Shape of Snakes

She didn't answer and another silence developed between us. She wore her hair in a tight ponytail and kept running the flat of her hand across her crown as if to check that the elastic was still in place. She seemed to be debating with herself whether after twenty years there was anything to be gained by telling the truth, although I guessed that her real concern-indeed the only reason we were having this conversation-was to find out how much I knew and what I was planning to do about it.

'She was too afraid of Derek,' she admitted suddenly.

'To make an official complaint?'

'Yes.'

'What did he do to stop her?'

Another silence, longer this time, before she gave an embarrassed shrug. 'Killed one of her cats and said he'd kill the others if she ever spoke out against us. The thing is'-she wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably, knowing that nothing could excuse her husband's behavior or her complicity in it-'we'd been moved three times in three years, and we didn't want to move again. We sure as hell didn't want to go back to a high rise.'

'No,' I said slowly. 'I don't suppose you did.'

'It was only a cat.'

'Mm.' I paused to glance along the corridor. 'It was quite a bargain when you think about it ... a cat for a house.'

'There you are, then.'

'Oh, no.' I gave a small laugh. 'Don't you dare bracket me with a sadist. If Derek had been married to me, he'd never have got near a cat. I'd have beaten his brains out with a sledgehammer the minute he lifted a finger against one of my children. Why were you such a coward? Why didn't you fight back?'

Her malice intensified. 'You don't know what it was like. You didn't go in fear of your life every day. What do you think he'd have done to me and the kids if I'd tried to stop him?'

'Why didn't you go to the police?'

She shook her head scornfully as if the question weren't worth answering, and in fairness, it probably wasn't. Domestic violence was a low priority in 1978. As was harassment of black people.

'How did he kill the cat?' I asked, reverting to what interested me.

'Strangled it,' she said irritably. 'They kept coming into our garden, and he'd already warned her he wasn't going to stand for it. He chucked the body back over the fence with a note tied to its collar so she'd get the message.'

'What did the note say?'

'I don't know, for sure. Something like he'd nail the next one to the fence. He didn't tell me about it till afterward.' She watched me slyly through her lashes while she cooked up another defense. 'I like cats. I'd have stopped him if I could. The children were all over them when we first came here ... they kept asking where the marmalade one was.'

'When did it happen?'

'About two months before she died.'

'September '78?'

'Probably.'

I recalled John Hewlett's letter to Sheila Arnold. 1 made two recommendations on my first visit in March 1978: 1) that she install a cat flap in the kitchen door to allow the animals free access to and from the garden... 'After you'd set the RSPCA inspector on to her then?'

Maureen tapped the glowing end of her cigarette against her saucer and watched a curl of ash deposit itself against the side. 'I can't remember.'

'His first visit was in March. He ordered her to put a cat flap in her door because you and Sharon kept complaining about the smell coming from her house.'

She lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug.

'Weren't you worried she'd show Derek's note to him the next time he came?'

'She wouldn't have dared. She was almost as frightened of the RSPCA as she was of Derek.'

'How did she let the cats out before she had the flap installed?'

'She never did. That's why the house stank.'

'That's not true,' I said bluntly. 'You just told me how your children were all over the cats when you first came here. How could they have had any contact if there was no way for the animals to get out until the flap was installed?'

A stubborn note crept into Maureen's voice. 'Maybe she didn't bother to close her back door.'

'Well, did she or didn't she? You must have known. Your kitchens were next door to each other.'

'Most of the time it was open.' Her eyes caught mine, then slid away to hide their cunning. 'That's what made us think she had chickens in there. The smell that came out of it was disgusting.'

'Oh, for Christ's sake!' I said wearily. 'The only stink 'round here was your family's body odor. God knows if you ever gave Alan a bath or washed his clothes, but no one wanted to sit next to him at school. Poor kid. He was always the first to be checked for head lice ... and always had them. Always the first to have his locker searched for missing games kit ... and always had it. The PE teacher asked him once what his problem was, and he said he liked things that smelled clean.'

'It wasn't my fault,' she said again, her voice rising to an irritating whine. 'We didn't have a washing