‘He came in just before I rang you. I didn’t recognize him at first.’
‘When would that be? Three quarters of an hour ago?’
‘Something like that. It wasn’t so busy, anyway. Before the big rush.’
‘Was he on his own?’
‘Aye. But he didn’t want to be. He was looking for Kim Houghton. That’s when I realized it was him. He asked if she’d been in.’
‘Had she?’
‘No. I’ve not seen her for a while now. I told him that.’
‘Why did he come here looking for her?’ Hunter was speaking almost to himself. ‘He knows where she lives. Why didn’t he go to her home? Unless he thought we’d be on the Headland, looking out for him.’
‘You’re the detective. But I don’t think he was capable of what you’d call rational thought.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’d say he’d had a few. Only one pint in here, but if you ask me he’d been drinking before he arrived. He wasn’t roaring drunk. But a bit on the emotional side. It takes some people that way.’
‘Why? What did he say?’
‘“You don’t understand. You don’t know what it feels like to be lonely.”’ Steve put on a fair imitation of a maudlin drunk. ‘Something like that. He got even more sorry for himself when I told him Kim wasn’t about.’
‘But he didn’t tell you where he was going next?’
The barman shook his head. ‘If he’d been an ordinary customer I’d have been glad to get shot of him. I thought he’d start crying in his beer. I can’t stand the ones who turn suicidal.’
‘Nor me.’
They shared a moment’s silence in contemplation of people who wasted the effect of good beer. Steve seemed to have forgotten his boss’s instructions to be back in five minutes. He lifted his empty mug to offer Hunter another coffee but Hunter was overtaken again by a sense of urgency and shook his head.
‘Have you got a description of him?’
‘Nothing different from what I told you last time.’
‘What was he wearing?’
‘Black jeans, white shirt, newish black leather jacket.’
‘Right. I’ll see you, then.’ He fought his way through the crowd and into the street.
He checked Idols, Forty Second Street and The Big Apple. Occasionally he glimpsed a leather-coated back, dark hair. But when he got a closer view the man was too fat or too young. He only accosted one suspect and he turned out to be a Scot with a Glaswegian accent and a wife called Gillian who’d been hiding in the ladies. Then he went outside and looked in the side streets and the car parks for a red Mazda, thinking he must look dead dodgy. If some woodentop saw him he’d be pulled in on suspicion of nicking cars. Eventually he gave up.
It occurred to him that he should get someone round to the Headland in case Paul turned up there looking for Kim, and even that he should go himself to warn her. She might invite him in. In the end he didn’t do anything. He was supposed to be off duty. He was tired and he was, he realized now, still pissed. All he wanted was to get home without bother and go to bed.
When his mam heard his key in the lock she got up to make him cocoa. He took it to bed with him and swore out loud because she’d forgotten to turn on his electric blanket.
Kim Houghton started on the vodka as soon as she’d put Kirsty to bed. It was a present from a security alarm salesman who travelled abroad a lot with his work. She didn’t usually like drinking alone but tonight she was so fed up that she thought she deserved a treat. She wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. The music from the club would keep her awake. And the thought of all those people having a good time.
Kim watched the late film on the television and then went upstairs. She was standing at the window, about to draw the curtains when she saw a car she didn’t recognize parked on the other side of the street, outside Bella Charlton’s house. Bella’s nephew and his family must have come to visit her at last. It annoyed Kim to imagine the old witch still up, having a party, while she was on her way to bed. Alone.
Chapter Thirty-One
Emma woke with a start to the sound of Brian’s alarm. She’d taken a pill the night before and hadn’t even heard Brian come in. Probably just as well, she thought, looking at him. He scarcely stirred when the alarm went off and the smell of beer and stale cigarette smoke still clung to the clothes he’d folded up on the chair.
She got up to make tea and found that the boys were already out of their rooms. They were sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by string and brown paper. They’d unearthed the kites which Brian had bought and hoped to keep for a surprise until the following day. Owen was looking at the picture on the box.
‘Can we fly them?’
‘Not today. You’ll have to make them first and Dad’s going to work.’
‘He’s not gone to work yet?’
‘No. He’s still in bed.’
When she took a cup of tea to Brian, with the usual couple of paracetamol, they were sitting on the bed. Owen was fixing together lengths of bamboo cane and Brian was propped on one elbow, bleary-eyed, supervising the construction.
‘Dad says we can fly them.’ Owen was triumphant. He’d already got the hang of playing one off against the other.
‘Did you?’ she asked.
Brian shrugged. She could tell he was disappointed but he hadn’t been able to refuse.
‘Do you have to go to work?’ At weekends he didn’t make appointments. It was just a matter of catching up. She held her breath, wondering what she’d do about Mark if he decided to stay.
He hesitated.
‘Yeah, I do. Something important. You know.’
She went downstairs without answering.
After days of gloomy drizzle it was perfect weather for kite flying. The sun was shining and there was a blustery wind. Emma put out a line of washing and the sheets flapped and swooped, so bright in the morning sunshine that they hurt her eyes.
Brian came down. He was wearing jeans and an open-necked shirt and she wondered if he’d changed his mind and decided to stay. It seemed, though, that the pull of business was too great in the end. She watched him drive off with mixed feelings. As the time to meet Mark got nearer she realized she would have been glad of an excuse not to go.
She told the boys firmly that they would have to wait until after lunch to play outside. Claire would be looking after them then. It would be something for them to do. She thought it would be good for Claire too, to wrap up warm and get some fresh air. Constructive play was important and recently the nanny seemed to have lost her enthusiasm for the job. It was almost as if she resented the time she spent with the children.
Emma was already planning how to give Claire the sack. She knew now wouldn’t be a good time. It would be insensitive, to say the least, so close to Kath’s death. But for all sorts of reasons she’d made up her mind that the girl would have to leave.
Claire was predictably grumpy when Emma told her about the plans for flying kites.
‘What about Helen?’ she asked.
‘It’s not cold outside. She’ll be fine in her pushchair.’
‘I’m not sure I can cope with them all. You know what David’s like if he gets in a strop.’
‘Nonsense!’ Emma, who was already irritated by the demands being placed on her by Mark, felt like giving the girl a shake.
‘Where are you off to, then?’ Claire demanded. She watched Emma button her smart coat and take her car keys from the hook on the kitchen wall.
‘I’m meeting a friend for lunch,’ Emma said snootily, implying, Not that it’s any business of yours, anyway.
‘You won’t be back late, then?’
‘No,’ Emma said. ‘I won’t be back late.’
But then, just as she was on her way through the door, the misgivings which had been troubling her all morning made her reconsider. Why did she have to meet Mark? When they were together he was too persuasive. She could say all she wanted on the phone. Ignoring Claire’s curiosity, she turned back into the house.