The Child Before by Michael Scanlon

Author:Michael Scanlon
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781786819383
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2019-06-05T04:00:00+00:00

Forty-Nine

Jacinta O’Reilly lived in a house that reminded Beck somewhat of a steam locomotive: flat roofed at one end with a chimney stack rising from its centre, while at the other it was raised with a sloping slate roof. The front predominately was of glass, with huge windows and, uniquely, corners of dimpled glass bricks, two bricks thick. The house was painted a gleaming white and the window surrounds black. The door in the centre of the building was also black. It was set in from the road behind a neat lawn. There was no garden wall, no trees, no embellishments, not even flowers. It was quite striking.

‘The flat roof is covered in solar panels,’ Claire said, pulling up behind a green convertible VW Beetle parked at the side. ‘Designed this herself.’

‘Impressive,’ Beck said. ‘And expensive. You know her?’

‘A little. It’s a small town. She’s her own woman, as they say. Originally, she trained as a nurse, then became a homoeopathist. It’s a booming sector, alternative medicine. Chalk and cheese really. The pair of them.’

‘Children? Two I heard?’

‘Two boys. One’s in New York, an artist, but O’Reilly called him a bum. The other, the one he was proud of, training as a solicitor in London.’

She was waiting for them when they rounded the side of the house, standing at the front door. Inspector O’Reilly’s ex-wife was a small petite woman, attractive but not pretty, with a round face, small eyes and thin lips. She was dressed in a short red dress, a belt that had a large gold buckle secured around a slim waist. Her breasts were prominent, her legs perfect. She oozed sensuality, but also practicality, all at the same time. O’Reilly would have picked up on that.

‘I was just about to go out when I heard,’ the voice cracking. ‘I can’t believe it.’

They reached the door. Jacinta stared at Claire, turned to take in Beck.

‘How did you know?’ Claire asked gently.

‘Someone rang. A newspaper or other. It doesn’t matter. I know, Claire.’ She turned. ‘Come on. Come in.’

The hallway was tiled. It was like daylight inside. Beck considered it the only property he’d ever felt the need to wear sunglasses inside. She led them into a room, like a picture from a soft furnishings brochure, colours vibrant and coordinated, everything clinically clean and tidy. Beck saw a mural on the wall, an abstract. He worked out it was of a woman reclining into a chair, nothing but a scarf around her neck. He thought of the picture on the wall of the room where Inspector O’Reilly’s body had been found. Maybe not so chalk and cheese after all.

She noticed him looking.

‘Gerry liked it,’ she explained. ‘Picked it up at an auction somewhere. It kind of grew on me. Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee?’

‘No,’ Claire said.

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Beck said.

‘Look,’ Claire said. ‘Don’t you worry about us, please, Jacinta. We came to…’

Claire suddenly looked uncomfortable.

Jacinta O’Reilly sat down, crossing her legs, her short dress sliding up her thigh.

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