Page 59 of Murder in Shades of Fire and Ash

Charlie didn’t want to look.

“It’s not too bad, considering. No sign of infection,” Tom said, and Charlie risked a glance, then wished he hadn’t.

The clean, dry bandage was an improvement, and so were a set of clean, dry clothes. A painkiller would improve things still further.

Tom made him an omelette stuffed with cheese, and some oven chips to go with it. Charlie sat at the kitchen table and enjoyed every mouthful.

“There would be cake,” Tom said.

“But you ate it?” Charlie asked, though he was past caring. They were all alive and that was enough.

Tom smiled, then his face darkened. “I ate some of it,” he said, “and your friend Patsy ate the rest. This isn’t the first omelette I’ve made today. I don’t think she’s been eating, or sleeping either, come to that. She’s asleep in the living room. Or she was.”

Charlie turned as the kitchen door opened.

“I need to explain,” Patsy said. “I knew you’d find them. The person who killed Unwin. So, I’ve been following you. I wanted to make them pay, you see.”

“Corrine paid,” Charlie said. “Is that why you dragged me away?”

“No. I dragged you away because you were soaked in petrol and the room was on fire.”

Tom went as white as a sheet. “What the …”

“It was fine, Tom,” Patsy said. “I knocked him over and kicked him in the goolies.”

She sounded so matter of fact that Charlie burst out laughing, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. It made his ribs hurt, but he was past caring. Tom and Patsy stared at him, as if he was mad.

“I suppose you also know why Unwin was meeting Corrine in an empty shop?” Charlie asked when the laughter had subsided.

“I have an idea. The estate agents want to sell that shop, and it’s cheap. I think Unwin went to see if we could convert it into flats, one for us to live in, one to sell or rent out. We should check if they made a viewing appointment.”

And she killed him because he was called Josh. He was just the wrong one.

It wasn’t difficult to persuade Tom to drive him to meet Mal Kent at HQ. Or to drop Patsy off at Dylan’s house.

“I want to tell him what happened,” she said.

46

Wednesday late

Charlie and Mal Kent sat opposite Jeff Britton and his solicitor — a young woman who looked barely old enough to have finished school — in an interview room at police HQ. It being HQ, the room was relatively modern, though without natural light. The carpet still looked blue, and there were cameras, plural. It was still an interview room, with a tightly wound suspect, facing a long wait for a court date, and hopefully (from Charlie’s perspective) a lengthy jail term. He might get bail, but Charlie had hopes of custody. Jeff Britton was too good at dropping out of sight to make bail a comfortable option for the police.

“Mr Burton,” Kent began.

“Britton, I’m changing it.” Britton interrupted.

“Mr Britton, then, Jeff, if I may,” Kent said, his voice deep, and as smooth as honey.

“Don’t fucking bother,” Britton said, “I’ll admit to everything, except I never killed anyone.”

“So, that would be the kidnapping and assault on Alun Evans MP in his home?”

Britton nodded and then said “yes,” when Kent told him he needed to say the word aloud.

“The graffiti on the town hall in Llanfair?”

“Yes.”

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