Dark Side by Margaret Duffy Read Free Book Online

logical that Paul Mallory’s flat had been, or still was, in North Terrace, as Woods had said the woman had crossed the square to complain about the noise of his ‘music’. If there were any intrusive sounds emanating from the terrace now they would be drowned out by the sound of nail guns and power tools on the building site over to my right.
    One might have imagined that the little garden in the centre would be accessible to residents only with keys to the gate issued. But this appeared not to be the case as a man whose appearance – tattered jeans, filthy sweatshirt, matted hair full of twigs and leaves – gave every indication that he was living rough, was seated on the bench, a bottle to hand from which he now took a mouthful. His gaze came to rest on me as I drew level and he gave me a revolting leer, followed by an obscene gesture.
    OK, point taken, I thought, and abandoned my mission.
    Patrick came home for the weekend that evening, hurrying upstairs for a shower and change of attire with the manner of a man hurling his working clothes aside and sluicing off all boredom together with city grime. He reappeared remarkably quickly, having said hello to everyone else at home, poured himself a tot of whisky and dropped with a sigh of contentment into an armchair. Vicky, who had followed him in, climbed into his lap to show him her new teddy bear, a present from Elspeth. The previous one had come to a bad end after being offered to a village fox terrier to admire only for it to be snatched, triumphantly carried away and shredded. This had had the effect of poor little Vicky now being terrified of dogs.
    â€˜What’s his name?’ Patrick asked her.
    â€˜Eeyore.’
    â€˜I thought Eeyore was a donkey.’
    She shook her head, giggling, and I said, ‘I think she prefers it to Pooh.’
    â€˜Pooh’s rude!’ shouted our daughter.
    Carrie came into the room. ‘Oh, that’s where little madam is. Sorry, I just wondered where she’d disappeared off to.’
    It was past the child’s bedtime so Patrick carried her upstairs. Justin was staying overnight with a school friend, having been threatened with complete and for ever stoppage of pocket money if he misbehaved – his past record is not good – and the two older children were in the annexe with their grandparents to share their evening meal. It is the Friday routine and I understood that chicken pie, homemade, of course, was on the menu.
    â€˜Anything interesting in your few days at home?’ Patrick asked when he returned to the room.
    â€˜Well, as you know I went to talk to James this morning but he wasn’t there and David Campbell didn’t know where he was. So after I rang you I found out where Beckford Square is – a flat in North Terrace there was the last known address of Paul Mallory – and went round for a snoop. There was a down-and-out sitting on a bench in the square. James, obviously doing the same thing.’
    â€˜You didn’t approach him.’
    â€˜Of course not. I came away. I didn’t go to have a look at Benny Cooper’s last known address either as I didn’t want to interfere with anything James might be doing. But he did see me.’
    â€˜Have you contacted him since?’
    â€˜No. I thought you’d like to be in on that.’
    â€˜Too right.’ Patrick took an appreciative sip of his single malt. ‘Is it just the kids having dinner or are we invited as well?’
    â€˜I thought you might prefer fillet steak and all the trimmings for two with a bottle of claret here tonight. All the family’s here
tomorrow
evening.’
    After we had eaten, Patrick rang the DCI suggesting a meeting, whereupon Carrick said he could be at the pub in fifteen minutes’ time. This made me wonder if his darling daughter still wouldn’t ‘settle’.
    â€˜I really want to apologize to you, Ingrid,’ was his opening remark