Six Feet Under by Dorothy Simpson

Author:Dorothy Simpson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504044332
Publisher: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller
Published: 2017-02-27T05:00:00+00:00

13

Thanet did not immediately respond to her challenge. The afternoon traffic was building up and he waited until they were clear of the worst of the congestion and out on the Nettleton Road. Once they started to talk he wanted to be able to give her most of his attention. Meanwhile, he thought about what he was going to say. Some of it could be distinctly tricky.

He began blandly enough.

“I just wanted to talk to you about Monday night.”

“Surprise, surprise! But I really haven’t anything to tell you, Inspector.”

“You were out that evening, though.”

“Yes.”

“In Sturrenden?”

“Right!”

“At the cinema, with Chris Gamble.”

Silence. Then, “If you damn well know it all, why bother to ask?”

She didn’t deny it, though. He wondered what she was trying to hide behind that flippant, half-cynical manner. Thinking of her parents, it wasn’t difficult to guess: a rampant insecurity, a bitterness which could poison her life if she weren’t careful. He would have to be gentle with her.

After a moment she said sulkily, “Who told you, anyway?” And then, “I suppose you’re going to tell my father?”

He ignored the first question. “Why should you assume that?” he said.

She shrugged. “Isn’t that your job? Stir us all up and see what crawls out?”

“That’s not how I see it. There’s no virtue in causing unnecessary distress. I simply want to catch a murderer.”

A quick, sideways glance showed that she didn’t believe him; she was staring out of the window, lips set in a stubborn line, arms folded defiantly. He sighed inwardly. This was going to be difficult.

There was a lay-by ahead and he signalled, pulled into it, switched off the ignition. Then he turned to face her. She really was a beautiful girl, he thought, with the kind of good looks that would improve with age: a smooth oval of a face and a classic bone-structure.

“Did either of you see or hear anything unusual on your way back from the bus stop?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know about Chris. I didn’t.”

“You’re sure?”

“I told you, no.”

No point in pursuing the subject. “What did you think of Miss Birch?”

“Oh, her.” Her mouth twisted and she looked away, out of the side window.

“You didn’t like her.” It was a statement, not a question.

“She was a creep, a real creep.”

“In what way?”

She looked at him then, a long, considering look. He could hear her thinking, How much shall I tell him?, almost as clearly as if she had spoken the words aloud. At last, “She snooped,” she said. “Poked her nose into everything.” Indignation made her expansive. “I’d get home and find she’d even been through my underwear drawer, for God’s sake!” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “I didn’t fancy wearing it, I can tell you, when I knew she’d been pawing it. She thought I didn’t know, of course, but she never put things back in exactly the right way. You wouldn’t believe how tidy I got, laying little traps for her. And she fell into them every time. If I could have locked up everything I owned, I would have.

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