Ramsay 04 - Killjoy by Ann Cleeves Read Free Book Online Page A

Joan’s.
    Joan was his mother’s younger sister. She had two primary-aged children and it seemed to John that the cycle of domestic drudgery was simply continuing in a different place.
    He had just put the meal into the microwave when the telephone rang. John felt a rush of adrenalin. He was expecting Connor to call. When he picked up the receiver his hand was shaking.
    ‘Can I speak to Evan, please?’ John recognized it as a colleague of his father’s and relaxed.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘He’s not in yet. He’ll be back any time. He should be here by now.’
    ‘Ask him to phone work as soon as he gets in. It’s urgent.’
    John replaced the receiver and heard the sound of his father’s car pulling into the drive.
    He could tell as soon as his father came in to the room that he was irritable and he moved immediately to the offensive.
    ‘Where have you been then?’ he demanded. ‘I didn’t see your car at the Centre. I had to walk home.’
    ‘I was there!’ Evan Powell said, but he was relieved that his son had an adequate excuse for not meeting him. He always wanted to believe the best of him. ‘I had to park round the corner. I was in your mother’s car. You know that. I waited for you in the cafeteria. I thought you usually went for a drink after rehearsal.’
    ‘Yeah!’ John said. ‘I usually do, but not tonight …’ He played his trump card. ‘Too much homework.’
    He saw his father relax, proud that his son made time for homework, glad that he wasn’t one of the young tearaways who stole cars for kicks.
    ‘There’s just been a phone call for you,’ John said, pressing home his advantage, hoping to avoid further questions. ‘It was work. They want you to phone in as soon as you can.’
    ‘Right … Well … OK. I’ll not keep you from your homework.’
    His father used the telephone in the sitting room so John, eating lasagne and reading the evening paper in the kitchen, did not overhear the conversation. But his father, shocked by the coincidence that a body had been found at the Grace Darling Centre, returned immediately to tell him the news. He was surprised by the boy’s reaction to Gabriella’s death. John said nothing. He disappeared to his room and Evan did not see him again all evening.
    The police offered Gus Lynch a lift home—of course they would need to keep his Volvo, they said, for forensic tests. He declined the offer and took a bus, going the long way avoiding the Starling Farm estate. It was a precaution he had taken since the disturbances began. He was terrified of physical violence and had nightmares about it. He lived by the Tyne in a building that had once been a chandler’s shop. The fog lingered over the river softening the outlines of the ice factory and the new fish market. Gus was pleased with his flat on the quay. He had been lucky to get it. With the decline of the fishing fleet, the chandlery business, which sold everything from creosote to jerseys, had gone bankrupt and an enterprising architect had bought the building and converted it to flats. The area was not as fashionable as the Newcastle quayside where warehouses had been transformed into luxury apartments and wine bars had appeared on every street corner. It still smelled of fish. All the same Gus thought the flat was an investment and it would not be long before other developers discovered the fish quay too.
    As he drew closer he looked up and saw that there was a light in his flat.
    Shit, he thought. He should never have given her those keys. He had presumed that when he was late she would go away. His flat was on the first floor, up wooden steps from the outside of the building. Jackie must have been looking out for him, or she heard his feet on the steps, because she had the door open before he reached it.
    ‘Well?’ she demanded. She was blonde, very thin, attractive in a feverish neurotic way. ‘ Well, where have you been? Where’s your car? I was looking out for it.’
    ‘Look,’ he said.