Chapter Five
‘It was really nasty. I had to get out.’
Barbara Sinker was silent at the other end of the phone, so her daughter felt the need to say it again.
‘What would it be, Mum? She hits him even though she works for him?’
‘Maybe he works for her.’
‘He suggested they were having some sort of secret affair.’
‘If it’s secret, why would he say that?’
Kim thought for a second. ‘Maybe everything they told me was a lie.’
‘She actually slapped him with you in the same room?’
‘I had nipped out for a second. It was so bright in that place I couldn’t see. I felt dizzy with all that light. I popped out, got my sunglasses, heard the smack, thought they were after a wasp or a fly, then I saw the mark on his cheek.’
‘If you want a guess from me,’ said her mother, ‘it could be crime.’
‘Crime?’
Kim had looked carefully to make sure the couple had gone.
She was still creeped out by the way the man had sneaked up behind her at the start.
Now she had to offload. The penthouse was behind her, glittering in the sun.
Fire and Tank, or whatever their bloody names were, had gone their separate ways as soon as she had locked the front door behind them.
‘That was another sign,’ she told her mother.
‘They were so, like … professional with each other. Almost cold. That was a business meeting and they weren’t lovers.
’ Kimberley had turned left onto the promenade now, her phone conducting heat into her ear.
‘What sort of crime gives you a million quid to burn?’
‘I don’t know. Parking?’
Kim laughed so loudly that a child in a pram, part of a family passing her on the promenade in optimistic summer outfits, burst into tears.
She gestured an apology at the disconcerted father.
Kim’s mother saw all parking charges as theft, so by extension a massive criminal enterprise must involve car parks. She changed the subject.
‘I gather you saw Edward earlier, Mum.’
‘Oh I did. I did indeed. A very odd radio station event where we were supposed to meet the presenters, but he was the only one who had the decency to come, and the poor thing had no voice.’
‘He said you helped him get his message across—’
‘Yes, I certainly did. When I wasn’t fending off that wretched man he works for.’ Barbara’s reply was defensive. As if daring her daughter to ask for more. ‘Where are you, darling?’
‘My car has a flat tyre. I’m walking down the promenade. I’m passing Muffles, to be precise.’
‘Oh, Muffles.’ Barbara’s voice said: I love that store. To Kim, Muffles was a place for baggy fleeces and unisex cardigans, not to mention elasticated denims; she would be as likely to visit Muffles as Alcatraz. In fact, come to think of it, less likely – she had toured Alcatraz once.
‘Mum,’ she teased, ‘do you think Muffles is the thing you love more than anything else in the world?’
‘Not more than Edward.’
‘Oi! That’s my boyfriend. You can only love him from a distance.’
‘Well, that’s what I do,’ said Barbara. ‘My favourite radio presenter.’
‘Hands off, Mum.’
‘There are no hands, only ears.’
‘Well, I’m glad you love him more than Muffl—’ A quick knocking on the window to her left brought Kim to a halt. She turned to face the café she was passing.
There was a face pushed up against the window, stretched and warped by the glass between them like a work of modernist art, only one bright blue eye showing.
It was a familiar face: a youthful expression enhanced by some of the clearest skin Kim had ever seen, with strawberry blonde hair combed into an unfamiliar thick fringe.
In a split-second, Kim’s alarm was replaced by the glow of recognition.
‘Old friend!’ she cried.
The face broke into a tentative smile, as if Stevie Mason was hurt by the brief moment Kim had not recognized her. For Kim the feeling was different – a stranger might see Stevie as a collection of scars, but recognition wiped all of that away. She just saw her friend.
Kim said into her phone: ‘Can I call you back, Mum? Just seen a mate.’ An instant later she was at the bar stool next to Stevie’s. She placed her handbag on the counter at the window and looked at the younger woman.
‘My my,’ Kim said. ‘What a treat to see you after all these months, wonderful girl. A tonic.’
Events had thrown the two women together more than a year earlier.
Stevie’s late grandmother had been a victim in The Case.
Stevie went to Edward for help; he had needed Kim for his investigation.
The three had bonded, especially after Stevie’s face was burned with acid.
When the case was closed, she had faded away.
Now, she stared at Stevie, studying her face.
The burn across the hairline would usually be most noticeable to a stranger, because the hair had not grown back and Stevie had previously made no effort to hide it.
Today it was hidden by a thick fringe. Her face looked wider, the cheeks puffed like a squirrel storing nuts for winter, but the most distinctive feature was the eyepatch that covered the left eye.
