Neon Madman by John Harvey Read Free Book Online Page A

her through the silky material of her dress; close enough for me to know that her perfume was as expensive as I had thought it would be; close enough for me to forget what I had gone there for.
    What had I gone there for?
    â€˜You phoned me yesterday and asked some questions about my husband. You wanted to see him. Why?’
    I looked back at her and then moved my gaze away. With eyes like that I was going to tell her too much too soon.
    â€˜Don’t get coy, Mr Mitchell. It doesn’t suit you.’
    â€˜All right,’ I said, ‘maybe we should level with each other. You let me in on what you know and I’ll do the same.’ I wasn’t looking directly at her when I made the promise. ‘Only call me Scott, all this formality is making me feel important.’
    She made a few gestures in the direction of a smile. ‘My name is Caroline.’ She turned her back and walked towards a shelf where she started toying with a small black statuette.
    I wondered why she was suddenly so jumpy. I didn’t figure it was just because we were getting down to first name terms at last. It had to be what she was going to say next. It was.
    She said: ‘I think my husband may have been murdered.’ The words came out very quickly. Quickly for her anyway. All the time she never stopped running her fingers over the smooth surface of the statuette.
    â€˜You’ve got to have a reason for that.’
    She faced me and fixed me with those brown eyes. ‘Why? I’m a woman. I have feelings about these things. When some thing dreadful happens to someone you’re close, to, well … you know. Somewhere inside you.’
    Suddenly she wasn’t saying her own lines any more and the eyes ceased to matter. I stood up and went towards her.
    â€˜Don’t give me that crap! Last night you didn’t know or care what your husband was up to. You gave me the impression that you lived separate lives and I believed you. Now you’re making like some kind of romantic mystic who can tell if he farts fifty miles away. There might be a few things about you that are soft but your heart isn’t one of them. If you really think he’s dead then it’s because you’ve got good solid reasons for suspecting it and not because of some story book intuition. If you want me to stay and listen to what’s on your mind you’d better start levelling with me and do it fast or I’ll be out of the door before your Chinese house boy can start quoting the thoughts of Chairman Mao.’
    I thought I’d said enough. She seemed to have wilted a good few inches and she was clinging to that damned statuette as though it was saving her life.
    â€˜Come on,’ I said, ‘let’s sit down and talk.’
    I went over and took hold of her arm. The dress felt the way I had known it would and underneath it her flesh was both firm and yielding against my fingers. We made it to the settee without too much difficulty—considering.
    She began talking straight away. ‘You’re right, of course, there is something definite, though not in the way that perhaps you mean. What you implied about James and I leading separate lives is also true. But we did hold on to at least the vestiges of a normal relationship.’
    â€˜You mean in front of mutual friends?’ I interrupted.
    â€˜Yes, but to ourselves as well. I’m not sure why. Possibly it made us feel more civilised. One thing was that if James was not coming home he would phone and let me know. He wouldn’t tell me where he was really going to be, but he would make some kind of excuse. Then, in the morning, he would telephone again, usually when he got into work.’
    â€˜Sounds cosy,’ I said, ‘did you work the same thing?’
    She froze more than a few degrees even in all that heat. If she’d been any closer the beads of sweat along my hair line would have turned to tiny balls of