but dressed smartly, a shirt and tie and pressed blue trousers.
‘We knew you’d come round eventually,’ Mrs Taylor said, as Sheldon got closer, her voice coming out with a tremble. ‘It was awful what happened to Mr Privett. We saw it on the news and, well, we just want you to know that although we didn’t get on with him, we would have no part in anything like that.’
Sheldon was confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Mr Privett’s murder. I know how you find out who had a grudge against the dead person, to work out who killed him, and I suppose we’re some of those people. So we are suspects.’
Sheldon smiled, a moment of relief. ‘You’re not suspects, I promise you.’
She visibly relaxed, and so opened the door to let him in. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?’
He was about to refuse, he just wanted to find out if they knew where Christina had gone, but he felt the sudden urge to relax, to sit down and enjoy the warmth of their hospitality. ‘Coffee, please. That would be nice.’
He sank into a high-backed chair that looked towards the view at the front. He closed his eyes, just for a second, and felt the comfort of the chair send him drifting off somewhere, where he couldn’t feel his doubts anymore, where Billy Privett didn’t matter.
He woke up with a start. Mrs Taylor was in front of him, holding out a cup of coffee.
‘Have you been working too hard?’ she said, as she handed it to him.
Sheldon nodded. ‘It seems that way sometimes.’ He took a sip of coffee, felt it perk him up. ‘Did you know the girl next door, Christina, Billy’s housekeeper?’
‘Blonde girl? Yes, we used to see her around. We thought it was Mr Privett’s girlfriend, because since, well, you know, Alice, he had been quieter. Not as many parties.’
‘She’s not there anymore. Did you ever speak to her?’
‘No, not ever. Not even a smile. But why would anyone from there say hello to us? They knew what we thought of them.’
‘She left yesterday. Did you see her go?’
They shook their heads.
Sheldon put the cup on the floor and put his head back against the chair, as the sound of the blood rushing through his head overwhelmed him. He thought he could hear someone talking, getting closer, but he ignored it. Someone’s hand was on his but he didn’t look up. He saw Billy’s smirk, and Alice’s body. He remembered when his wife left him, her clothes packed into bin liners, her screams that she couldn’t compete with Alice Kenyon anymore. So it had come to this, his life defined by what he couldn’t solve, not what he could.
The hand around his became tighter. He could hear voices shouting at him. ‘Inspector. Inspector.’
He opened his eyes slowly and the room blurred into view. Then he saw that it was Tracey Peters, her hand shaking his.
‘Sir, are you all right?’
He looked at her, and then at Mr and Mrs Taylor, their eyes filled with concern, and he nodded.
As he stood to go, following Tracey, he glanced over to Billy’s house, visible over the hedges and rhododendron bushes. He thought it looked dark, a cloud in front of the sun casting the house in shadow, while everywhere else was bathed in sunshine.
Sheldon turned away.
Charlie faltered as he got near to the court building, the three files Linda had given him earlier tucked under his arm. First hearings. A guilty plea and two not guilty. One long, two quick. He could do this.
But he wasn’t sure that he could, because the blood-covered knife dominated his thoughts. He had to try though, because he had to appear normal. If he had hurt someone with the knife, appearing different could count against him if the police started asking questions. Same old Charlie, that’s what he had to be.
Donia was waiting for him, standing just to the side of the main doors, looking smart in a navy skirt and jacket. She waved as she saw him.
Charlie took a deep breath and smiled as he got closer.
‘I hope you don’t mind, but I knew you were coming here,’ she said.
‘I tripped,’ he said, knowing that she was looking at the graze on his cheek but not wanting to discuss it. He looked around for police officers, and felt a jolt when he saw a dark uniform on the other side of the courthouse door. He went closer, needing to reassure himself, and as he got closer he breathed more easily. It was an officer in uniform, but he was in his parade dress, best tunic and shiny buttons, so he must be giving evidence.
Charlie hustled his way through the crowd huddled around the door. It was the daily gathering, and the usual smells assaulted his nostrils, of cigarettes and sweat, unwashed clothes smelling like sour milk. There were grunted greetings, and one or two scowls from those people whose days in court hadn’t gone so well in the past.
Charlie nodded at the people he recognised, but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He was at court because it was what he did. He could have asked Amelia to do it, feigned illness, but it was all about appearing normal, just another day. Except that he needed his anxiety to keep him alert, because whenever he was able to convince himself that he’d done nothing wrong, the fear was replaced by fatigue. The fog of a hangover felt heavy and waves of nausea swept over him from time to time. He hadn’t eaten anything, apart from the steady supply of mints intended to keep the boozy smell away.
Donia fell in behind him as he went inside, elbowing his way through the crowded waiting room and towards the door to one of the courtrooms. He could see the respectful calm of the court on the other side, visible through a glass porthole. He practised his smile, so that it looked natural, not forced, but when his eyes focused on what was in the courtroom, he backed away.
It was the usual scene. Two rows of wooden benches, like church pews, facing towards the high bench occupied by the Magistrates, the backdrop a high velvet curtain, the royal coat of arms hanging in front of it, the lion and the unicorn. The prosecutor was ready in his seat, the white file covers piled up on the desk in front of him, but it was the person he was talking to that made Charlie back away.
It was one of the local detectives. He was standing over the prosecutor, talking. It wasn’t unusual for the police to attend the court hearings. Sometimes they had updates to pass on, and sometimes they just wanted to see the prosecutor put up a fight. This might be different though. They might be waiting for him.
‘Are you Charlie Barker?’
He started. When he looked round, there was a man in his early twenties, scowling, holding some papers in his hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ Charlie mumbled, backing away. ‘I just need some fresh air.’
Charlie bolted outside, banging through the entrance door, and made it to the street before he threw up. It was booze and nerves and tiredness, but that didn’t make him feel any better as he heaved to the cheers of the crowd behind him.
Once he had finished, he propped his head on his arm and leant against the wall. His forehead was clammy, and for as long as he didn’t look up, he could pretend that no one had seen him. There
