On to number six, Iain Donaldson. He smelt of books, and domineering women, probably an insurance clerk or something similar, mused Corla. He couldn’t murder a woman if he tried. Corla doubted he could fight his way out of a paper bag. A timewaster, and a waste of time.
But number seven was not a waste of time. Michael Flanagan, he of the recent haircut. She wondered why he had done that, and how long his hair had been before he’d had it trimmed. He could kill; she knew that from the first moment, though whether he had killed Belinda, she still harboured doubts. She tried to sniff him without appearing to do so. There was nothing there, so she was reduced to a more pronounced sniff that none of those men present could have missed. Still very little, just that tiny trace of man.
He wasn’t sweating, and he wasn’t nervous. Here was a man like Geronimo who could go places and leave little or no trace of his presence. Here was a man totally in control of his own body, and what a fine and strong body it was too, powerful and threatening. Corla lingered. She imagined him wielding a baseball bat. What a sight that would have been. Terrifying, but exciting too. She didn’t want to move along the line. Yet still her overlong inspection and presence did not unnerve him. He wasn’t only strong in body, but incredibly strong mentally, and that was a rare combination. God had been unusually generous when bestowing gifts on this gentleman.
She wanted to ask him if he had murdered Belinda Cooper, but guessed that would have been beyond her brief, and though his answer would undoubtedly have been a curt denial, she could have deduced things from the intonation in his words. Maybe she was in the wrong job. Maybe the man Darriteau should make an appointment and employ her for her expertise. For a brief second she let her mind run riot.
‘Corla,’ whispered Walter, easing her on to the final fellow.
He smelt of cheap burgers and overdone onions, probably unemployed, possibly unemployable, maybe hauled in from the local Job Centre, imagined Corla, a place filler, a deliberate attempt to mislead her by people who didn’t believe in her gifts, a red herring who stunk out the place. She shook her head, and Walter said, ‘Thank you, Bob, just give us a few more minutes.’
BACK IN THE SOUNDPROOF room next door Walter and Karen glanced at Corla. Walter said, ‘Well, what did you make of that?’
She scratched her chin and rubbed her warts and said nothing.
‘Was he there?’ asked Karen, softly. ‘The man you saw coming out of Belinda’s place?’
‘It’s none of them,’ she said. ‘But it’s all of them.’
Walter jerked his head back and took a second take of her face, and said, ‘I don’t follow. How do you mean?’
‘They’re all involved in the case, aren’t they? Except the two ringers you threw in at each end, they were just so obvious. But all the others are in there somewhere, and at least two of them are quite capable of killing women.’
‘Unfortunately we are not here to discuss conjecture or theory,’ said Walter. ‘Illuminating though that might be.’
‘Pity,’ she said. ‘I could tell you things.’
‘Which two?’ asked Karen.
‘Karen!’ said Walter, and he slowly shook his head.
‘Four and seven, and maybe number three as well.’
‘The only thing that matters is whether or not the man you saw leaving Belinda’s house is in that line-up,’ said Walter, and he pointed at the glass.
‘No!’ she said ‘He wasn’t there, you are looking in the wrong place.’
Walter sighed and shook his head.
Karen’s backbone tingled. The worst result she’d feared had come to pass. Walter turned the intercom back on. ‘Thank you, Bob,’ he said. ‘That is all for today, thank you all for your attendance and patience, everyone is excused. Good afternoon.’
‘Thank God for that!’ said Speight, ‘and where’s my fucking apology?’
‘You’ll wait till hell freezes over before you get that,’ said Flanagan.
Speight nodded and said, ‘Anyone fancy a quick pint?’
Gareth Williams, Iain Donaldson, and Miroslav Rekatic made their excuses and left, but the other four were up for it, and they made a beeline for the nearest boozer, amongst much loud and cocky conversation.
WALTER AND KAREN TOOK Corla back upstairs and Jenny produced tea without waiting to be asked.
‘So sorry,’ said Corla.
‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for,’ said Walter.
‘I feel as if I have let you down.’
‘Not at all, if the man wasn’t there, he wasn’t there.’
‘Some of the others were involved though, weren’t they?’
‘I really can’t discuss that.’
‘No, of course you can’t.’
‘Finish your tea and I’ll get one of the young men to run you home.’
Corla nodded and drank the tea.
‘Nicky! Can you run Miss Revelation home?’
‘Course, Guv. My pleasure.’
Corla and Karen and Walter shared a look of gentle disappointment, as Walter said. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘I could help you, you know.’
Walter bobbed his head and escorted Corla to the door. Karen left them to it, for they seemed awfully pally all of a sudden.
Twenty minutes later Hector came back in. His face was swollen, his top lip crooked like some kind of fifties rock star.
Gibbons looked across at his face and said, ‘That’s a big improvement.’
‘Funny funny!’
‘What did you have done?’
‘Two fillings. All done with now, thank God. How did it go here?’
‘Drew a blank, though Karen seemed to think it was worthwhile.’
‘I did, as it happens,’ she said, ‘I think she’s a talented lady, that Corla,’ and she turned to Walter and said, ‘Guv, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.’
‘Guv, Guv!’ yelled Jenny, and everyone turned
