A Hint of Death (A Bob Skinner Short Story) (Kindle Single) by Quintin Jardine Page B

you?’
    Christie nodded, gazing at the carpet, at an old stain left, most probably, by a spilled glass of red wine.
    ‘That’s if it is the truth,’ the detective said, raising an eyebrow as he spoke. ‘But somehow,’ he added, ‘I still don’t believe that it is.’
    ‘If you had been as persistent with your studies, Harold …’ the teacher exclaimed.
    ‘I’d still be a cop today; a graduate entrant, perhaps, but still a cop. I’ve made detective sergeant younger than most, and one of the reasons why is because I can tell when somebody’s telling me porkies. In CID, the gullible need not apply.’
    ‘Is that good, being suspicious of everyone?’
    ‘Oh, I’m not. At home, Cheeky can wind me up no end. But at work, where I ask questions of lots of shifty people on a daily basis, I can tell when I’m being spun a story, or when someone’s being evasive.’
    ‘I didn’t realise that I was.’
    ‘Then take my word for it, you were,’ Haddock chuckled. ‘You’re not a natural liar, but you do have some skill. You didn’t actually tell me you flogged the jewellery to top up your daughter’s university fund; you just threw out the hint and hoped I’d go with it.’ He paused and his expression changed. ‘Look, sir, I don’t need to take this any further. I’ll stop now if that’s what you want. But if you’re in trouble and I can help … well, try me.’
    ‘Will you keep it confidential?’ Christie asked.
    ‘That’ll depend on what you tell me. If you’ve run up a tab with an internet bookie, sure I can, but if a crime’s been committed, I can’t ignore that.’
    ‘It’s a woman,’ the teacher exclaimed, almost before he had finished. ‘I’ve been involved with a woman and it didn’t go as I’d anticipated.’
    ‘Involved? How deeply involved? A little while ago you said you had nothing in your life apart from Josey and work.’
    ‘That was part of the lie … or maybe it wasn’t, for it’s true again; I’m not involved any more.’
    ‘Was it a casual thing or did you see it longer term?’
    ‘I had hopes, I admit.’
    ‘Do you want to tell me about her?’
    ‘I might as well tell you everything now. She’s the older sister of a former pupil, a contemporary of yours, in fact. Do you remember a girl called Hazel McVie?’
    The detective frowned, as he ran a series of faces through his mind, until he found her: a quiet lassie, okay at primary level, but more withdrawn the older she had grown, and undistinguished academically. She had never been one of the in-crowd, and he recalled having to tell Audrey Shields to wind it up when he had caught her bullying the kid during his prefect year.
    ‘Yes, I do,’ he said. ‘We went all through school together, but I never got to know her. Stewie Morrison asked her out on a date once. Being Stewie, he reported back. According to him, she said about three words all night, and when he tried his hand at the bus stop on the way home, she burst into tears.’
    ‘That sounds like Hazel; she had a lot of counselling from Mrs Andries, the guidance teacher. You lot wouldn’t have known about it; it was handled very discreetly, as are all such cases.’
    ‘What’s the sister’s name?’
    ‘Tammy.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You heard. She told me her dad was into country and western at the time. According to her, Hazel was nearly called Dolly, but her mother drew the line at that. She’s Tammy Jones now; married name, but she’s divorced.’
    ‘How did you meet?’
    ‘She came to a school event for the parents of new pupils, about six months ago. Tammy’s thirty-four, but she married when she was twenty. Her son, his name’s Crawford, is twelve. He’s in my first-year class, which doesn’t help.’
    Haddock sensed that the man was about to withdraw into himself once more. ‘But your relationship was personal?’ he continued, quickly.
    ‘It became so. We talked for a while at the event, and I told her she could always get in touch with