‘Try months.’ Greg nodded to a neat pile of small, transparent plastic crates. Each of them was filled with different-coloured bricks. There were postcards stuck to them too, as a guide. Cut-outs of ski-chalets and hotels. A bar of Milka chocolate sat on the side, half-eaten.
‘We went on holiday here last year,’ Josh said. ‘Me and mummy have been building this ever since. She says it’ll win competitions …’
Matt waited. ‘Well I’d vote for it in a shot. It’s superb.’
Josh smiled. ‘Me and Daddy are going to finish it, now Mummy can’t. Aren’t we?’
Greg wanted to speak. He even cracked a big smile, but it was so false that it half faded instantly. He just stared into the plastic village square for a second and dropped his head quickly to his chest. Josh seemed to understand exactly what was happening because he quickly looked away and started brushing a tiny skier. For a few seconds all Matt could hear was the swish of the brush, the ticking of the radiator, the whimpering of the widower.
Greg wiped his eye with his thumb, quickly as if nobody might notice, then he slid his arm around the boy and kissed him square on his head. Holding the lips there for a few tender moments, whispering into his hair, ‘Now how about you go and watch TV for a minute. Grab some more chocolate from Nana. You deserve some chocolate.’
Josh nodded and handed the little brush back to his dad. He passed through Larry and Matt but paused at the door. ‘Daddy?’
They all stood silently, looking at him.
‘Yes?’
‘Be careful with the roof tiles on the cafe. Mummy says they always slide off.’
Greg put up a thumb as Josh turned to go but he seemed to look at his dad for a long moment, not wanting to let him out of his sight. Like if he was to look away and turn back, there’d be another empty space in his house.
‘Go ahead, son,’ Greg said, with a softness that could break the heart. ‘Then we’ll fix up the cable cars next.’
Josh nodded then left. He signalled to Matt to close the doors.
‘Grab a seat,’ he said. ‘Would you blokes like a drink?’
‘We’re good, thanks,’ Larry said, as he and Matt sank onto a wicker sofa. It creaked under them, like twisting rope. ‘Greg, I just wanted to pop round to confirm the cause of death.’
A pause. Long enough to hear children in another garden outside, laughing. ‘Go on.’
‘It was just as you thought, a dog bite. Nothing more, nothing less.’
There were two little brushes that were still in Greg’s hand. Matt noticed the knuckles around them gradually turning white. Greg turned to the window, sucked in a breath then flung the brushes away as hard as he could. They bounced off glass with a sharp little crackle and skitted across the floor. He stared at his shoes in silence.
Matt went to speak to Greg’s back, to express his condolences but Larry caught his eye and shook his head.
Just wait. Give him a sec.
‘She had the same sort of Labrador when she was a kid,’ Greg said, finally. ‘I never wanted one but she said a family needs a dog. That it’d be good protection.’ He shook his head at the psychotic irony of that statement.
‘Protection from what?’ Matt said.
‘Burglars, I guess,’ he turned halfway back. ‘We argued about getting it. But she fell in love with him. She said Samson always knew how she was feeling.’ That last bit made him laugh, bitterly, then he turned full around, with a slow, calm voice. ‘I wish those parents hadn’t killed it, you know. Because I’d much rather have dragged it into my back garden myself. I’d have really liked to have torn that dog’s tongue out.’ He finally sank into one of the chairs. ‘I’d have liked that a lot.’
Silence, then the neighbour’s kids laughed again outside.
‘And it had never shown aggression before?’ Larry said.
‘Do they ever?’ Greg said. ‘Watch the news. These dog owners always say they’d never hurt a fly and let them play with their babies until it rips their—’ He stopped himself. ‘Anyway. They’re time bombs, waiting to go off. All of them …’ he looked at Matt. ‘I don’t know you.’
‘I’m Matt Hunter.’
‘You’re a policeman?’
‘No. I’m—’
‘The symbols I mentioned,’ Larry said. ‘They looked religious to me and that’s Matt’s area.’
‘So are they?’ Greg said. ‘Religious, I mean?’
‘Yes. They’re Christian signs of protection. Fairly unusual ones. Was your wife a believer?’
Greg shook his head. ‘Protection from what?’
Matt shrugged. ‘Evil. The Devil. Was Mrs Ellis scared of anything you’d describe in that way? Did she mention any—’
‘Nothing at all.’
Larry waited. ‘Some of the other staff at the school. They said Mrs Ellis was—’
‘Dammit …’ Greg slammed a hand on the arm of the chair. Dust particles burst like fireworks, and somehow the sound must have thrown pressure across the room, because a little Lego woman fell over with a click. ‘Stop with the Mrs Ellis stuff … just call her Steph.’
‘Sorry. Of course. Her school colleagues said Steph was distant lately. That she wasn’t quite herself. Perhaps another bout of depression?’
He shook his head. ‘She had a bit of stress. School’s got OFSTED coming up. Nothing major.’
OFSTED? Better sort that blood-soaked floor out pronto.
‘And if you don’t mind me asking …’ Matt said. ‘Were things okay at home? Was she—’
‘Things were fine!’ Greg snapped, and he looked at Larry. ‘He’s talking like she killed herself or something.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘She was fine. She had as much stress as anybody else. Sometimes she couldn’t sleep so maybe she went to school to do some work. She liked working on the kids’ displays. She was … arty.’
‘At three in the morning?’ Matt said.
Larry caught Matt’s eye and gave him a tiny shake of the head. Stop asking questions.
It was too late. Greg was leaning forward on his chair, pissed off.
‘Yes, at three in the morning. Why not? She was kind of whacky when
