Souvenirs of Murder by Margaret Duffy Read Free Book Online Page A

Greenway desperately called after me.
    I swung round. ‘If he’s not been brought home by ten tomorrow morning I’m releasing everything I know about this wretched business to the media.’

FOUR
    The media beat me to it, the front page of a tabloid newspaper braying SOCA MAN IN GUN RAMPAGE on the counter of the village post office when I went in there to buy stamps shortly after it opened the following morning. The story went on to report that the name Patrick Gillard had been mentioned by an ‘unofficial source’ but nothing had been confirmed. I earned the thorough disapproval of the proprietors by establishing, there and then, that the story was carried, to a greater or lesser degree, by several other papers, all of which referred to the previous day’s news of a gun battle in London. They went on to report that the police were continuing their enquires and were not denying that police personnel might have been involved.
    I immediately rang Michael Greenway to tell him that I had not been guilty of leaking the story, and would hardly have mentioned Patrick’s name if I had, but had to leave a message as his phone was, unusually, switched off. I could imagine him in a top-level meeting, perhaps with Richard Daws. He returned the call shortly afterwards.
    â€˜We know you didn’t,’ was his first remark. ‘There was an anonymous call to a news agency from a man who described himself as an insider.’
    â€˜I do know insiders,’ I said.
    â€˜Yes, but – well – Ingrid, we knew you wouldn’t really do it. He’s on his way home for at least a week’s leave, by the way.’
    â€˜I’m sorry I bawled you out.’
    â€˜It looked very bad from where you were standing yesterday. It is very bad with the death of the child. And please believe me when I tell you that Patrick’s training was no more than a refresher course with weapons and so forth and a regime to get him as fit as possible.’
    I knew that if I was to carry on working with Greenway I had to believe him. A short while later the phone started ringing; friends, acquaintances and finally, when he could get through, Patrick’s father, all wanting to know what was going on. All I could say to everyone was that he had been working undercover, adding that he was not under arrest and had had nothing to do with the killings. John I invited over later, with Elspeth if she wished, so they could talk to him themselves. It was all I could do.
    Carrie put her head around the living room door. ‘I take it the news about Patrick is a smoke and mirrors thing and there’s nothing to worry about.’
    â€˜There’s a little concern,’ I told her. ‘But no, basically, you’re right. Patrick’ll be home later and if Matthew and Katie ask questions we’ll deal with it.’
    â€˜Oh, good. That baby of yours has been nominated for a sainthood, by the way.’
    It was actually a little after eleven when a car pulled into the large gravelled parking area in front of the rented house – not a blade of grass, tub of plants nor tree in sight, a situation that had led us to call it ‘the helicopter landing pad’ and making me desperate to move to my new home, which was at least another three weeks away. Patrick got out, went round to retrieve a bag from the back, waved his thanks to the driver and the car left immediately.
    I went out to meet him.
    Standing face to face after a kiss and a hug Patrick said, ‘I’m OK. Are you?’
    He was not at all OK and I rather felt from his guarded expression that he was asking me if I was going to divorce him. ‘Absolutely fine,’ I told him, meaning it.
    â€˜Is the sprog asleep or am I allowed to have a quick gloat?’
    Mark woke up, blinked twice and then drifted off again in his father’s arms. Patrick sat down with him in the first floor living room, facing the picture window that