”
“Are we that obvious?” Siobhan asked with a smile.
“Donny . . . my son,” Mrs. Dow explained. “He used to be an awful one for getting in trouble.” She suddenly started. “He’s not . . . ?”
“It’s nothing to do with your son, Mrs. Dow. We’re here to see Laura.”
“She’s gone to the shops. Should be here any minute . . .”
“Do you mind if we wait?”
Mrs. Dow didn’t mind. She led them down a narrow set of stairs into the flat proper. There were two bedrooms, and a living room which opened into a bright conservatory. The door to the conservatory was open, showing a four-year-old boy playing in the back garden. The living room was cluttered with toys.
“I can’t control him,” Mrs. Dow said. “I do my best, but laddies that age . . .”
“Or any age,” Siobhan said, raising a tired smile from the woman.
“They’ve split up, you know.”
“Who?” Linford asked, seemingly more interested in the room than his own question.
“Donny and Laura.” Mrs. Dow was staring out at her grandson. “Not that he minds me still coming here . . .”
“Doesn’t Donny see much of Alexander?” Siobhan asked.
“Not much.”
“Is that his choice or Laura’s?” Linford asked, still not paying much attention. Mrs. Dow decided not to answer, turning instead to Siobhan.
“It’s tough enough being a single parent these days.”
Siobhan nodded. “Or any days,” she added, noting that this struck a chord with the woman. Obviously, Thelma Dow had brought her son up by herself. “Do you look after Alexander when Laura’s at work?”
“Sometimes, yes . . . There’s a nursery he goes to, too . . .”
“Does Laura work nights?” Siobhan asked.
Mrs. Dow looked down at the floor. “Sometimes, yes.”
“And you stay here with Alexander?” Siobhan watched the woman nod slowly. “Thing is, you didn’t ask why we’re here, Mrs. Dow. That would be the normal question. Makes me think Laura’s had a few run-ins over the years, and you’ve become used to it.”
“I might not like what she does for a living, that doesn’t mean I don’t understand her reasons. Lord knows, I’ve been through plenty of hard times myself.” She paused. “Years back, I mean. When Donny and his brother were young, and no money coming in . . . Who knows now whether that thought ever crossed my mind back then?”
“You mean you thought of going on the game?” Linford asked coldly. Siobhan could have slapped him, but had to content herself with a glower.
