'I didn't. All I told Jock was that she reeked to high heaven. He assumed it was alcohol.'
'Did you recognize it as urine?'
'Yes.'
'Oh, my God!' I slammed my palms on to the table. 'Do you know that every time I told Drury to question why her coat was reeking of piss he told me her neighbors said it was
Abruptly he dropped his head into his hands. 'I thought it was funny,' he said wretchedly. 'Your good cause for the year ... Mad bloody Annie ... wetting herself on your doorstep because she was too drunk to control her bladder. I went into the house and spent the next ten minutes laughing about it until I realized you were the most likely person to find her. Then I knew you'd bring her inside and clean her up and I thought, this is the day my marriage goes down the drain.'
'Why?'
He breathed hard through his nose. 'She knew about Libby-I think she must have seen us together at some point because she kept sneaking up behind me in the road and calling me 'dirty man.' ' He forced out the words as if his life depended on it. ''Have you been fucking the tart today, dirty man.' 'Is that the tart I can smell on you, dirty man?' 'What do you want with trash, dirty man, when you've got a pretty lady at home?' I loathed her for it because I knew she was right and when I smelled her in the gutter'-he faltered painfully-'when I smelled her in the gutter, I kicked her and said, 'Who's dirty now?' '
I watched a tear drip through his fingers onto the table.
'And I've been in hell ever since because I so much wanted to take it back, and I've never been able to.'
I watched a waiter come out of the kitchen and hold up a shopping bag to signal that our curry was ready, and I remember thinking that fate was all about timing. If I hadn't been at a parents' evening that night ... if Jock had abandoned the pub at 8:30 when Sharon didn't show ... if food didn't arrive at inopportune moments...
'Let's go home,' I said.
Two days later, Maureen Slater phoned. She was angry and suspicious because Alan had told her I'd taken photographs of his house, and she demanded to know what my side of the trade was going to be. I repeated what I'd told her on Monday, that if she wasn't prepared to tell me what she knew, I would pass the Chiswick jeweler's affidavit to Richmond Police ... and, for good measure, the shots of the Mexican artifacts in Alan's sitting room. 'No one would doubt they were thieves,' I said. The only question would be, were they murderers, too? She told me some of what I wanted to know, but rather more interesting was what she chose to leave out.
LEAVENHAM FARM, LEAVENHAM, NR
DORCHESTER, DORSET DT2 XXY
4:30 a.m.-Friday, August 13, 1999
Dear Mr. Drury,
One of the downsides of finding Annie dying was that my sleep patterns were shot to pieces, and I count myself lucky now if I manage a four-hour stretch without waking. I've always hoped that an uneasy conscience has kept you similarly awake over the years, but I suspect it's misplaced optimism. To have a conscience at all means a man must question himself occasionally, and even in my wildest dreams I've never been able to picture you doing that.
I already know you will be absent when I leave this letter and enclosures at the Sailor's Rest, but it seems only fair you should have time to consider your response to the outstanding issue between us. I have, after all, had twenty years to consider mine.
Yours sincerely,
*20*
Drury was watching for me when I came through the door of the Sailor's Rest at half past ten that evening. Being a Friday night in summer, the pub was crowded with holidaymakers and yachtsmen from the boats in the marina, and I felt a small satisfaction when I saw the flicker of apprehension in his eyes as I approached.
He came out from behind the bar before I could reach it. 'We'll go through to the back,' he said curtly, jerking his head toward a door in the corner. 'I'm damned if I'll have this conversation in public.'
'Why not?' I asked. 'Are you afraid of witnesses?'
He made an angry movement as if to grab my arm and manhandle me in the direction he wanted me to go, but the curious glances of his other customers persuaded him to change his mind. 'I don't want a scene,' he muttered, 'not in here and not on a Friday night. You said you wanted to be fair ... so
I smiled slightly. 'You could have me arrested for making a nuisance of myself, then tell your customers I'm mad,' I suggested. 'That's what you did last time.'
He resolved the problem by heading toward the door and leaving me to follow or not as I chose. I followed. The 'back' was a scruffy office full of dusty filing cabinets and a gray metal desk, covered in used polystyrene coffee cups and piles of paper. It was a smaller, dirtier version of Jock's office and, as Drury motioned me toward the typist's chair in front of the desk and perched himself on a stack of boxes in the corner, I wondered why men always seemed more comfortable when surrounded by the trappings of 'work.'
He watched me closely, waiting for me to speak. 'What do you want?' he demanded abruptly. 'An apology?'
I dropped my rucksack to the floor and used the tip of my finger to push a half-filled cup of congealed coffee away from me. 'What for?'