‘You’re staring, Jesus Christ Kim, you’re fucking staring, and forgive my blasphemies, God help me, get tae fuck.’
The volley of obscenities made Kim laugh.
A combination of saloon bar sweariness and high church godliness peppered almost everything Stevie said: a mix of her early years in Glasgow, the Tourette’s, and now her buttoned-up vicarage life all made Stevie Stevie.
Kim laughed at the reminder of those double barrels the young woman always fired.
‘Here you are, Stevie, effing and jeffing and then asking God for help.’
‘I cannae help it, you’re looking at me like you’ve never seen my face before.’
‘It’s the new fringe, my love! I’ve never seen you with one before; almost as if you’re covering yourse—’ Kim broke off, cringing inside.
Stevie said, ‘Sorry if my face shocked you. I’m on some steroids. Makes my cheeks puff like a nutty squirrel. The healing is soooooo slow,’ she added. ‘Roddy wanted me to try to cover it.’
‘Roddy?’ said Kim, eyebrows lifting.
Stevie looked down. What was that, discomfort? ‘He’s here in a minute. My fiancé.’ Stevie adjusted her eyepatch then lifted her head up, proudly.
‘Wow! I didn’t know! Congratulations, you superstar! Love came knocking!’
‘Well, that’s one word for it.’ Stevie shook her head and loosened a hairband, allowing a thicket of rich, blonde curls to tumble across her shoulders.
Kim could see the discomfort more clearly now, and she wondered if it was caused by the fact that there must be a wedding planned, and evidently neither she nor Edward were invited.
‘He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.’
‘Can I stay to meet him?’ asked Kim excitedly.
‘If he actually comes.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Estate agent.’
Kim’s jaw dropped.
‘Kidding you. Nothing to do with flats and mortgages. Well, in a way he is. Bailiff. He’s late.’
‘Bailiff, meaning he goes in and gets people’s TVs—’
‘When they owe money. Don’t get prim and proper about it. Usually it’s justified, I suppose.’
Kim had never met a bailiff. She always assumed they were conflicted about their work, and she was hoping Stevie would say something along those lines.
‘So do you like the fringe then?’ Stevie asked, changing the subject. ‘Roddy says he likes everything except my face so I’m trying to change it.’
Kim’s lips parted but no words came out. They were both facing the sea through the big front window, and Kim saw the faintest reflection of her own gaping mouth.
‘It’s nothing, just a joke he makes,’ said Stevie.
‘But you are a beautiful person in every way, a beautiful soul.’
‘A beautiful burned crisp.’
‘No! Getting better,’ Kim tried. She turned away from the window, back to Stevie. ‘Can you not see what I see? A trailblazer, a total original? The aci …’ Kim did not want to say the word ‘acid’ so she quickly substituted, ‘the accident won’t change any of that, silly. How’s your eye been?’
‘Gradually light comes through the pupil. It’s still very blurred.
They don’t want it taking in light for more than a couple of hours a day.
I still need hospital every three or four weeks.
’ Stevie’s hand moved. Her thumb slid under the lowest edge of the patch and she lifted it off the pitted skin.
Kim bit her lip, seeing the almost-sightless right eye.
The healthy iris on the other side was bright blue.
But from the right eyelid, burn scars fanned out like jagged loudspeaker lines in a cartoon.
The iris was darker, with the vagueness of milk.
A feathered border between iris and pupil suggested an artist’s eraser applied to a crisp pen-and-ink sketch; nothing was quite where it should be.
‘What are you doing, kiddo?’
The male voice matched a new reflection in the glass and they both turned.
The young man was stout, muscled, with a nest of brown hair slicked back from his brow.
He wore a black tracksuit with white lines which ran from his shoulders to the cuff, and the top was unzipped to his solar plexus.
Below the top was a white T-shirt. Kim’s gaze alighted on a small red stain in the T-shirt, no bigger than a penny.
He wore sunglasses, which looked like a prescription pair because, behind the shaded lenses, his almost-invisible eyes bulged.
The effect was disconcerting, like seeing a stranger’s eyes in the dark beyond a window.
‘Meeting a friend.’
Kim had not heard this tone in Stevie’s voice before, as if she was choosing each word carefully.
Roddy said, ‘Pleased, I’m sure.’
Kim shook the outstretched hand, which took hers briefly in such a powerful grip she almost gasped in surprise. It was a bailiff’s hand, she thought, one that had removed a lot of baby toys and computers. On the wrist was an emoji, ‘100’ written in a red slant.
