Page 37 of Pressure Head
“Hey, I’m not trying to chat you up or anything. You’re a married lady, and I’m, well, let’s just say I might have my eye on someone. And nothing personal, but he’s a lot more my type than you are.” She glanced up at that, and I gave her a smile. “So just a friendly drink, all right?”
She bit her lip, but she was looking a lot happier. “All right.”
I took the mugs out back for a rinse while Pip got her coat, closed the blinds, and shut up shop.
“So what’s Pip short for?” I asked as we headed down the road. “Philippa?”
She looked at her feet. “Persephone.”
“That’s a nice name. Suits you. You should use it more. Or if you don’t fancy using the whole thing, there’s lots of ways you could shorten it—Seffy, maybe? Or how about Persie? Or Phoney?”
She almost giggled at that.
“That’s better,” I said, pleased to see her looking a bit more cheerful. I linked an arm in hers. “Right, let’s get—”
I didn’t finish my sentence, because right then an angry-looking man with a dark beard came round the corner in front of us, stared for a second, then launched a fist at my face.
Just because I’m small and I’ve got a duff hip doesn’t mean I just stand there and take it when someone lays into me. I was a bit hampered by Pip being so close on one side, but I still managed to dodge the punch and land one of my own, right in his flabby gut. He doubled over, and I was going in for the knockout when Pip grabbed hold of my arm and tried to pull me back.
“Stop! It’s my husband!”
This was Mr. Pip? “What the bloody hell did he want to hit me for, then?” I demanded.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she gabbled—whether to me or to him, I wasn’t sure. I was keeping my eye on the bastard as he staggered and wheezed, his eyes sending death threats in my direction. “He must have thought— I’m so sorry.” Obviously deciding it was safe to let go of me, she went over to Mr. Pip and tried to put an arm around him. He shrugged her off viciously. “Nigel, he was just—just looking after me. Robin’s been arrested, and I was upset, so he was going to take me for a drink, but there’s nothing going on, I promise.”
I didn’t much like the pleading tone in her voice. Far as I was concerned, he was the one who ought to be apologising, not her. “Maybe Nigel should go and cool off somewhere,” I suggested—I’d have been very happy to throw him in the river, personally. “And I’ll take you for that drink?”
“No, I’m sorry. I’d better—we’ll go home, Nigel, all right?”
Nigel wiped his mouth with his sleeve, glaring at me all the while. “You stay away from my wife,” he snarled. I got a waft of beery breath as he spoke.
Apart from wrinkling my nose a bit, I ignored him. “Pip, are you sure you’re going to be all right with him?”
She nodded. “It’s fine. Nigel just— It’s fine.”
It wasn’t my definition offine, but at the end of the day, what could I do? “If you need anything—if youeverneed anything—give me a call,” I told her. “I’m in the book—Tom Paretski. Or look in the Yellow Pages underplumbers. Promise?” I added, because I didn’t want her to think I was just being polite.
“I’ll be fine,” was all she said, as her husband grabbed her hand and pulled her away.
I felt like kicking something, hard, but I’d only end up knackering my hip. So I headed back to my van and sat there for a moment, thinking about what she’d said about relationships, and nobody knowing what they were really like except the people in them. Had that been a cry for help? Or her way of saying despite appearances, she was happy with Mr. Pip? God, there was no accounting for the bastards some people ended up with.
Which reminded me, I’d better call Phil and let him know what had happened.
He picked up on the first ring. “Tom? Good to hear from you. Between jobs?” He sounded cheerful and chatty. It was unnerving.
“Uh, yeah, but I didn’t ring up for a chat. Listen, have you heard about Robin East?”
“Heard what?” His tone went from relaxed and playful to sharply focused.
“He’s been, well, not arrested, exactly, but Dave and the boys went and picked him up from the estate agent’s. Very publicly. And apparently some old dear’s trashed his alibi for the night of the murder.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, but he didn’t say anything.
“Phil?” I asked.
“Thinking.” He was silent a bit longer, but just as I was about to say bye and leave him to think in peace, he spoke again. “Just because he wasn’t where he said he was, doesn’t mean he’s the killer. Secret love nest, remember?”
“Yeah. Do you think the police know about that?”
