Ash and Bone

'Come on through,' he said. And then, 'Tina, get kettle on, will you?'

The sigh was practised, automatic. 'Tea?'

'If there's any chance of coffee?' Karen said.

'It'll be instant.'

'That's fine,' Karen said.

'That'll be for the both of you, then?'

Ramsden nodded.

'Suit yourselves.'

The living room was overburdened by furniture and dark. Wherever the radio was playing it wasn't here. The kitchen, probably. Karen could just recognise the Delfonics' 'Didn't I Blow Your Mind This Time?' Going back.

'Sit yourselves down,' Patrick said.

Karen sat at one end of a settee that had seen better days, Ramsden on a high-backed chair near the window. Patrick settled himself into what was obviously his chair, creased leather opposite a large-screen TV.

'It must have come as a shock,' Karen said, 'what happened.'

'Course it bloody did. All over the news, like. Couldn't believe it at first.' He made a small derisive sound, somewhere between a snort and a laugh. 'What they say, isn't it? When something happens. Couldn't believe it. But it's true. Someone gets, you know, killed – accident, whatever – you never expect it to be someone you know.'

Leaning back, he lifted his feet on to a low wooden table that seemed to have been put there for the purpose. Keeping his boots off the shag carpet.

'Poor silly cow,' he said. 'Out jogging, that's what they said.' He shook his head. 'London. Late at night, some park or other. You'd've thought she'd have known better.'

Coffee and tea were carried in on a metal tray, sugar still in its packet, a solitary spoon.

'Thanks, Tina, love.'

Patrick's hands, Karen thought, watching him stir two sugars into his tea, were broad across the knuckles, lightly etched with paint.

'Maddy,' Karen said. 'When did you last see her?'

Patrick smiled a quick, lopsided smile and, for the first time, Karen caught a sense of how he might have been an attractive man, fifteen or more years before.

'Been thinking about that, haven't I? Tina asked me same thing. Eighty-six, it must have been. The divorce. Year after it all, you know, went pear-shaped.' He picked a small circle of paint from the leg of his overalls and flicked it towards the empty fireplace. 'Seventeen years.'

His wife was still standing in the doorway, watching him, her face impossible to read.

'You've not seen her in all that time?' Karen said.

'Not the once.'

'But you'd kept in touch?'

'Not really, no. Her folks, they were always pretty decent, sent a card at Christmas, that kind of thing. Leastways, till her father died. Four or five years back now, that'd be. Maybe more.'

'And you didn't see Maddy, no communication, nothing?'

'I said, didn't I?'

'Mr Patrick, you're sure?'

'Tell them, Terry,' his wife said. 'For Christ's sake, tell them.' Stepping back into the hall, she closed the door slowly but firmly behind her.

Patrick picked up his mug, held it in both hands for a moment without drinking, then set it back down.

'Seven or eight years back…'

'Which?'

'Seven, seven. Me and Tina, we were going through a bad patch. It happens. Things get out of hand, slip gear.' He looked quickly across at Ramsden, as if for affirmation. 'I moved out for a while, bunked up with a pal. After a bit, I got in touch with Maddy. Tried to. I don't know, I suppose I had this daft idea we might get back together. Got her address and that from her mum. Phoned and it was like talking to the speaking bloody clock. Just didn't want to know, did she? I wrote a few times after that, asking, you know, couldn't we meet? Stupid, really. Plain bloody stupid. She never replied, of course, not a bloody word.' He lifted his head and gave a sour little smile. 'Tina and I, we got things sorted.' He shrugged. 'Maybe it's not perfect, but then you tell me, what is?'

The radio, already indistinct, was lost to the sound of a vacuum cleaner, as it banged against the skirting board in the hall.

'This was all seven years ago,' Karen said.

Patrick nodded.

'And there was no contact between you after that?'

A shake of the head.

'Nothing. You'd not spoken, set eyes on her?'

'No, I said.'

'How about October?'

'Sorry?'

'October of this year.'

Patrick leaned forward, leaned back, looked towards the door. The vacuuming stopped, then started up again. Karen watched as, fingers spread, his hands pushed hard along the tops of his thighs. His voice when he spoke was choked, deliberately low.

'It was an accident, right? No. Coincidence. That's it, coincidence. I'd been down there on a job, London. Well, the money's good, better than you can expect up here and you can always doss down a couple of nights in the van. Anyway, this night, after working, right, we go out for a few beers, just the three of us, me and these two other blokes, one pub and then another and all of a sudden there she is, her and this other bird, up on stage singing some bloody song.' Patrick wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before carrying on. 'Couldn't believe it. Just stood and fucking stared. "What's up?" one of these blokes said. "Fancy it, do you?" I wanted to thump him, didn't I? Bury my fist in his fucking face. Just turned round and left instead. Couldn't wait to get out of there. Walked for fucking miles, must have done. Fucking miles. Don't ask me why.' Another glance towards the door. 'I don't want her to know.'

Karen waited, watching his face, the spots of anger slow to fade from his cheeks.

'Why didn't you wait, go and talk to her, say hello?'

'I don't know.'

'All the effort you'd made before…'

'I know, I know. It was just – I don't know – the surprise, I suppose. The shock. Pathetic, isn't it? And now…' He looked into Karen's face. 'You don't know who it was? Who killed her?'

'Not yet,' Karen said. 'Not for definite.'

His eyes were a pale greeny-grey and they scarcely wavered under her gaze.

'The bastard,' Patrick said. 'Hanging's not good enough for him, whoever he is.'

'Where were you two nights ago?' Karen asked, much as she might have asked for a refill for her coffee.

Patrick blinked. 'Here, why?' And then, 'Oh, yes, of course. I suppose you have to ask.'

'Here at home with your wife?' Karen said.

'More or less. Knocked off work around four thirty, five. New development the other side of town, been there a couple of weeks now, plastering, helping out. Anyway, left there, stopped off at the bookie's, quick pint across the street from there, back here no later than seven. Bit of supper, watched the box. Don't ask me what. Early night. Tina, she likes to read a bit in bed but not me. Spark out before eleven, I shouldn't wonder.'

'Apart from your wife,' Ramsden said, speaking for the first time, 'there are people who'd back this up?'

'I dare say, yes. Bookmaker's for certain, one or two in the pub.'

'You can give us the details?'

'Yes, of course.'

Ten minutes later, they were back out in the street, standing alongside Mike Ramsden's car, Ramsden smoking a rare cigarette and Karen standing close enough to inhale the smoke.

'What do you think?' he asked.

'When he started talking about her, the way she ignored him when he tried to get in touch, you could see the veins standing out in his wrists.'

Ramsden nodded. 'You think he's telling the truth?'

'Here and there.'

'You want me to check out some of these names?'

'Do that. I think I'll wait around till he's gone off to work, go back and have a word with the wife.'

'None too crazy about the idea of him and Maddy, is she?'

'Maybe she's got good reason.'

'My missus thought I had the hots for somebody else, she'd help pack my bag, give me her blessing.'

Karen laughed. 'Mike, there's exceptions to everything.'