Page 57 of The Dead Ex
Inspector Vine and his chin stand between me and the door. ‘I fully expect to see you again, Mrs Goudman.’
‘That soundslike intimidation, Inspector.’
‘Just making our position clear.’
Outside the police station I gulp in the air, despite the fumes of the passing traffic. Penny Brookes appears to do the same. Then she shakes my hand. ‘Go home,’ she says. ‘Look after yourself. Let me know if there are any more developments.’
‘What do I owe you?’
‘Nothing. It’s what we call a pro bono. We take on a certain numberevery year.’
Would she feel like this if she knew about my past? ‘So you believe me?’
‘Yes. I do.’
I’m changing my mind about this woman. ‘Will you represent me?’
‘As long as you don’t do anything daft.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well,’ she says slowly, ‘if it was me, I would want to find out what happened to my ex. Please resist that temptation. It could do more harm than good.’
‘I know what it lookslike,’ I protest. ‘He cheated and lied to me, and now he’s dead, but …’
‘What makes you think he’s dead?’ says my solicitor sharply.
‘I don’t know.’ I want to curl up in a hole. ‘I’ve just got a bad feeling about this. And I’m scared.’
‘Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?’ she asks.
I curse myself for my stupid outburst which has – let’s face it – made me look guilty.
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘I’ve told you everything.’
‘You’re sure?’
I go red again, the way I always do when accused of something. It’s a childhood habit. ‘Quite sure.’
If my instincts are right, there’s only one person who might throw some light on all this.
Tanya. I’d been going to see her before the police had arrived.
Now it’s even more important. I just have to summon up the courage.
18
Scarlet
1 April 2007
What was that funny smell? Scarlet began to sneeze. The new social worker, noticing, wound up the car window on the side nearest to her.
‘Oilseed rape,’ she said brightly. ‘Makes your nose tickle. They get a lot of it out here. Not far now. You’re going to love it. Dee and Robert aresuper. They’ve got horses and cows and sheep. You’ll be able to describe all this toyour mum when you write to her.’
But writing wasn’t the same as seeing. All she wanted, thought Scarlet miserably, was to feel Mum’s arms around her and her soft face against hers.
The car swung round a bend, lurching Scarlet into the door. ‘Sorry about that. These lanes can be a bit narrow.’
