again.
Marina wanted a cigarette. She hadn’t smoked for years, not since she was a student trying to impress other students. But whenever she got stressed, she could feel the burning smoke being pulled down her throat, entering her lungs. Soothing her, comforting her. She knew the effect was imaginary, illusory, and had resisted it. But it was calling her now. More strongly than she had felt for years.
Don sat back. Removed his hand from hers. ‘So anyway. Now you know.’
‘Yes,’ she replied blankly, not fully engaging with the words, ‘now I know. And it explains a lot.’
‘How so?’
‘Phil’s behaviour. He thinks he’s cracking up. Seeing things that aren’t there, being… I don’t know, haunted by ghosts he doesn’t understand. By ghosts he thinks don’t exist.’
‘Oh they exist all right,’ said Don. ‘They’re all too real.’
‘Poor Phil… ’ Marina shook her head.
‘The question I suppose I should ask,’ said Don, ‘is now that you know, what are you going to do about it?’
‘That’s one question,’ said Marina, ‘yes. Probably the most important question. But there’s another.’
Don waited.
‘What does it mean for this case?’
Another sigh from Don. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘That’s where this comes in… ’
He took the stolen report from inside his jacket, laid it on the table before them. They both looked at it, Marina frowning.
‘I think we’d better get more coffee,’ said Don. ‘This might take some time.’
68
Mickey was back in the office, printing out copies of his findings on Richard Shaw, looking at his watch, thinking it would be time to go home after he had done that, when his phone rang.
He checked the display. A number without a name attached. He answered.
‘Detective Sergeant Philips.’
‘Oh,’ said a voice on the other end. ‘Oh. Very formal.’
Female and familiar, Mickey thought. And in those few words, holding a lot of promise.
‘Who is this?’
‘Oh, sorry. I should have said. I just automatically assumed you would know. Sorry. It’s Lynn. Lynn Windsor.’
As soon as she said her name, Mickey received a mental image of the solicitor. It was an image he was happy to look at.
‘How can I help you, Lynn?’
‘Well I don’t know, exactly… ’ Her voice dropped, as if she wanted to say something private but was afraid of being overheard.
‘Take your time,’ he said. Then realised he was smiling. Very unprofessional, he thought, but he made no effort to stop.
‘I’ve… ’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I don’t know… ’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, sensing that she needed encouragement. ‘Take your time.’
She sighed. ‘I’ve… ’ Her voice dropped even further. ‘I’ve discovered something. Something… ’ Another sigh. ‘Look, it’s probably nothing. Nothing important. But I just thought, you know, what with everything that’s been going on in the last couple of days… ’
‘You’ve found something you think is important and you want me to take a look at it.’
The relief in her voice was palpable. ‘Exactly. Look, I’m sorry, it’s probably nothing, like I said, but I just… Can I see you? Tonight?’
If the smile Mickey had experienced on hearing her voice hadn’t been professional, the erection he felt stirring certainly wasn’t. ‘Yeah, sure… when and where?’
I think it would be better if you came round to my flat,’ she said, voice low and breathless. ‘Will that be OK?’
‘Sure… ’
‘I’ll give you directions.’
She did so.
‘See you soon,’ she said. ‘Oh, one thing, Mickey… ’
‘I’m still here.’
Her voice took on a breathy aspect. ‘Don’t tell anyone. Please.’
His own voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘Well it’s not correct procedure, strictly speaking… ’
‘Please, Mickey. Please. I’m taking a… a big risk coming to you about this. If anyone finds out about it… ’ Another sigh.
‘Well… ’
‘Please, Mickey, I’m begging you.’ And she was. Her voice was doing exactly that. ‘Keep this to yourself. If anyone else found out about this… please… ’
He sighed. ‘OK.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘Good. You won’t regret it.’ And she rang off.
Mickey pocketed his phone. Sat staring at the screen.
Wondering whether he had just done the right thing.
Wondering if he was about to make things worse.
69
‘Found it.’
Donna stopped what she was doing, looked up. She had been sitting on the bedroom floor, pulling out drawer after drawer, rifling through the life she had spent with Faith. She hadn’t been enjoying it. It was like a betrayal of trust, no matter that Faith was dead. She felt like a horrible, venal relative, tearing up the family home looking for a will, seeing what she could get out of it for herself.
Which in a way was exactly what she was doing.
Except, she kept telling herself, it was the only way she could keep both herself and Ben alive. And if she made a little money from it too, so much the better. She was sure that was what Faith would have wanted. It was what she had been doing herself. When she died.
Donna had been getting sidetracked, seeing clothes Faith would never wear again, remembering times when she had worn them. Places they had gone together. Fun they had had. If she had kept on like that, she would have found herself tearing up. So when Rose shouted, she was glad of the distraction.
She looked up, felt the pain in her knee, tried to ignore it.
Rose was in Ben’s room. The boy had been exiled to the living room, stuck in front of a DVD. Donna had thought that was for the best. She didn’t want him to see the two of them tear the house apart.
Rose entered the bedroom holding aloft a blue exercise book. Donna looked at it. She could remember Faith buying it, coming home from Wilkinson’s with it.
Until now.
Rose sat on the edge of the bed, one arm wrapped protectively round her damaged ribs. ‘Have a look at this,’ she said. ‘See if it means anything to you.’
