imprisoned by their lives there,’ Reggie mused. ‘And yet in a funny way it made them free.’
‘I’ve never read their books.’
‘Not Wuthering Heights for school?’
‘Nah. I just know the Kate Bush song.’
‘DC Ronnie Dibicki and DC Reggie Chase. We’re looking for Mr Stephen Mellors.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the receptionist at Stephen Mellors’ law firm in Leeds said, ‘Mr Mellors isn’t in today. I think he’s working from home.’ It was a new building, all steel and chrome and weird artwork. A church to money.
‘Thanks. If you could tell him we were here.’
‘Can I tell him what it’s about?’
‘Just some questions about clients of his. Old clients. I’ll leave my card.’
They retrieved their car from the multi-storey car park. ‘There’s a lot of money in Leeds,’ Ronnie observed.
‘Sure is.’ For a moment Reggie had considered inviting Ronnie to her flat ‘for a quick coffee’, but then she realized how unprofessional that might seem. She worried that Ronnie would think it was an invitation to some kind of intimacy and Reggie would have to do the whole embarrassing ‘I’m not gay, if I was I would’ spiel. But it was absurd to think that just because Ronnie was gay she would make a pass at her, and anyway why would Ronnie find her attractive when no one else on the planet did? (What if she was gay and she was just suppressing it in some weird Scottish Presbyterian way?) It wasn’t something she ever denied anyway, whenever people presumed she was gay (they often did, she wasn’t sure why), because denial implied that there was something wrong with it. And why was she tying herself in a Knoxian knot like this?
‘Are we going to sit in this car park all day, looking at concrete?’
‘Sorry. Where’s next? You can drive if you like.’
‘Felicity Yardley. Known to the local police – prostitution, drugs.’ There was an ancient entryphone system, it looked filthy.
‘She’s in,’ Reggie said. ‘I saw a curtain move upstairs.’
Ronnie pressed the doorbell. There was no answer. They weren’t sure that the entryphone system was working but Ronnie spoke into it anyway. ‘Miss Yardley? My name’s DC Ronnie Dibicki and I’m here with DC Reggie Chase. We’re conducting an investigation into a historic case. This is just a routine interview, you’re not in trouble in any way. We’re looking into several individuals connected to the case because new accusations have surfaced.’
Nothing. Ronnie rang the bell again. Still nothing. ‘Well, we can’t make her talk to us. Let’s come back later. Can I have another hand wipe? God knows who’s been pressing that buzzer. I’m starving, by the way. We are going to get chips, aren’t we?’
‘You betcha,’ Reggie said.
‘Who’s next?’
Reggie consulted her notebook. ‘Kathleen Carmody, Carmody’s daughter. She was never interviewed, but Bronte said she attended some of the parties. They’re about the same age, so I think we can guess what that might mean. I don’t like calling them parties,’ she added.
‘Because parties are something that you should enjoy.’
‘Well, not me personally,’ Reggie said, ‘but yeah.’
Kathleen Carmody was sitting in the middle of the amusement arcade, like a spider in a web. Occasionally someone came up to her booth and changed notes for coins. There were machines that did the same thing, so it seemed like a redundant role for Carmody’s daughter. She had the unhealthy complexion of someone who never saw daylight.
The arcade was a mess of noise and strident colour. It could have been designed as one of those CIA secret operations to drive people mad.
‘Miss Carmody? Kathleen Carmody?’ Reggie said, raising her voice so she could be heard above the din. ‘My name’s DC Reggie Chase and this is DC Ronnie Dibicki. We’re conducting an investigation into a historic case that involved your father – Michael Carmody. This is just a routine interview, you’re not in trouble in any way. We’re looking into several individuals connected to the case because new accusations have surfaced and we would like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right? We’re trying to build a picture, fill in some background details. A bit like doing a jigsaw. Is there somewhere a bit more private that we can go?’
‘Fuck off. And if you show your faces here again I’ll rip them off. Okay?’
‘Do you get the feeling that she didn’t want to talk to us?’ Reggie said when they were back in the car.
‘DC Reggie Chase and DC Ronnie Dibicki, Mrs Bragg. Remember us? Is Mr Bragg home?’