be disturbing the bats, Harry would be very upset. Harry had woken up late and insisted on going to work at the theatre this afternoon, even though the idea of him being out and about made her nervous. ‘Once you’re inside, don’t leave,’ she said. ‘Get that big trans bloke to keep an eye on you.’
‘I don’t think he’s trans,’ Harry said.
‘Whatever. I’ll come in and pick you up later.’
She gave him a lift to the bus stop and saw him on to the bus and then tracked him all the way on her phone. He had been surprised to be reunited with his own phone, even more surprised that it had journeyed to Flamborough Head without him. ‘Who were those men?’ he said with a frown as they waited for the bus to come into view.
‘I don’t know, Harry,’ she said. ‘I think it was maybe a case of mistaken identity.’
‘But why wouldn’t you call the police?’
‘Didn’t need to, did I? Look, here comes your bus.’
As the bus sailed away with Harry safely on the top deck, she held Candy up so she could wave goodbye to him. He wasn’t stupid, he was never going to stop asking questions. Perhaps she should tell him the truth about everything. Truth was such a novel idea to Crystal that she found herself still staring after the bus had disappeared up the road.
And here was Jackson Brodie back, trying the doorbell again. Crystal watched him in close-up on the little screen on the entryphone system. He had a shifty look about him. He thought he was being helpful, but really his presence just made things more complicated. Mostly because, like Harry, he never stopped asking questions.
Crystal had kicked him out this morning as swiftly as she could, but you could tell he was like a dog with a bone now, not willing to let things go, and lo and behold, she was right, because here he was sniffing around as if he might find her hiding somewhere on the property.
He gave up eventually and she listened to him drive off, leaving her free to make plans. It was going to be a busy day.
Showtime!
The yellow and black crime-scene tape that had wrapped Thisldo was still there, although it had come loose in several places and was flapping about with a life of its own. There was an air of desolation about the house, as if it had been standing empty for years rather than days.
Vince was supposed to be going in for another police interview this morning. Perhaps they planned to arrest him today. Inspector Marriot was going to be disappointed not to see him, but he had better things to do with his time.
There was no sign of the police at the house, so Vince used his key to open the front door. He felt like a burglar even though it was still his house, or at least half his house, and as the owner of the other half had been killed while still technically married to him, he supposed it was all his now. He had been going to give Wendy his share in the divorce settlement. ‘Mm,’ Steve said yesterday as they made their way to the police station (how long ago did that seem!), ‘you have to admit it looks suspicious, Wendy dying just before you lose the house, before you lose half your pension, your savings.’
In the divorce settlement you brokered, Vince thought. You had to wonder how Steve had managed to do so well for himself when he seemed like a pretty crap lawyer. Only of course, no, he didn’t have to wonder any more, did he? Because now Vince knew how Steve’s good fortune had been earnt. (Plenty of money in the bank and always more to come. Do you know what that feels like, Vince?)
The keys to Wendy’s Honda were still hanging in the hallway next to the ugly barometer that had been a wedding gift from one of Wendy’s relatives, its forecast stuck relentlessly on ‘Poor’. If there was one gift worse than a barometer, it was a barometer that didn’t work. ‘Perhaps it does work,’ Wendy had said a few weeks ago. ‘Perhaps it’s the barometer of our marriage.’ She had gone through a particularly spiteful period when the divorce papers were being drawn up, a barrage of communications about the division of their marital possessions, ‘division’ as in Wendy got everything and Vince got nothing. Not a peep of complaint out