"Well, I'll leave you to it. Should be straightforward; we've got an ID, a sister in Streatham and a family up north. We've put a request for background information in to the Serious Crime Squad in Scotland and the local police are looking into it as well. You'll want to chase that up." He walked away, holding his belly in until he got behind Bunyan.
Bunyan looked at Williams and raised her eyebrows. "Brixton first, then?" she said.
"Yeah, we should phone her sister and check she's in."
"Already done it, sir," she said. "Mrs. Akitza's in and she'll be staying in for the next two hours. She's expecting us."
Williams tipped his head appreciatively and nodded at her. "Very good," he said, picking up his jacket. "You keep doing that sort of thing and I'm going to enjoy this."
It took them half an hour to drive the eight miles to Brixton, and Bunyan directed him down several shortcuts. Her family had lived here, she said, until they moved out to Kent when she was ten. He noticed how small she actually was when he saw her sitting in the passenger seat. He was used to seeing Hellian sitting there, his big legs smashed up against the dash. She could have fitted in three times she was so wee. Tiny, she was.
"How tall are you?" he asked, as he drew into the circle of Dumbarton Court.
"Tall enough," she said, sounding pissed off and throwing her fag butt out of the car window.
Williams laughed. "Get a lot of stick for being wee, do ye?"
"Yeah, I get stick for 'bein' wee.'" She mimicked his accent as badly as a London girl could. "And for the rest."
Williams parked. "Can't be easy," he said, cranking the hand brake on without depressing the button. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, cringing at the ratchet noise.
"You'll ruin the car doing that, you know. Wear down the sprocket and lose grip on it." She saw him looking at her. "I come from a family of mechanics."
Williams leaned into the backseat for his jacket. "That's handy," he said, "because my hand brake keeps going."
Bunyan smiled and he was pleased. He wanted her to do well, wanted to get on well with her.
Moe Akitza opened the door and looked out at them. Her eyes were very swollen and her blond hair was very dirty. The house behind her was dark, and as she let them in they noticed that she hobbled when she walked and was badly short of breath. Bunyan lent her an arm and helped her into a chair in the living room. She sat down opposite Moe, leaning across the arm, looking sympathetic and concerned. "Are you ill, Mrs. Akitza?"
"Yes." Moe Akitza looked up at them and clutched her chest, opening her eyes wide, choking slightly.
Bunyan was on her feet. "Can I get you something?" she said. "Is there some medicine somewhere?"
Moe shook her head and caught her breath, patting at her chest and sitting back in the chair. Bunyan looked at him and Williams nodded to her to sit again. He waited by the door, taking in the house and watching her. "We won't be long." Bunyan spoke slow and loud, as if Mrs. Akitza were deaf. "I know this must be distressing for you but we wanted to ask you a few short questions about your sister. Okay?"
Moe was panting and shutting her eyes.
Bunyan took out her notebook and unsheathed her pencil. "Now, first of all, before we ask our questions, is there anything you'd like to ask us?"
Moe sat forward, wincing at her chest. "Bracelet," she murmured, "was my mother's." And she fell back into the chair.
"Once the case is cleared up." Bunyan nodded at her to see if she understood. Moe nodded back. "You'll get it back then."
Pleased by this news Moe smiled a little to herself. "Hah," she said. "Her husband. Battered her."
"That's right," said Bunyan. "We know that. You told us that in the missing-person report. She was hiding from him in a shelter, wasn't she?"
"Leslie," said Moe, with great effort, "hah, Fin-hah?"
"Leslie Findlay at the Place of Safety Shelters in Glasgow." Bunyan nodded. "That's right, we've been in touch with them."
"Hah, photographs, hah, of Ann?"
Bunyan didn't understand. "Do you have photographs you'd like to show us?"
Moe Akitza raised her hand off the armrest to point into her lap.
"Shelter?" she said finally.
"Oh, yes," said Bunyan, looking at her notes. "The shelter photographs?" Moe nodded. "Unfortunately, they seem to have been misplaced. You must be quite anxious for a case to be brought against your brother-in-law for that assault?"
Moe shut her eyes and nodded again.
"Well," Bunyan continued, "I'm afraid that's not our jurisdiction. The assault case happened in Scotland and would be dealt with by the legal authorities up there."
Moe Akitza stopped dying and opened her eyes wide with annoyance. Williams stepped forward. "It's a separate legal system up there, Mrs. Akitza," he said. "I'm very sorry. Because Ann has passed on, the assault case will probably be dropped. Unless there were other witnesses?"
Moe Akitza shook her head. "No case?" she said. "He's… not charged? At all?"
"Well," said Williams, "if the assault is relevant to the murder case it may be mentioned tangentially, but I'm afraid it won't be dealt with by an English court."
Moe Akitza was not best pleased. She was not pleased at all.
Chapter 13
Liam hadn't seen her this drunk since the experimental drinking days of teenage parties. She was sitting on the floor, slumped against the settee with her eyes half shut, ash all down her front and what appeared to be cheese on her sleeve. Despite being well supported by the settee she was still managing to sway. She had sounded progressively more and more tipsy on his answering machine but he hadn't been ready for this.
Maureen had everything she needed here – fags, whiskey, water, ashtray – but she felt so sick. She had half the bottle of whiskey inside her and it was a big bottle. At some point she'd realized that she'd be sick if she didn't eat, so she had something she found in the fridge, cheese probably, but it wasn't sitting well at all. And there was Liam in front of her, dear Liam, who'd come an entire mile from Hillhead to see her. He was so kind. She started to cry.
"Fuckin' hell," said Liam, taking his jacket off. "What brought this on?"
She nodded – at least, she meant to nod. She threw her head around in uneven circles and Liam watched her for a while, mesmerized and enchanted by her lack of coordination. "Mauri," he said, in awe, "you're utterly fucking bloothered."
She wiped her face on her sleeve, rubbing ready-grated cheddar into her hair. "I'm unhappy," she said indignantly.
"Well," said Liam, serenely, "that makes you very special." He sat back in the horsehair armchair and watched her trying to pick up a cigarette from the floor with rubber fingers. "Why are you so drunk?"
Maureen gave up on the fags and shrugged at him for an age. "Life's shite," she havered, drunk and guileless. "Leslie's… spit on my eyes."
Liam stood up. "Oh, God, Mauri, I'm sorry, I can't stand this."
He left the room and Maureen waited, forgetting that he was in the house and then remembering and then forgetting. When he came back into the living room it was a delightful surprise and she started crying again. Liam made her drink the coffee and the coffee made her very sick.
He stroked warm water through her hair, holding the showerhead too far back on her neck, letting the water run over her jaw and up her nose. She was bent over the bath, trying to stay up, but her legs weren't working very well and she kept tottering forward.
"Oh. Fuck. I'm sick." Her bleary voice echoed around the white ceramic valley.
"You've spewed up everywhere."
"That's enough." She tried to stand up but Liam was holding her shoulder down and she staggered back and forth.
"Mauri, there's vomited cheese in your hair. Stay still for fuck's sake."
He rubbed the shampoo into the nape of her neck and washed it out slowly, wrapped a fresh towel around her neck and gathered her hair into it. Maureen stood up and staggered into the wall, leaning on it, testing her head. Through the curious alchemy of alcohol, her wet hair made her feel close to sober. "Oh, fucking hell," she said.