Bugger bugger bugger.
In response to his hand gesture, Maddy unwound her window.
‘Would you step out of the car, sir?’
Bugger.
Slowly Maddy did as he asked. Standing there in her jeans, sweatshirt and trainers, a good foot shorter than the gangly policeman, she mumbled, ‘I’m not a sir,’ and took off her baseball cap. Her blonde hair slithered down past her shoulders.
‘My apologies, miss.’ Was the gangly policeman’s mouth twitching? ‘Um ... may I ask what you’re doing?’
Marvelling at the way your Adam’s.. apple bobs up and down, mainly. Aloud, Maddy said, ‘Just sitting in my car, officer. Is that against the law?’
‘Do you live in this road?’
‘Well, no.’
‘So why exactly are you here?’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Maddy sighed. ‘It’s for personal reasons, OK?’
‘Perhaps you could tell—’
‘Look, I promise you I’m not doing any harm,’ Maddy blurted out, ‘but personal means personal and I don’t want to sound stroppy, but shouldn’t you be out catching real criminals, like burglars or car thieves, instead of harassing innocent motorists?’
‘That is, in fact, our aim, miss. We were called here tonight by one of the residents, concerned that you might be planning to break into their home.’
For a sickening moment Maddy wondered if it had been Kerr, alarmed at the prospect of being stalked by an ex-girlfriend-turned-deranged-madwoman. Then a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision caused her to swivel round, just in time to catch the ruffled bedroom curtain of the house opposite dropping down as a penned head hastily ducked out of sight.
‘I’m not a burglar,’ said Maddy. ‘I promise.’
This time the gangly policeman was definitely doing his best not to laugh.
‘OK, I think I know what this could be about. Boyfriend trouble, am I right?’
Miserably Maddy nodded.
‘Ex?’
She nodded again.
‘Dumped you for another woman?’
‘No, nothing like that! We just aren’t seeing each other any more, that’s all.’
‘And sitting in your car in the middle of the night looking at his house makes you feel better, does it?’
‘Well, yes,’ Maddy admitted wretchedly. ‘Yes, it does.’
‘It’s all right. I know.’ Now it was the gangly policeman’s turn to nod. ‘I’ve done it too.’
‘Have you?’ Heartened, Maddy gazed up at him.
‘God, yes, loads of times. Practically every girl who’s ever chucked me.’
Yikes.
‘ In fact, every girl.’ He nodded vigorously. ‘The last one was only a few weeks ago. She swore she wasn’t seeing anyone else, but I caught her out.’ Smugly he said, ‘I’d drive round to her place at four o’clock in the morning and feel the bonnet of her car. If it was still warm, that meant she’d been out with some bloke, see?’
‘Um ... yes ...’
‘Ever tried that?’
Maddy swallowed. ‘Well, not really, no.’
‘Should do. Handy tip, that. And if you’ve still got a front door key,’ he went on eagerly, ‘well, you can do all sorts. Tap their phone, fit listening devices, anything you like. I can give you the address of a shop that sells all that stuff, if you want. Best in the business and very discreet.’
‘Gosh, um, thanks. Actually,’ Maddy checked her watch again, ‘it’s getting a bit late, I really should be making a move—’
‘Hidden cameras, they’re good.’
‘I don’t think I need to—’
‘Hey, this could be fate!’ The gangly policeman’s pale-lashed eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
‘I’ve just split up with someone, you’ve just split up with someone – how about we get together some time?’
Urk!
‘Well—’
‘D’you like pizza? We could go out for a pizza.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed eagerly. ‘Tomorrow night? I’m off duty tomorrow night. I can tell you how to send anonymous letters without getting caught.’
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Maddy blurted out in desperation. ‘I’ve got to go!’
As he watched the girl speed off, the gangly police man smiled to himself before heading back to the patrol car.
His fellow officer, who had been listening to every word, chuckled. ‘Poor kid, you frightened the living daylights out of her.’
Helping himself to a Snickers bar the policeman said, ‘I did the girl a favour, brought her to her senses. Besides,’ he broke into a grin, ‘anything to brighten up a dull shift.’
Esme Calloway owned and ran Dartington House Nursing Home. When Kerr had first met her, he’d prompted himself to remember her name by recalling Cab Calloway’s song ‘Minnie The Moocher’, from The Blues Brothers. Sadly, all this had succeeded in doing was making him think of the name Minnie every time he saw her. It was only a matter of time before he accidentally called her that.
But this wasn’t likely to happen today. Esme Calloway had asked him to visit her in her office and the news she had for him wasn’t cheerful.
‘I’m afraid your mother’s condition is deteriorating, Mr McKinnon. The doctor came out to visit her again this morning. The results of last week’s blood tests aren’t too good. Her liver function is, as you know, already poor.’
‘I know.’ Kerr nodded. It had been poor for years, but somehow his mother had survived; liver-wise, she was 0llie Reed in a dress.
‘But this time it’s serious,’ Esme Calloway went on, ‘and Pauline is aware of this. All we can do now is to keep her as comfortable as possible.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘One more thing,’ said Mrs Calloway. ‘She’s concerned about her other son. He’s in Australia, I believe.’
Kerr shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. He could be anywhere. We haven’t seen him in years.’
‘So I gathered.’ Mrs Calloway rose from behind her mahogany desk, to indicate that the interview was at an end. ‘Well, I’m just letting you know.’
‘Not long to go now,’ said Pauline McKinnon, putting it rather more bluntly than Mrs Calloway.
‘Few more weeks and that’ll be it. Did you bring me anything?’
Kerr shook his head. She asked the same question every time she saw him and each time he shook his head, because what she wanted him to bring was a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whisky. Not that she went without; his mother was known for lavishly bribing the poorly paid domestic staff to smug gle regular supplies of alcohol into the nursing home for her; it was an open secret among everyone who worked at Dartington House.
‘Oh well. Down to business.’ Pauline McKinnon ran a trembling wrinkled hand over her mouth.
Dwarfed by the armchair in which she was sitting, she looked frailer than ever and there was an unmistakable yellow tinge to her skin. ‘I need to see Den.’
Kerr shook his head. ‘I don’t know where he is.’
‘Then you have to find him. He’s my son and I need to see him again before I die.’ Vehemently Pauline said, ‘It’s important.’
Of course it was. Den had always been her favourite son, and he in turn had been devoted to his mother. Kerr hadn’t been jealous; their closeness had simply been a fact of life.
‘I’ll try,’ he said now. ‘No guarantees, but I’ll do my best.’
Pauline dug down the side of the armchair and with difficulty pulled out a silver flask. Her bony fingers shook as she unscrewed the top, raised the flask to her pursed lips and took a gulp.
‘And don’t look at me like that,’ she told Kerr coldly. ‘Why shouldn’t I have a drink if I want to?’
‘It’s your life.’ He rose to leave, keen to be out of this stuffy overheated room, thick with lavender air-freshener and alcohol fumes.