least, Crystal could have remembered Candace’s pushchair. (‘Yeah, that would have been super-helpful,’ Amy said as she watched him hauling his sister out of the World and running for the bus.) And something to amuse Candy with – a toy or a book or, better still, her little DVD player and a selection from the Peppa Pig ‘oeuvre’, as Miss Dangerfield would have called it, although he doubted that Miss Dangerfield had ever come across Peppa. Where had Crystal been going in such a hurry? In retrospect she hadn’t seemed like her normal self. She wasn’t wearing heels, for one thing. It was a sign of something.
By the time they alighted from the Coastliner, both Harry and Candace were more than a little the worse for wear.
‘Well, keep her out of my way,’ Barclay said truculently.
Barclay was ‘back from the dead’, as Bunny put it. Bunny had (reluctantly) accompanied Barclay in the ambulance to A&E last night, from where he had been discharged after a couple of hours. ‘Panic attack,’ Bunny reported to Harry. ‘Shame, I was hoping it was curtains for him. It was something on his phone that set him off, wasn’t it?’
‘Don’t know.’ Harry shrugged innocently. Barclay had dropped his phone when he collapsed and it was only later, after the ambulance had departed, that Harry noticed it had skittered beneath the heavy red stage curtains. As he had bent to retrieve the phone it had lit up with a message. Just so we’re clear, DO NOT ignore my last message. Intrigued, Harry had opened Barclay’s messages. Barclay had no password on his phone – Harry knew because he had helped him remove it after he’d forgotten it for the umpteenth time last week. It could be termed an invasion of privacy, Harry supposed, but then for all he knew Barclay was currently knocking on death’s door and his messages might be relevant in some way. ‘Or you’re just being nosy,’ Bunny said. True, Harry agreed. The message that was not to be ignored had been sent at 10.05 last night, pretty much when Barclay’s blood had sunk into his boots and he had fallen to the floor. It was from a number, not a name, and was direct enough in its content. Don’t open your big mouth, Barclay, or something VERY bad will happen to you.
Harry had slipped the phone into his pocket, where it was currently burning a guilty hole. He hadn’t returned it to Barclay yet, partly because the sight of it might precipitate another panic attack or even a genuine heart attack, and partly because – well, Harry wasn’t sure why. Because there was something compelling about it. Thrilling, even. Like a detective novel. What did Barclay know that had made someone threaten him like that? ‘Well, Barclay’s always been a man of bad habits,’ Bunny said, squinting at the text through a pair of reading spectacles that looked so unfashionable they were probably fashionable. ‘Bad habits bring bad men in their train.’ Which sounded quite Shakespearean the way Bunny said it.
‘Well, anyway, the kid’s too young to be back here,’ Barclay said, scowling at Candace. ‘And by the way, have you seen my phone anywhere?’
‘Um.’ He was going to confess, he really was, but then Barclay said, ‘Make sure you keep that fucking kid out of the way, will you?’ and Harry decided to punish him by keeping the phone a bit longer.
‘Yes, Mr Jack,’ he said. ‘I’ll do my best.’
Mustn’t Grumble
‘Are you arresting me?’
‘You keep asking that and, as I keep answering, no, we’re not, Mr Ives,’ Inspector Marriot said. ‘You have attended this interview voluntarily and are free to leave at any time, as I’m sure your solicitor will verify.’ She nodded curtly at Steve Mellors, who patted Vince on the arm and said, ‘Don’t worry. It’s just procedure.’ (Do you feel you need a solicitor at a routine interview, Mr Ives? Yes he did!)
‘You’re not being interviewed under caution, Mr Ives. No one is accusing you of anything.’
Not yet, Vince thought.
‘I’m here as a friend, really,’ Steve said to DI Marriot, ‘not as a lawyer. Although,’ he said, turning to Vince, ‘it might be a good idea to answer “No comment” to all their questions in case they do arrest you at a future time.’
The police had phoned him first thing this morning, asking him to come in again. Vince had phoned Steve in a panic, spilling out the whole sorry tale of Wendy’s murder and the fact that