“You’re lying.” She points to a photograph on the wall. “Is that him?”
“No, that’s my son Michael.”
“He’s cute.”
“He’s in Barbados.”
“But he’s coming home for the wedding, right?”
“We hope so.”
Holly loses interest and begins opening cupboards. Ruiz can’t concentrate on his newspaper because he wants to watch her. She opens a box of cereal and eats with her hand.
“I have bowls.”
“It’s OK.”
He tries to read, but can feel her eyes upon him. Silence until he can stand it no more. He folds the newspaper. “Why do you rob people?”
“To pay the rent.”
“You couldn’t find another way?”
“I’m sure you’re going to give me a list.”
“Whoever killed Zac was looking for something.”
“You don’t know that.”
Holly takes another handful of cereal.
“Who did you rob?”
“Rich horny guys, businessmen, suits, married, middle-aged.”
“How many?”
“Nine, maybe ten,” she says defensively. “We didn’t do it all the time-just when we needed the rent. Zac wasn’t getting his army pension. They lost his paperwork.”
“I need names and addresses of everyone you robbed.”
“Oh, yeah, I kept them on speed dial.”
Sarcasm scratches her pretty face.
“What did you take?”
“Phones, cameras, computers, jewelry-stuff we could carry.”
“What did you do with it?”
“Fenced it.”
“Who with?”
Holly hesitates. “I’m not a grass.”
“I just want to talk to him.”
“That’s another lie.”
“What is it with you? You keep calling people liars.”
“I can tell.”
“Sure.”
“It’s true.” Holly is staring into her mug as if reading the dregs. Tired. Wan. Resigned to being disbelieved. Ruiz thinks of his mother. Before her mind was scattered by dementia, Daj would often talk of people having “gifts” or a “third eye,” seeing things that other people don’t. A gypsy gift and a gypsy curse have little to differentiate them.
“Test me,” says Holly.
“How?”
“Tell me something true or false. Anything.”
“I’m not playing games.”
“OK, don’t do it.” Holly shrugs and pushes back her chair.
Ruiz reaches into his pocket and closes his fist.
“OK, what’s in my hand?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have a coin. Do you know which one?”
“No.”
“It’s a fifty-pence piece.”
“No it’s not.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re lying.”
“What if I told you it was twenty pence?”
“You’d be a liar.”
“What about a pound?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Ruiz uncurls his fingers. The pound coin lies flat in his palm.
“Lucky guess.”
“If you say so.”
She’s challenging him. Ruiz knows he should let the subject go, but her cockiness irritates him.
“Let’s do it again.”
“Only if we play for money. I get a pound for every time I’m right.”
“OK.”
Ruiz takes a moment to plan his tactics.
“I’m going to tell you five things. Tell me which ones are true.”
“That’s five pounds.”
Holly sits opposite him, looking at his face.
“I was once arrested on suspicion of murder.”
“Wow, that’s a bummer.”
“You think it’s true?”
“Yes.”
“My middle name is William?”
“No.”
“My middle name is Yanko?”
“What sort of name is that?”
“Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“I have a brother but he doesn’t live in London.”
She hesitates. “That’s two facts.”
“So what?”
“He doesn’t live in London.”
“Are you saying I don’t have a brother?”
“No, but there’s something wrong…” Holly taps the table with her finger, thinking of the possibilities. “Is he alive?”
Ruiz’s heart seems to lurch sideways in his chest. How could she possibly know that?
“This is ridiculous. I don’t want to play anymore.”
She holds out her hand. “I want my five pounds.”
How can she… it’s impossible… is he that transparent? Then he remembers that Holly has been in his house. She looked through his things. There are photo albums upstairs, marriage and birth certificates, pictures of Claire and Michael, Laura’s letters…
“You really are a piece of work,” he says, glaring at her, pushing up from the table.
Holly cringes as he passes, waiting for the blow to fall. The front door slams.
She has glimpsed the monster. There’s one inside every man.
