Page 53 of Her Last Walk Home

She stared at the phone number for Brenda Morgan and tried to formulate the questions she needed to ask the grieving mother. The main question being, who would want to kill her only son?

41

Cafferty’s was unusually quiet when Boyd arrived to meet Charlie Lennon. The estate agent was seated at a small table. He gave her a wave when she noticed him. Her smile seemed to brighten her white blouse in the relatively dim corner. He ordered a house special sandwich and sat across from her, wondering how he was going to eat such a large sandwich without making an arse of himself.

‘Glad you could make time to meet me at such short notice,’ he said.

‘You’re lucky to get me. I came into the office to check something. I only work a half-day on Saturdays.’ She put down her sandwich and dabbed her lips with a napkin, then straightened the knees of her dark blue trousers. ‘You didn’t give me any hints, but I’m excited to know if you might be buying in Pine Grove.’

He felt his cheeks flush. Time to set her straight, he thought, as his sandwich arrived along with a pot of tea.

She continued to talk. ‘With interest rates sky-rocketing, and even though it’s hard to negotiate on a new house, I’m sure I could get the price reduced a little, if you’re dead set on it.’

‘Eh, I’m still not sure. The building work is being halted next week, so there’s no rush, is there?’

‘It’s a temporary glitch. Happens all the time. Cash flow and boring stuff. Best to have your name on the list with a holding deposit.’

‘I’ll think about it.’ He poured his tea and added a drop of milk. ‘Charlie, I asked to meet you to discuss John Morgan’s murder.’

She cradled her mug of aromatic coffee, ran her tongue around her teeth and looked at him. ‘So you’re not interested in buying in Pine Grove after all?’

‘I have a lot to consider and I need to talk to the bank, but I haven’t ruled it out.’ As he spoke the words, he knew they were true.

‘I don’t think your partner was too impressed.’

Therein lay the problem. ‘It’s just that we’re what you’d call a blended family.’ He thought about that for a moment. Were they even a family, blended or not? ‘I promise I’ll get back to you once we reach a decision.’

‘Right.’ She placed her mug on the table. ‘What do you want to ask me about in relation to the murder?’

‘I’m aware that you didn’t recognise the body at the time of the discovery, but did you know John Morgan?’

‘I didn’t recognise him because he was dead. It’s in my statement. I may have seen him on site, but I knew nothing about him.’

‘Okay. What can you tell me about Patrick Curran?’

‘Why do you want to know about Patrick? Tell me, Mark, is this even proper procedure, interviewing me here?’ She swept her hand around the pub.

‘I think you might be able to help me. An interview in a sterile environment doesn’t always yield results.’ He sipped his tea, ignoring the oversized sandwich beginning to sag on the plate.

‘Does that mean anything I say can’t be taken down and used in a court of law? Or whatever the wording is.’ She smiled brightly.

‘Correct.’ Then he thought about it. What if she revealed something critical to the investigation? But they had nothing much to go on yet, so if she imparted a nugget of useful information, it was better than nothing. ‘I asked you about Patrick Curran.’

‘I only know him in a professional capacity.’ She grabbed her mug once again.

‘Is there anything I need to be aware of?’

‘Patrick is a good family man, from what I hear. Great to deal with. There. Nothing for you to concern yourself with. Try pinning the murder on someone else.’

‘I’m not pinning anything on anyone.’

‘Seems like it from where I’m sitting.’

The glint had departed from her eyes, and even her teeth had lost their sheen, probably from the coffee she’d been drinking.

‘I’m sorry, Charlie. I thought that as you’re a person looking in from the outside, maybe you could help. I apologise.’

She abandoned her coffee, wrapped the remains of her sandwich in a napkin and slipped it into her bag. The only sound was the monotonous drone coming from the television behind the bar. Boyd looked at his own sandwich. His stomach rumbled, but there was no way he could get a bite without dropping half of it down his shirt. He should have asked for a knife and fork.

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