Page 53 of The Tapes
She laughs but I find it harder to join in now.
‘The thing with that silly biography on the website is that even the bits that could be true aren’t. He didn’t leave Prince for a greater calling. He didn’t leave because of ambition or intelligence – and it definitely wasn’t work ethic. He left because nobody could stand him. This one time, he gave a line manager a bit of lip. Something like “You’re too old to know what you’re doing”, that sort of thing. Anyway, the manager went into the changing rooms, broke into Mark’s locker, grabbed all his clothes, then threw them in the toilet. All the blokes took their turn to, well… you can figure out the rest. I’m not saying it was right – Mark was only young himself, but he’d been pushing his luck since his first day. He never came back to the factory after that.’
I consider that for a moment. It all sounds very 1990s bantery – and unquestionably grim. Possibly deserved. I find a part of myself feeling sorry for Mark, then remember all the times I’ve seen him talk to people in a similar way.
‘I thought Mark was a manager?’ I say.
Lorna laughs. ‘He couldn’t manage tying his own shoes. He was terrible at his job, rude to everyone, never listened, constantly made mistakes, and had no interest in learning. He lasted about a month.’
‘Is that all?’
‘I know. He makes it sound like he walked in and started running the place – but I’ve had gall stones that lasted longer than he did.’
She flashes me a smile.
‘Do you remember exactly when he left?’ I ask.
‘I know it was the week before Christmas because we had a pool going on whether he’d turn up for the party. I had three quid on him showing.’
‘Did you win?’
‘I don’t think even he was that shameless.’
I take a moment, re-considering the timing.
Lorna asks if I smoke, then, when I say no, says that she doesn’t either. Her grin is infectious as she adds: ‘Don’t tell my wife that I asked if you wanted one.’
I find myself yawning, not because of her. It’s been a long day and the night before was long too. My teacup is empty and I’m not sure I can force down any more. There’s less than a dozen people in the room and, as I look towards the main doors, my cavalry has finally arrived.
Liam starts walking across the floor, hands in his pockets. ‘You OK?’ he asks, as he stands over me.
‘What took you so long?’ I ask.
‘Stuck at work.’
I check the time, realising Lorna and I have somehow been talking for an hour and a half.
‘Husband?’ Lorna asks.
‘AA sponsor.’
We both stand and Lorna shakes hands with Liam. ‘One of Dad’s friends,’ I tell him. He eyes her with curiosity, though that might be because there’s alcohol on her breath, then he looks back to me.
‘Let’s go have that drink,’ he says.
We explain to Lorna that ‘let’s have that drink’ is our stupid, inside way of asking the other if we fancy a cup of tea or coffee.
But my mind is still on Mark and Lorna. If Mark left Prince Industries the week before Christmas, he wasn’t there when the first killing happened. It’s only his invented biography that makes it sound like he was. Does that change things?
I still overheard him on the phone saying he was lying about where he’d been. Owen’s wallet was still in his safe. And so was the twine.
But maybe this means the Earring Killer is someone else entirely.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Liam was supposed to save me an hour ago. We head back through the social club to my car and then set off for his house.
‘I heard from your police friend,’ he says as I pull away.
