Deadlight by Graham Hurley

Author:Graham Hurley [Hurley, Graham]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2010-11-03T13:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

SATURDAY, 8 JUNE, 2002, 15.30

Marie Elliott lived in a tiny terraced house in Eastney, a close, tight-knit extension of Southsea, five minutes’ walk from the beach. Someone had recently had a go at the front of the house with a tin or two of Weathertex, cream with a hint of yellow, and there were fresh flowers in a vase in the front window. While Bev Yates rapped at the door, Faraday gazed absently at a black and white cat which had appeared beside the flowers.

Bev had drawn a blank on the taxi driver who’d picked up the fares from the Alhambra on Monday night. They’d managed to trace the guy through the taxi firm, only to find that he’d just left for a long weekend in Amsterdam. Half a week on from his aborted day off, Faraday couldn’t remember feeling so tired.

Elliott recognised Yates at once. The long fall of raven-black hair was gathered in a twist of scarlet ribbon and she was knotting a green sarong. Judging by the blush of sunburn on her bare shoulders, she must have been in the garden for a while.

Yates had offered his warrant card, then introduced Faraday. Elliott barely gave him a second glance.

‘What do you want?’ Straight to the point.

Yates mentioned the Coughlin investigation. They had a couple of things they’d like to clear up. It wouldn’t take long.

‘It’s Saturday. You know that?’

Faraday was trying to smother a yawn. Too right, he thought.

She let them in without another word. The front door led directly into a little sitting room, rugs on carefully stained floorboards, interesting prints on the wall, the smell of freesias hanging in the air. The cat watched Elliott as she padded barefoot through to the back. Yates was inspecting a newish-looking mountain bike, propped against the dresser.

‘Ainsley’s.’

Elliott was back from the kitchen. Leaning against the door jamb, she was nursing a glass of something long and cool. Faraday could hear the clink of ice cubes as she moved.

‘You want to talk in the garden? Or here?’

‘Wherever.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t want to talk at all but I don’t suppose I’ve got a choice.’

They settled for the sitting room. Yates and Faraday perched awkwardly on the two-seat sofa, Elliott sitting on a beanbag on the floor. Yates had produced the notes from their last encounter and, watching the woman’s face as he began to go through her statement, Faraday sensed a certain softening in her attitude. She had nothing against Yates personally. Only the implications of this abrupt intrusion into her otherwise peaceful weekend.

After she’d confirmed everything she’d said before, Yates started on her movements since.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked.

‘Work. As you might expect.’

‘In the prison?’

‘Of course.’

‘And Ainsley?’

‘He’s been in London.’

‘Still with his mum?’

‘As far as I know, yes.’

For the first time, Faraday spotted an opening. Yates saw it, too.

‘You’re not sure?’ he said.

‘It’s not that. It’s not that I’m not sure. It’s just that he does his own thing. This is a man who’s just spent the last seven years inside.

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