Rose closed the blue exercise book. Sat back. Said nothing. Next to her on the edge of the bed, Donna did likewise. The sound of children’s TV crept up the stairs, inconsequential and incongruous after what they had just read.
‘My God… ’ Donna’s voice was small, cracked. ‘She never… she never said… I had no idea… ’
‘Why would you?’ said Rose. Earlier, there would have been anger behind the words, sneering, snarling. Contempt. But now there was nothing of the sort. Just genuine enquiry, genuine concern. The words in the book had knocked all that out of her. ‘If this is true… ’
Donna looked at her. ‘You doubt it? Of course it’s true. Faith wouldn’t have lied. Not about that. Someone knew, didn’t they? Someone else believed it, tried to stop her. And now she’s… she’s… ’
Donna had felt numb while reading the book. Too emotionally stunned to feel anything. Faith’s words had shocked her into immobility. But now, the book finished, the words permeating her brain, she felt the tears well up behind her eyes.
She didn’t try to stop them. Fight them back. They weren’t a sign of weakness. Not this time. They were a sign of solidarity. Faith deserved her tears. Especially after what she had endured.
She felt an arm round her shoulders. Rose. She should have been surprised at the other woman’s touch, especially given what she knew about her, but she wasn’t. No one could have read that account and not been touched.
They sat like that for what seemed an eternity. Charlie and Lola on the TV downstairs were having the kind of happy, perky life that no child in this house had ever had.
Eventually Donna leaned forward. Took a tissue from her pocket, blew her nose, rubbed her eyes. She looked at Rose.
‘What… what should we do?’
Rose stared straight ahead. Eyes on the window, the street; beyond the window, the street. Donna was aware of a kind of steel entering her gaze. A calculating anger. The light glinted off the knife she had taken from Donna, nestling in her inside pocket.
‘Make a couple of calls,’ she said, ‘then we call him.’
Donna frowned. ‘D’you think that’s a good idea? What… what if it was him who… ’
‘One of those calls is insurance. Then we call him. If it was him… ’
Rose took the knife out of her jacket pocket. Played the light off it. Watched it glinting and sparkling. She looked at Donna.
‘Let’s just call him. See what he has to say.’
Donna nodded.
Stared ahead at what Rose had been looking at. Thought she could see it.
Or something like it.
72
Mickey pressed the buzzer. Waited.
The flat was a new-build, one of many that had sprung up in the town centre in recent years. He lived in one like it. But not too like it. This one was much more upmarket than his. Next to the River Colne, down by Hythe Quay. Mickey remembered the place well. He had encountered a very nasty murderer on the other side of the river less than a year ago.
A voice came over the intercom. ‘Hello?’
Mickey paused. Who was he? Mickey Philips, was that too informal? DS Philips, was that too formal? What?
‘DS Philips… Mickey Philips.’
Compromise. Both.
‘Oh, hi, Mickey.’ Lynn Windsor’s voice, full of light and warmth. ‘Buzzing you in. Come on up. Third floor.’
Mickey walked up the stairs. This place was definitely more upmarket than his own flat. Carpeted, the fixtures and fittings all top quality. It hadn’t just been built; the block had been designed.
And it was a world away from the dead bodies he associated with the area.
Or at least he hoped so.
He reached Lynn Windsor’s flat. Held his knuckle up, ready to knock on the door. Hesitated. Was this right? He wasn’t following procedure. If anything went wrong, he would be in trouble. But what could go wrong? He was here to talk, that was all. Just talk. She had some information for him. That was it. Just talk.
He repeated the phrase to himself while he stood there. Saying it over and over in his head. Hoping to convince himself that it was true.
The door was opened from the inside. He put his hand down, feeling stupid.
‘Hi,’ said Lynn Windsor. ‘I thought I heard you there. Come in.’
She opened the door wide. Mickey stepped inside and she closed it behind him.
He looked down the corridor towards the living room. The lights were down low. There was music playing. He didn’t recognise it. Something slow, languorous. But with a beat behind it, a rhythm. Sexy, he thought. Seductive.
‘Go on in,’ she said from behind him.
He was aware of her perfume, her breath on his neck. He walked down the hallway. Entered the living room. It looked like something out of
‘Nice… er, nice place you’ve got here.’
‘Thank you. I can’t take much credit for it, I’m afraid. This is how it was when I moved in.’ She laughed. ‘I feel like I’m just squatting. Drink?’
‘Erm… ’
‘I’ve got some beer in the fridge.’
‘Yeah. Yeah. Beer’s fine.’
She walked off into the kitchen, called back to him. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’
He tried to. Perched himself on the edge of the sofa.
Lynn re-entered holding a bottle of beer. ‘Bottle OK, or would you prefer a glass?’
He told her the bottle was just fine.
She sat down near him on the sofa. He looked at her properly for the first time that evening. Her hair was up and she was wearing a long silk robe, as if she had just come out of the shower. He guessed by the structure of her body beneath the silk that she was wearing something fitting under it. She gathered her legs up beneath her, curled herself comfortable. Picked up her glass of clear fizzy liquid. Ice cubes chinking.
She reached across, met his bottle with her glass. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’
They drank.
Mickey put his bottle down on a glass-topped side table, conscious of the wet ring he would leave. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you wanted to see me. You’ve got something to tell me?’
She looked down at her drink, smiled. ‘I do.’
‘What is it?’
She placed her drink on a similar side table. Turned to him. Eyes locked on his. He felt an erection beginning an involuntary stir.
‘There’s lots to tell you. But there’s something I have to do first.’ She edged nearer to him on the sofa.
‘What?’
‘This.’
She leaned across, took his face in her hands, kissed him full on the mouth.
He tried not to respond. Told himself afterwards that he’d really tried. But he didn’t. As soon as her mouth was