‘Sorry I’m on time,’ he joked.
Kim wanted Stevie to reply, You’re not, you’re late, and my friend knows you’re late, but she was amazed how quietened Stevie had suddenly become.
‘Were you showing her your eye? I told you that’s not a good idea. Scare the kiddies.’
Kim felt her hackles rising. Surely a fiancé would want to build Stevie’s confidence, not undermine it?
But then she remembered her own marriage, and how she had stayed there, never feeling the water temperature rising, like a frog in a saucepan.
Before she could open her mouth to retort on Stevie’s behalf, he spoke again.
‘I know I’m a bit late but we had to do a house. Another gas bill arrears. Front door in and we took the carpets.’ He thumbed at a van down the street. ‘Logging them is ridiculous. They’re worth nothing. Need burning. Same with the children’s coats.’
‘It’s just a temporary job,’ said Stevie quietly.
‘What’s your line?’ asked Roddy, jerking his chin towards Kim.
It was a strange expression to use, almost 1970s, and Kim looked at the deep troughs in his face again.
This twenty-five-year-old had done fifty years of living already.
He had the parched skin of a smoker and even his frown had wrinkles.
‘Estate agent,’ Kim replied.
‘Good money. You put ’em in, we take ’em out.’
Stevie put in, ‘It’s not always about the money, Roddy—’
‘It’s not, but it sort of is.’
Kim tried to help. ‘It’s not about money for me. I just love my customers.’
‘Says the lady with the bright red Porsche.’
How had Roddy clocked which car she drove, especially since the Porsche was currently stranded elsewhere?
Perhaps Stevie had mentioned it; or perhaps Roddy had seen the car in Sidmouth and thought he would like to confiscate it at some point after so many dirty rugs and children’s coats?
Did he measure the asset value of everyone he met?
‘Roddy says I can have it off on the wedding day if I want to, the patch.’
‘Have it off on the wedding day!’ repeated Roddy, pleased with his seizing of the innuendo. ‘Only a few weeks to go now, babe!’ he said with a leer at Stevie, then he walked to the counter to get a drink, whistling under his breath, having not offered a refill to either woman.
Kim wanted to ask, Is he kind to you? Her abusive marriage had made her spot red flags everywhere. But she had not seen Stevie for a year and did not feel it was her place to point out danger with Stevie’s wedding day so close.
‘What’s that tattoo – the number “100” inked on his wrist?’
‘He’s getting it taken off.’
‘But what does it mean? I’ve seen it or heard about it. “One hundred” in red?’
‘Means nothing,’ Stevie deadpanned.
Kim sensed hazard in the conversation and fell silent. She saw a smattering of rain above the sea, moving backwards and forwards like water from a garden sprinkler. The sun was still bright. ‘I was just talking to Edward; he’ll be so thrilled to hear I bumped into you.’
‘The radio god!’ Stevie blurted, laughing as if in relief. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s having a difficult day. He had to speak in public with no voice,’ said Kim. ‘Actually,’ she went on, struck by a thought, ‘we were cut off when he started telling me about this lady he’d met. Crossbow lady, he said. Name wasn’t familiar.’
‘Can you remember it?’
Kim put her head in her hands. ‘You and your true crime, Stevie.’ The young woman was a repository for murder stories she had seen online and on TV. ‘Now let me think. The name was – hmm, chewing gum. Spearmint. No, Wrigley.’
‘Crossbow, you said?’ said Stevie.
‘Yes, he said “crossbow” and “Wrigley”. Came from Birmingham.’
Stevie set down her tea and toyed with the remains of a cookie on her plate. ‘Hmm. Birmingham? I thought North Devon.’
‘Honestly,’ Kim said, ‘I might have got it all wrong.’
‘I did hear of a case involving a crossbow. Not around here, for sure.’
‘Like I say, the line went.’
‘Ah! I have it! The case I heard about was a doctor in North Devon. And the wife,’ said Stevie with sudden certainty. ‘Wendy Wrigley gets away with a crossbow murder.’
‘That’s it! I’m sure that was it. Wendy Wrigley.’
‘I’ll tell you the story because I remember it. But listen, she killed her husband and she got away with it. We need to tell Edward to stay away from that dangerous bitch.’
‘Which bitch?’ asked Roddy, who had arrived behind them silently, holding the mug while he popped five artificial sweeteners into his tea.