The Valley by Unknown

caution?’
    As Steve ran through my rights and listed all the things that the police could do with my evidence, Joy strolled over to my backdoor and peered through its glass panel. Outside was a small patio I had created from a fire escape. It extended out five meters and then turned ninety degrees to form a narrow blind alley that led, via a metal ladder and a gate in the railings, to the side street above. Despite warnings from the council to keep the passageway clear at all times, my children used it as a play area, and it was littered with their toys.
    ‘This is very nice,’ Joy said, pointing to the patio. ‘What happens around the corner?’
    ‘Nothing: it runs into a brick wall.’
    ‘How appropriate,’ she said with a smile.
    She turned and headed back through the kitchen to look at the photos on my fridge. ‘Are these your children?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes. How long is this going to take, Joy? I have to go to work.’
    ‘Two minutes,’ she said. ‘It’s about the clothes we’ve kept – the ones you were wearing in the Graingers’ house.’
    ‘What do you want to know about them?’
    ‘When you were at her house, Lucy Grainger put them in her tumble dryer, didn’t she?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And then you washed them when you got back here?’
    I nodded but Joy was no longer looking at me. She was examining my kitchen sink.
    ‘What puzzles me, John,’ she said, ‘is that you never mentioned washing your clothes when we questioned you.’
    She briefly looked up and stared at me, before returning her gaze to my kitchen sink.
    ‘I’ve gone through all our recordings,’ she continued, ‘and you were very clear: on the night of 14th February, you left the Graingers’ house before midnight; you went straight to bed; and in the morning you went straight off to work. There’s no mention of you washing any clothes. We can show you the transcripts if you want.’
    She glanced across at Steve. He now had a pen and notebook ready in his hands.
    ‘Well, I did go straight to bed, more or less,’ I said. ‘I mean if you want to be really literal about it, I had a piss, farted a couple of times, brushed my teeth, chucked some clothes in the washing machine and then went to bed. I just thought you could do without all those riveting details.’
    ‘Those riveting details are what my job is all about, John.’
    ‘And I thought I had an exciting life.’
    She laughed: ‘Probably true. But all those things you just mentioned are a bit different from washing clothes, aren’t they? Every night you brush your teeth, and I’m sure you relieve yourself in the other ways you mentioned as well. But washing clothes…’
    ‘Actually I usually fart only once,’ I said.
    I looked across at Steve who had started to write down my reply. He grinned sheepishly, glancing towards Joy for reassurance.
    She laughed. ‘Very good, John, I’m sure Steve will adjust all our records accordingly. But let’s concentrate on the clothes washing. Because that isn’t something you do every night, is it?’
    She pulled a dirty mug out of the sink and held it up in front of her. ‘You’re a typical bloke, John. You leave dirty things in the sink. And when men like you come back home drunk at midnight, they leave their clothes on the floor; they don’t put them in the washing machine. Or have I just gone out with the wrong sort of men all my life?’
    The more she accused me of, the more she smiled. I noticed that she was wearing the same shiny patent leather shoes she had worn at the police station, and I wondered why a woman, who in every other way dressed conservatively, would want to wear them.
    ‘I don’t know Joy,’ I said, at last. ‘I usually put my clothes in my laundry basket. But that night it was full, so I bunged everything in the machine and turned it on.’
    Joy moved across to Steve, checking his notebook. Then, without looking up, she said casually: ‘Lucy Grainger’s washing machine was also used on the night