Cut You Dead (Dr. Samantha Willerby Mystery #4) - A J Waines Page 0,90

all the time.

‘Are you happy to go ahead with the interview?’

‘And you’ll pay me at the end?’

I hesitated. ‘It doesn’t quite work like that. I have to take my information away and… once it’s processed we sort out the paperwork for the payment.’

I hated myself for my blatant lies, but knew I’d pay her out of my own pocket, no matter what she was able to tell me.

‘Yeah, all right then,’ she said.

67

I pulled out a spiral-bound notebook and pen. Mrs Pitlock smoothed back her hair and made herself comfortable, as though she’d been transported to a television studio.

I plunged in. ‘Great – to start with, can you tell me which schools Chris went to? Was he born around here?’

‘Why do you have to know all that?’

‘We need to get a bit of background about your son first, Mrs Pitlock. You know, get a sense of who he is.’

She gave me the details from infant upwards and I jotted them down. I was looking for any links with Lorna.

I scanned the room, noticing a box of tools and a white hard hat in the corner. ‘Does Chris still live with you?’

‘Yeah. When the wedding fell through, he never moved out. Been here ever since.’

‘What are his hobbies?’

She looked confused. ‘Well, he works.’

‘What about his free time, what kind of things does he like to do?’

‘Oh, you know, football, going down the pub, playing darts. Has a flutter on the horses. He goes fishing when he can, collects them toy soldiers. Is that the kind of thing you mean?’

I nodded. ‘Has he ever been interested in fashion, at all?’

She spat out a hoot of laughter. ‘Have you seen him?! He wears nothing but jeans and combat gear, like those army waistcoats and military jackets. His wardrobe is green and grey, that’s about it.’

‘Was he living at home in 2010?’

‘Yeah.’ Her eyes strayed up from her needles with suspicion. ‘What’s so special about then?’

‘I’m just wondering about his girlfriends before Charlotte.’

‘If he was seeing anyone then, he never mentioned it. He’s a private lad. Always has been. Never says much. One of the quiet ones, you know?’

‘Right.’

‘He was doing training on mending washing machines in 2010, I think, then he moved that summer on to clearing drains. Didn’t last long though. Left that and went on to electricals. He was taken on by the council a couple of years later. He does street maintenance; sorting out street lights, traffic lights, holding up those stop-and-go lollipops when there’s roadworks and stuff.’

‘Did he ever mention anyone called Lorna at that time?’

The clickety-click of Mrs Pitlock’s knitting needles stopped in mid-stitch. ‘Lorna? Nine years ago? Dunno. Maybe.’

‘Lorna Sullivan? Very pretty girl with long blonde hair – she’d have been around the same age as Chris in 2010.’

Mrs Pitlock looked like she was reaching back into the past in an attempt to grab hold of something.

She blew out a breath. ‘Dunno. Sorry. You’d need to ask him. You gonna ask him for a chat, so he can get paid too?’

‘Um… possibly. We’re most interested in the views of family and people close to “persons of interest” at the moment.’

I cringed inwardly. Without doubt, my line of questioning sounded ludicrous. I certainly didn’t want to talk to her son. I knew I’d be stepping over the line by a mile. It might even seriously jeopardise the case.

She shrugged. No doubt all she could see were pound signs before her eyes and the nitty-gritty of the what and why didn’t interest her in the least.

I asked a few further general questions of the kind she was probably expecting, but it didn’t lead to anything. All in all, it was a useless visit. I decided to call it a day.

I gave her my thanks and stood up. ‘This is all very much confidential at this stage, so we do ask everyone to keep these visits to themselves.’ I tapped the side of my nose. ‘It’s all separate from the police too, so it might be better if you don’t mention this if they ever get in touch about anything.’

‘What – don’t tell anyone?’

‘That’s right. Some people have had to forfeit their fee because they’ve told other people and then bits and pieces have ended up in the press.’

‘Oh, right. So I won’t get my money unless I keep my gob shut.’

‘Best not take the risk. I’m glad you understand.’

It was hard to imagine a time when I’d hated myself more than in that moment. I felt physically sick preying