“Thillingly.”
She startled him. “What about him?” Bernie asked.
“The police are convinced Mark killed Vhari.” She used his first name, hoping Bernie would mistake her for a friend. “I think that’s crap.”
His eyes were wet, she could see that even though he wouldn’t look at her. “What makes you think that?”
“He was the chair of Amnesty. He’s not going to torture someone by pulling their teeth out. And I think he was a nice guy.”
He leaned over, pretending to examine the skeleton innards of the Jaguar, and nodded. “He was a nice guy.”
“I think Mark got beaten up in the car park outside his work just before Vhari was attacked. I think he knew something and they were pressing him for information and I think that’s what happened with Vhari as well, but they went too far and killed her. Where’s Kate, Bernie?”
He frowned and bit his lip.
“Can I talk to you inside for a minute?”
He looked around the lane, sad, remembering his dead sister perhaps, and looked at Paddy, at her spiked hair and ankle boots and good coat for a quid.
“It’s bloody freezing down here.”
“It is,” he said absently. “I’ve got thermals on.”
She nodded inside and he turned and stepped into the garage, waiting until Paddy followed him before scraping the big metal doors shut. He drew the heavy bolt across them.
Paddy had been trapped with a violent nutter before. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. Hands in pockets, she slipped her index finger through her house keys, ready to rip the face off him if he came closer than a couple of feet.
She looked around and realized that her defenses were pitiful. There were drill bits on the floor, metal toolboxes and spanners everywhere. If he wanted to batter her to death she was completely fucked. “Did you see your sister that night?”
Bernie shook his head. “I haven’t seen Kate for years.”
“I meant Vhari.”
He flinched at the mistake. “I hadn’t seen her for some time either.”
If he had been questioned by the police he would have known exactly when he last saw her, would have had to work it out and could answer immediately.
“The police haven’t even talked to you, have they?”
He looked at her curiously.
“What does that tell you about the quality of the investigation, Bernie? Doesn’t it worry you that they don’t even know Vhari had a brother?”
He half smiled. “They don’t know about me?”
“Apparently your parents didn’t mention a brother when they were questioned.”
He tipped his head back and barked a bitter laugh that echoed around the hollow arch. He pressed his hand to his chest. “I don’t count. Adopted. There’s six years between Vhari and Katie. They thought they couldn’t have any more so I got drafted in, but when Katie came along I was considered surplus to requirements. They never really took to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not blood, you see. ‘Our adopted son, Bernie.’ When I was wee I thought that was my full name. They offered me money to go to university but the truth is that I’m not that bright. I wanted to be a mechanic. They haven’t spoken to me for years.”
“I’ve got a picture of you.” She took out the clipping of the funeral and unfolded it before handing it over, watching to read his reaction.
Bernie smiled sadly down at it. “I haven’t seen this one. The Burnetts ignored me all the way through the service. They only stood next to me at the lineup by the church door because they couldn’t cause a scene. Came to speak to me at the end but I scampered.” He touched a fingertip to the picture. “And there’s Kate.”
She twisted around and saw he was touching the blond with curly hair. “That’s Kate? I thought it was Vhari. They’re alike, aren’t they?”
He looked away from the picture quickly. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Please.”
As he walked over to a large tool table she had the distinct impression that he was trying to draw her attention away from Kate. He poured tea from a tartan flask into two heavily stained mugs. A large industrial heater burned in the corner, a flat brazier of pink flame that tinged the light in the room pink, creating an expectation of warmth that was instantly swamped by the sharp, damp cold emanating from the brick.
The room was shallow but broad. A car was neatly parked against the left-hand wall, a beige MG sports car. Off to the right, against the red brick wall, sat an old kitchen table with jotters and receipt pads on it, above a three-tiered battered red toolbox.
“No sugar, I’m afraid. You said you want to talk about Thillingly?”
“I heard Mark came here the day he killed himself.”
“Yeah.” He handed her one of the mugs. “I know Mark didn’t kill Vhari, whatever the police say.”
The tea wasn’t very hot but she wrapped her fingers around it for warmth. Her stomach was still sore and she was feeling the cold more than usual. “I was at the door the night she was killed. I saw Vhari with a man.”
Bernie stiffened. “I see. Right.” He sipped his tea, carefully not looking at her. He should have asked who the guy was or at least what he looked like but he didn’t. He didn’t need to. He already knew.
“It was Paul Neilson, wasn’t it?” she said, watching for a reaction. Bernie sipped at his cup quickly, blinking, and she knew she was right. “Why did Mark kill himself?”
“Mark was depressed. Often depressed.” Bernie drank his tea, his eyes skitting around the messy floor. He was lying, badly. He was unaccustomed to duplicity and it intrigued her.
They looked around for somewhere to sit but there wasn’t anywhere. They couldn’t even sit on the floor because it was too oily. “Usually with visitors I just sit in a car, do you mind?” He held his hand out toward the MG. “Passenger or driver? The seats are soft.”
“I’ll be the driver.” She opened the door and climbed in, sliding into the leather seat. It was comfortable, apart from a belligerent spring that jabbed her in the back if she moved about.
Bernie slipped into the seat next to her and shut the door. “Why are you so interested in Mark?”
“I was there when they pulled Mark out of the water. The police had him convicted before he was in the morgue, and it just seems too tidy to me. Was Mark’s nose burst when he came to see you?”
Bernie havered for a moment, pretending he was trying to remember Mark’s face that day, but Paddy could see he was fitting the bits of lies together to see if they worked. “Um, no, I don’t know. I didn’t notice.”
“He had a nose like a smashed potato and you didn’t notice?”
“I can’t remember.” He glanced guiltily around the garage. “I wasn’t really looking at him.”
“Right? I’ve been told that he tried to phone your sister the night before, that he called her house and someone else answered the phone.”
She had his full attention now.
“Who answered?”
“Mark asked for Vhari first. Then he asked the person who they were and where the hell she was. He was very upset afterward.”
“Who told you this?”
“Diana. He said something about Kate as well…”
“Did he say where she was?”
“Might have. She’s still missing, isn’t she?”
“Dunno.” Bernie shook his head too vigorously. “I haven’t seen Kate for years. Never see her. She never comes to see me either.”
Paddy tried not to pat his arm. Bernie wasn’t a good liar. “But you did see Vhari?”
“Vhari kept in touch with everyone. Never did the easy thing and just bolted like I did.” He bit his finger and looked away through the window. “Vhari was a lovely person. She was good. That’s what the papers keep missing about her. She was really good.”
Paddy thought of Mary Ann reciting prayers in the dark. Being away from them for a day was a glorious novelty but she couldn’t imagine not talking to her mother for years and years. With the luxury of distance she could see that the Meehans were warm. Fraught but warm.