“Worried? Why?”
“Surely you must know about Erin, your housemate?”
“There’s still some coffee left in the pot. I don’t know how long it’s been there. Will that be okay?”
“It’ll be fine,” said Annie. “Plenty of milk and sugar, please.”
Even the milk and sugar didn’t disguise the bitterness of the burned coffee oils, but Annie sipped politely and leaned against the kitchen doorjamb. “It’s a nice evening,” she said. “Shall we go into the conservatory? That’s where the plants are, too. I still have to water them, unless you’ve done it?”
“Plants?”
“Yes, the ones I came to water. Green things in pots.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah.”
Annie filled an empty jug by the sink and walked through to the conservatory. Tracy followed her. The room was a mess. Unwashed plates and cups sat on the low table along with half-full wineglasses, one on its side, sticky red wine drying on the glass surface. “Been having a party?” Annie asked.
“That. Oh, no. Just an accident. I was meaning to clean it up. Just haven’t got around to it yet.”
“Want some help?”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it later. Do you want to sit down?”
“I think I will, if that’s okay.” Annie set her water jug on the table and sat. “I was saying, about Erin-”
“That’s nothing to do with me,” Tracy said quickly, biting on a fingernail. “I saw it on the news.”
“But you already knew what had happened before that, didn’t you?”
“How? What do you mean?”
“Rose told you when you got home from work the other evening.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right. She said the police had been round, or something like that. She didn’t seem to know much.”
“You don’t seem very clear about it yourself.”
“Like I said, it’s nothing to do with me, is it?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I just came to get a bit of peace and quiet, that’s all. What’s wrong with that? I’m entitled. It’s my dad’s house.”
Annie held her hand up. “All right. Hold your horses, Tracy. Nobody’s saying you’re not. Did you come straight here after you left the house in Headingley?”
“Of course I did. Where else would I go?”
“It’s just that I got the impression you were rather concerned about Erin’s boyfriend. Jaff.”
“Jaff? But how do you…?” Tracy let her sentence trail off. “I should have known. You’ve been spying on me for Dad, haven’t you?”
“I had no idea you were here,” said Annie. “As I told you, I came to bring in the post and water the plants.” She cast her eyes over the various pots and hanging baskets. “It looks as if they could do with it, too.”
“I’m not very good with plants. They all seem to shrivel up and die if I go near them.”
“So I see.” Annie paused, and Tracy showed no interest in prolonging the conversation. Annie picked up the jug and began to water the plants. “Where is he, Tracy?” she asked casually, over her shoulder.
“Who?”
“You know who. Jaff. Is he here?”
“Here? Why would he be here? I told you, I came for a bit of peace and quiet.”
“Maybe you fancy him? Maybe you thought you’d help him hide out for a while, until the spot of bother he’s in passes over.”
“Bother? What bother? I don’t understand.”
“It was his gun Erin had, wasn’t it?”
“I know nothing about any gun.”
“It was used in a murder six years ago, Tracy. A young lad by the name of Marlon Kincaid. Ring any bells? We need some answers here.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“Erin’s father’s dead. Did you know that?”
“Well, Jaff didn’t kill him. It was you lot who did that. The police.”
“Fair enough,” said Annie.
“Anyway, I liked him,” Tracy said in a soft voice. Annie thought she could see tears in her eyes. “He was always good to me, Mr. Doyle. I’m sorry he’s dead.”
“Look, I’m not here to throw blame about,” Annie said, “but I don’t think this is the answer, do you?”
“I haven’t done anything. You’d better go.”
“I know you haven’t done anything, but don’t you think it’s time you went back home? Maybe your friend needs you. Erin. Have you thought about her?”
Tracy bit her lower lip.
Annie stood up. “Okay, Tracy,” she said. “No more messing about. I know Jaff is here with you, and he’s wanted for questioning in the murder of Marlon Kincaid.”
“I’ve never heard of any Marlon Kincaid.”
“That’s probably a good thing. I’ll bet Jaff’s heard of him, though. Look, the only issue is, are you both going to come with me, peacefully, or do I have to send for a patrol car?”
“No! You can’t do that. You don’t understand. You have to go now. He’s got…he won’t…”
“He won’t what, Tracy? He doesn’t have a choice.”
“He won’t like that. Can’t you just let us go? Please. We’ll leave here. I’ll tidy up, honest. Then we’ll just go. But please leave now.”
“I can’t do that, Tracy. You know I can’t.” Annie thought she saw a shadow flit beyond the frosted glass of the conservatory door. Quickly she moved forward and opened it. “Are you Jaff?” she said as she glimpsed the dark figure reaching into a large hold-all on the breakfast table.
“Be careful,” shouted Tracy. “He’s got-”
But Annie wasn’t listening. “Because if you are, I think it’s time-” Before she could finish the sentence she heard two dull pops and felt as if someone had punched her hard in the chest and shoulder, then her body started to turn cold and numb. Her legs wobbled and gave under her, then she became aware of falling backward, like floating through space, onto the table, which smashed beneath her weight. Shards of glass stuck in her back. Pottery crashed on the terra cotta tiles. Glasses broke. Someone screamed, far away. Annie tried to call out and reached up her arms to cling on to some sort of imaginary lifeline, but she couldn’t grasp it. Exhausted and fighting for breath, a great weight on her chest, she fell back on the broken glass and pottery and everything swirled from her mind like water down the drain. Her chest and throat felt wet and bubbly when she tried to breathe. Then the lights went out.
WHEN WINSOME got to Leeds, the house in Headingley was locked up tight, with no sign of Rose Preston or anybody else. A neighbor said she had seen Rose walking toward the bus stop with a suitcase the previous evening. After a few calls on her mobile, Winsome was able to track down Rose’s parents’ address in Oldham. It wasn’t far, but the traffic on the M62 was dreadful at that time of the evening, and it was going on for half past eight when she arrived at the small terraced house, just around the corner from Gallery Oldham, the shiny new arts center and library.
Rose answered the door herself, and on seeing Winsome’s warrant card she rolled her eyes and said, “What now?”
“I’d just like to talk to you for a few minutes, that’s all,” Winsome said.
Rose grabbed a light jacket from a hook by the door. “Okay,” she said. “I don’t suppose I’ve got much choice. But I’ve already told you lot everything I know. My parents are out, and I certainly don’t intend being alone with you, so let’s go to the pub round the corner.”
When they turned the corner, all Winsome could see was another hill with redbrick slate-roofed terrace houses on each side. But one of these had a sign outside, and it turned out to be the local pub. Winsome felt as if she were walking into someone’s living room when they stepped inside, but the interior was done out like a proper pub, complete with customers, bar, video machines, pool table, plush banquettes and iron-legged tables. It was on a split level and either took up two houses, or it had the same powers over dimension as Doctor Who’s TARDIS. Winsome was a secret Doctor Who fan. She would never tell her colleagues at work because they were sure to make fun of her-they all thought her so straight and logical-but she had always dreamed of being the doctor’s companion, of traveling the universe through space and time, meeting Shakespeare, battling monsters and egomaniacal madmen, arriving back on earth before she had even left.