‘It’s OK, Charlie, you’re not in any trouble,’ Will said. ‘I just need to speak to you about a letter you dropped into the nick yesterday.’
Charlie frowned, his grease-stained forehead gathering too many wrinkles for his age. With his cropped brown hair and jaunty expression, he had a look of Wayne Rooney about him, although that was as far as the resemblance went.
‘Ah that. It weren’t from me. I was paid to deliver it. No crime in that is there?’
Will rubbed his beard. ‘No, none at all. Who gave it to you?’
‘I’d like to help, but I can’t remember very well. They gave me a tenner and asked me to drop it in, seems to be the going rate for favours. I’ve been trying to save up for a new engine for my motorbike, see? Every little helps … as they say in Tesco’s.’ Charlie grinned.
Will frowned as he looked into his wallet. Thank God it was payday Friday, he thought, as he pulled out a ten-pound note and rested it on a small clean patch of newspaper.
‘Who?’ he said, feeling Mr Sutton’s eyes boring down on him. Mr Sutton was also sitting near the block of carving knives. He had little tolerance for the police, and had been a bit of a nutter in his day.
Charlie rested his hand on the tenner and it disappeared from view. ‘I thought it was a bit weird. I thought why wouldn’t they just deliver it themselves? They offered me a tenner and I thought I may as well cash in. It was just a letter. I figured it couldn’t be anything dodgy or owt.’
‘Go on,’ Will said to Charlie, as Ma Sutton came in and brushed past him to turn off the bubbling pot of meat.
‘I’m no grass, you see, and giving info to coppers doesn’t rest easy with me …’ Charlie said as his little brother crept back behind him, giggling with a gap-toothed smile.
‘I’m stony broke, Charlie, I haven’t got any more cash. Look, I just want to know who gave you the letter. I’m not asking you to serve up the Mafia or anything.’
Charlie chuckled. ‘Fair enough, Will-I-am. It was some old bloke; he must have been in his sixties at least. I ain’t seen him around Haven before. He was driving an old VW van. Sounded like it had holes in the exhaust pipe, it was as rattly as fuck.’
‘Can you remember anything else? What he was wearing? The colour of the van?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘Nah. I was too busy looking at the colour of his money. Now I’ve gotta clear the table before me mam gives me hell.’
‘Too right I’ll give you hell, look at the state of it!’ Ma Sutton screamed, piercing Will’s eardrum. ‘The dinner’s almost ready.’
Will watched as she pounded the lumpy potatoes into submission with the masher, beads of sweat dripping from her forehead and dangling over the saucepan. It was all too much for Will, who thanked Charlie and left.
Will mulled it over as he walked back to the station. Did some old bloke in a van put Charlie up to delivering the letter? God knows that lying was as natural as breathing to the Suttons. What was the old joke? How do you know a Sutton’s lying? – Their lips are moving. But why would someone pay to have a letter delivered to the nick? And why address it specifically to Jennifer?
Chapter Nine
The damp wooden bench outside the police station provided little shelter to George Butler as he tightened the tattered blanket around the terrier on his lap.
Jennifer scooted up beside him, trying to ignore the musty smell emitting from his direction. ‘Here, I got you a sandwich and a cappuccino. It’s gone a bit cold I’m afraid.’
‘Ohh, very continental,’ he said, removing the lid and gulping the coffee. He wiped the froth from his whiskers and turned to Jennifer, the lilt of his Irish accent music to her ears. ‘You know, a little nip of something would keep out the harshness of the cold,’ George said, wrapping his fingerless gloves around the warmth of his cup.
Jennifer gave him a withering look. ‘I wouldn’t dare ruin a good Costa with alcohol.’
The twinkle in George’s eyes suggested he was willing to give it a try. ‘Perhaps you’re right. You know, Sergeant Claire was kind enough to take in Tinker for me yesterday while I spoke with the benefits lady.’
It wasn’t the first time the scruffy terrier had been smuggled into the sergeant’s office. A sucker for sad cases, Claire had done everything she could to help George and his dog. Jennifer had given up trying to get George into the homeless shelter. They didn’t allow dogs, and George simply wouldn’t leave him.
‘Can I ask you a random question?’ she said, shifting on the bench as the damp seeped through her trousers.
‘Ask away,’ George said, carefully disposing of his empty cup in a plastic bag.
‘What are your thoughts on tarot cards?’
George took his glance to the sky as he recited the words. ‘Let there not be found among you one who practises witchcraft, who interprets omens, a sorcerer, conjurer, medium, spiritist, or one who calls up from the dead. For all who do these things are an abomination to the Lord.’
He blinked before returning his attention to Jennifer, to answer her questioning gaze. ‘It’s a bible quote. Deuteronomy chapter eighteen, verses ten to twelve … or as much of it as I can remember.’
‘I didn’t know you were religious,’ Jennifer said, wondering what he would say if he knew of her history.
‘There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, a leanabh. Now aren’t you meant to be getting to work?’
Jennifer said her goodbyes and walked the short distance to the police station to start her late shift. If someone had told her she would become friends with the skinny, grey-haired homeless man, she would never have believed them. Her, the clean freak, chatting with someone who made his bed on a public bench. But George had a way of getting under your skin, and was liked by everyone except the front office staff, who regularly badgered him to move on.
Jennifer glanced up at the row of ravens dotted on the telephone wire; lately they seemed to follow her everywhere she went. The hairs at the back of her neck prickled upwards as she counted ten, fifteen, twenty ravens staring intently with black glittering eyes. Look no further. The whisper penetrated her mind in a sudden gust of icy air. A loud knock from the office window above made her jump, and she quickly stepped inside, telling herself to focus. She was here to work, and could not afford to be distracted by birds, the weather, or any strange whispers nesting in her mind.
[#]
‘Talking to your boyfriend again?’ Will said, backing away from the office window.
‘I’ve got a soft spot for the Irish, try not to be too jealous.’ Jennifer grinned, hanging up her coat.
‘Oh fff … fiddlesticks!’ Zoe winced as the computer rejected her password for the third time. She looked at the pair of them apologetically. ‘Sorry. I’m trying to stop swearing.’
‘Here, let me,’ Will said, leaning over her desk to guide her back onto the login page.
Jennifer peered out the window at the bare telephone line. Evening light was fading, and there was no sign of the black-cloaked birds that had flanked her entrance. Was her imagination creating havoc, or was she being issued with a warning? Christian’s premonition, the presence of the ravens, it was like something out of a cheap horror movie. Her emotions played seesaw with her sensibilities; she was either falling into the hands of paranoia, or disregarding a very real threat. But there was one thing she had learned about the supernaturaclass="underline" if there was a message it would open itself up to her in time. She strode to her desk. It was time to focus on the living, at least until the dead were ready to give up their secrets.