See How They Run by Tom Bale

said, ‘43? That belongs to Mrs Beckerman. She must be, ooh, ninety-something by now.’
    ‘Is she a recluse?’
    ‘Oh, she doesn’t live there. She emigrated to Israel at least fifteen years ago. Kept the house as an investment, I believe. It’s been rented out several times, but not recently. Certainly not since you and Harry joined our little community.’
    ‘So it’s empty? Or perhaps someone lives there who wants to keep a low profile?’
    Clare pursed her lips. ‘Not impossible, I suppose. Why?’
    ‘I thought I might have seen someone, that’s all.’ As Alice stood up, she realised she was anxiously twisting her wedding ring and had to make a conscious effort to relax. ‘I’d better get back.’
    ‘You’ve intrigued me now. Could be squatters, I suppose.’
    ‘Squatters! I hadn’t thought of that.’
    ‘It’s not always the orgy of destruction that the media claim. I did it myself when I was eighteen or nineteen.’ Clare smiled at the memory. ‘Shacked up with a beautiful boy and his friends in a townhouse in Richmond. We actually took great care of the property. In fact, I painted that bedroom ceiling as well …’
    Her reminiscences followed Alice along the hall; before letting her go she secured a promise that next time Alice would bring Evie for a visit.
    ‘And I shall keep an eye on that house,’ Clare told her. ‘I do like a good mystery.’
    Alice grinned and nodded, but in her heart she couldn’t agree. Mysteries had their place, but what she needed was a solution.

Ten
    Y ou got off lightly . The words, delivered in such an offhand tone, had him reeling.
    They set off along Madeira Drive in the direction of the marina, passing an array of small businesses housed within the colonnaded walkway: cafes, galleries and gift shops, some of them already shuttered for the winter. From the mess of anxiety and confusion that currently passed for his brain, Harry plucked his next question.
    ‘How did you find out where I work?’
    ‘I followed you this morning, and got on the bus at the stop before yours.’
    ‘What, you camped outside my house all night?’
    ‘No. From about six thirty.’
    ‘Who are you? Or what, I mean? A cop? A private detective.’
    She flapped her hand, as if the answer wasn’t important. ‘Close enough.’
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘Either. Both.’ She turned away and marched across the road. There were fewer people on this side, and the pavement was wider, divided into lanes for pedestrians and cyclists. The wind buffeted them as they walked towards the old Volks railway line and the beach beyond. The rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore managed to sound both violent and strangely soothing.
    Ruth leaned on the railings and gazed straight ahead, ignoring Harry’s scrutiny as he tried to decide whether her presence was harmful or benign. He stuck with his initial assessment of her age: early or mid-forties. She had a striking, photogenic face with high cheekbones and clear blue eyes, and a dimple on her chin. Her skin was pale, with fine smile lines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. Her lips were full and very symmetrical, with what he decided was a sardonic edge to them. And then there was the oddity of her hair.
    ‘Are you wearing a wig?’
    Sounding mildly hurt, she said, ‘I think it looks very realistic.’
    ‘It does. But the colour isn’t quite right for the tone of your skin. And there’s something about the shape – the way it sits against your temple isn’t completely natural.’
    ‘You sound like an expert.’
    ‘I work in visual effects. Hair and fur are some of the trickiest things to animate. Every single strand has its own weight and shape, its own way of catching the light as it moves.’
    She nodded. ‘But it’s good enough to fool a casual observer?’
    ‘Absolutely. I’m just curious to know why you’re wearing a disguise.’
    ‘Isn’t that obvious? These are very dangerous people.’

    H arry wasn’t about to