Angela who might be Andrea or Alison is scribbling away. I look down before she looks up.
I walked and walked that morning. There were only about half a dozen people out and about. None of them looked in my direction. If they did, their eyes didn’t register me, their mouths didn’t curl into any kind of smile. And yes, I did wonder at that point if any of them could see me or whether all they saw was the dog walking on a floating lead like a cheap special effect from some low-budget film.
‘So you went to the crime scene.’ Blue Eyes taps her pen against the palm of her hand. ‘Although it wasn’t a crime scene as yet.’
The fly has started up again, buzzing, headbutting the pane as if sooner or later it’ll fly out. I wonder if Blue Eyes can hear it, whether it’s bugging her like it’s bugging me, but she’s as self-possessed as a sphinx.
‘It was just my thinking place then,’ I say. ‘That’s all it was. I suppose it’ll have that yellow and black tape you see on the news, won’t it? Will there be a white outline of a body taped out on the ground?’
Her mouth tightens. Disapproval, that’s what I read anyway.
‘I expect I’ll be on the news, won’t I?’ I go on, like an idiot. ‘One way to get seen, I suppose – I’m a Celebrity, Don’t Let Me Out of Here.’ A laugh escapes me but dies. ‘It’s where I took the girl as well, obviously. But she was found on the road, wasn’t she?’
Blue Eyes gives me something on the smile/indigestion spectrum. She’s saying nowt, giving me enough rope. I wish she would; I’d hang myself right away, save anyone else the bother. I take the customary deep breath. Once more unto the breach. What’s a breach? No clue. Get on with it, woman.
I get on with it. There was a man in the town-hall gardens that morning. He was standing at the top of the rise, behind the kids’ park where I used to take Kieron and Katie and push them on the swings. He had an Alsatian on the end of a long lead and he was looking out over the main road. Loneliness came off him. I could almost see it shimmering in the air. His trousers needed a good iron and he looked to be in his mid-fifties, but at the same time he looked older – as if, like a dodgy mechanic, life had added years to his clock. He didn’t notice me looking. I wondered if he’d see me if I stood right in front of him. I didn’t, obviously, that would’ve been nuts, but I knew, or felt I knew, instinctively, that he’d suffered. Lost someone – his wife, possibly. Don’t ask me how. He seemed sort of… trapped in himself, unsure of how to get out. Something about the way he looked across to the houses beyond the railings, as if something might appear for him. Someone. He was yearning… just… yearning.
I grab two tissues from the box and wipe my eyes. ‘I just had this overwhelming urge to ask if he was all right.’
‘And did you?’
‘I didn’t. I mean, you don’t, do you? We don’t ask people we don’t know if they’re OK, do we? Not as a rule. I just said good morning but I don’t think he heard me. He hadn’t seen me, that’s for sure, so I went and sat on my little bench, where I used to sit while Kieron and Katie fed the ducks. We used to take a picnic there when it was warm enough; they thought it was our secret place, bless them, and their eyes used to pop out of their heads with excitement when they heard the ice-cream van coming up the town-hall drive. An egg-mayonnaise bap, a few breadcrumbs for the ducks and one vanilla cone each, and honestly, you’d have thought I’d given them the world.
‘I didn’t sit there for long. I was too antsy. In the end, I thought I’d pop and see Lisa.’
‘That’s Lisa Baxter?’
‘Yes. She’s my best friend. Well, she was.’
3
Ingrid
Transcript of recorded interview with Ingrid Taylor (excerpt)
Also present: DI Heather Scott, PC Marilyn Button
IT: I could tell there was something wrong with her the first time I saw her. Her appearance was… I mean, I’m not being mean, but I just thought she’d let herself go like a lot of women