work.
The phone box on the Byres Road was in mint condition. It accepted three kinds of payment and the digital display had a French and a German option. She listened to the empty ring at Benny's house for a while and then, in a moment of weakness, called Leslie.
She let it ring until it cut out and then pressed the redial button, hanging up after two rings. She couldn't talk to Leslie without being needy and that would make her feel worse. Leslie had to work on the appeal, she told herself, get a grip. She phoned McEwan at the police station. The receptionist put her through to an office. A distracted man told her that DCI Joe McEwan wasn't available.
"I'm Maureen O'Donnell. Um, I was ... A man was killed in my house and I need to get some clothes from the house."
"I'm Hugh McAskill." He seemed to think she'd recognize his name.
"Right," she said.
"From this morning. I was in the car with you. I was there when you were interviewed. I've got red hair."
"Oh, yeah," she said eagerly, "I remember you."
"The team are still at the house. You can get in okay."
"Smashin'."
"Are you going up now?"
"Aye."
"Tell them who you are when you get to the door—"
She interrupted him. "Mr. McAskill, can I ask you something?"
He thought for a moment. "Depends," he said tentatively.
"What was in the cupboard?"
McAskill didn't answer.
"It wasn't just slippers, was it?"
She could hear him exhale away from the receiver. "You don't want to know, pet," he said softly. "I'll phone your house and let them know you're coming."
"You're very kind," said Maureen, and meant it.
As she walked up the stairs in her close she looked out of the landing window. Eight or so uniformed officers were searching the back court; three of them poked around the spilled contents of the big communal wheelie bins.
A uniformed policeman was standing guard outside her front door. She told him she was expected. He asked her to wait and slipped inside, shutting the door in her face. He opened it two sighs later. Something McMummb was in the living room with two men from the Forensics team, still shuffling around in their white paper suits. He peered out at Maureen. "That's her," he said.
The officer on the door warned her that they would have to examine anything she wanted to take away and she wouldn't be allowed into certain parts of the house.
The heat had evaporated and it was cooler. The door of the hall cupboard was sealed shut with thick strips of yellow tape. She could see the first browning footprint in the living room. McMummb stepped lightly to the side, blocking the doorway, letting her know that she wasn't allowed to go in. Maureen lowered her eyes and went straight into the bedroom. McMummb hung back, talking to someone in the hall.
Everything was exactly as she had left it: the duvet was thrown back off the bed, the shift dress she had worn for work lay crumpled on the floor, half covering her handbag, and her watch was sitting on the bedside cabinet next to a lidless jar of cold cream. She stood next to her bed on the unaccustomed side. She wanted to sit down and rub her sore feet but she knew she shouldn't touch anything until McMummb came in to supervise. She reached out and touched the rumpled cotton sheet. The pillow showed an imprint where her sweaty head had been.
She looked down at the carpet and saw the cracked corner of a CD cover. She put her toe on it and dragged it out from under the bed without bending down. It was Benny's Best of the Selecter CD, the one she'd borrowed and was convinced she had given back. She had been so adamant. Benny'd never let her forget this.
McMummb came into the room and found her standing by the bed grinning at her feet. "I need to see the things," he said.
She watched him, waiting for him to finish his sentence, but his voice trailed away. He looked unhappily at the carpet in front of him.
"Okay," said Maureen, and handed him her watch to peruse.
She picked out a pair of jeans, her leather
The phone box on the Byres Road was in mint condition. It accepted three kinds of payment and the digital display had a French and a German option. She listened to the empty ring at Benny's house for a while and then, in a moment of weakness, called Leslie.
She let it ring until it cut out and then pressed the redial button, hanging up after two rings. She couldn't talk to Leslie without being needy and that would make her feel worse. Leslie had to work on the appeal, she told herself, get a grip. She phoned McEwan at the police station. The receptionist put her through to an office. A distracted man told her that DCI Joe McEwan wasn't available.
"I'm Maureen O'Donnell. Um, I was ... A man was killed in my house and I need to get some clothes from the house."
"I'm Hugh McAskill." He seemed to think she'd recognize his name.
"Right," she said.
"From this morning. I was in the car with you. I was there when you were interviewed. I've got red hair."
"Oh, yeah," she said eagerly, "I remember you."
"The team are still at the house. You can get in okay."
"Smashin'."
"Are you going up now?"
"Aye."
"Tell them who you are when you get to the door—"
She interrupted him. "Mr. McAskill, can I ask you something?"
He thought for a moment. "Depends," he said tentatively.
"What was in the cupboard?"
McAskill didn't answer.
"It wasn't just slippers, was it?"
She could hear him exhale away from the receiver. "You don't want to know, pet," he said softly. "I'll phone your house and let them know you're coming."
"You're very kind," said Maureen, and meant it.
As she walked up the stairs in her close she looked out of the landing window. Eight or so uniformed officers were searching the back court; three of them poked around the spilled contents of the big communal wheelie bins.
A uniformed policeman was standing guard outside her front door. She told him she was expected. He asked her to wait and slipped inside, shutting the door in her face. He opened it two sighs later. Something McMummb was in the living room with two men from the Forensics team, still shuffling around in their white paper suits. He peered out at Maureen. "That's her," he said.
The officer on the door warned her that they would have to examine anything she wanted to take away and she wouldn't be allowed into certain parts of the house.
The heat had evaporated and it was cooler. The door of the hall cupboard was sealed shut with thick strips of yellow tape. She could see the first browning footprint in the living room. McMummb stepped lightly to the side, blocking the doorway, letting her know that she wasn't allowed to go in. Maureen lowered her eyes and went straight into the bedroom. McMummb hung back, talking to someone in the hall.
Everything was exactly as she had left it: the duvet was thrown back off the bed, the shift dress she had worn for work lay crumpled on the floor, half covering her handbag, and her watch was sitting on the bedside cabinet next to a lidless jar of cold cream. She stood next to her bed on the unaccustomed side. She wanted to sit down and rub her sore feet but she knew she shouldn't touch anything until McMummb came in to supervise. She reached out and touched the rumpled cotton sheet. The pillow showed an imprint where her sweaty head had been.
She looked down at the carpet and saw the cracked corner of a CD cover. She put her toe on it and dragged it out from under the bed without bending down. It was Benny's Best of the Selecter CD, the one she'd borrowed and was convinced she had given back. She had been so adamant. Benny'd never let her forget this.
McMummb came into the room and found her standing by the bed grinning at her feet. "I need to see the things," he said.
She watched him, waiting for him to finish his sentence, but his voice trailed away. He looked unhappily at the carpet in front of him.
"Okay," said Maureen, and handed him her watch to peruse.
She picked out a pair of jeans, her leather
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