The meanest Flood by John Baker Read Free Book Online

go.
    Marilyn continued eating her cornflakes. She added more milk and sugar. She said, ‘Do you want to put some bread in the toaster and bring the strawberry jam over to the table? Danny likes a girl with some meat on her. He can’t stand those anorexic types, bloody stick insects.’
     

6
     
    ‘You think I killed her?’ Sam said.
    Delaney shook his head, a snide grin on his face. ‘No one said you killed her. We’re trying to establish why someone wanted her dead.’
    ‘These things are usually domestic,’ Sam said. ‘What about the guy who found her? The boyfriend?’
    The Chief Inspector touched his nose. ‘The local police say he’s not bright enough. He took her body into the street, laid it out on the road. There’s no sign of the murder weapon.’
    ‘He could have dropped it down the drain.’
    George Forester, the solicitor, touched Sam’s arm. ‘Just answer the questions,’ he said.
    ‘They say he’s really cut up about it,’ Delaney said. ‘They don’t think he could put on such a convincing act if he’d killed her. He loved her.’
    ‘It’s good to know somebody did.’
    ‘Which means you didn’t?’
    Sam looked across the desk at the policeman. He didn’t mask his hostility. There were times when he believed he simply hated the uniform, the institution, but in clearer moments he realized that he hated the individuals, the people who were drawn to the profession. ‘I didn’t know her any more,’ Sam said quietly. He looked at his solicitor a nd shook his head. ‘I’m sorry she’s dead. I’m sorry she died like that. But I haven’t seen her, haven’t thought about her, for years.’
    ‘What about the boyfriend? Did you know him?’
    Sam raised his palms. ‘No.’
    ‘Ruben Parkins? Mean anything?’
    ‘Never heard of him.’
    ‘He did a stretch in Long Lartin. GBH.’
    ‘Your guys in Nottingham’ll get a confession. Pull his; finger-nails out; that usually does the trick.’
    The solicitor held up his hand. ‘OK, Sam.’ He turned to Chief Inspector Delaney. ‘Are you going to charge Mr Turner?’ he asked. ‘If not, I think we should take a break. My client is doing his best to help but your line of questioning is somewhat provocative.’
    Delaney said, ‘We’re breaking for five minutes.’ He: switched off the tape recorder and got to his feet.
     
    They finally stepped out of the station at 10.15. The moon was up and a light drizzle colluded with the store signs and the car headlights to give Fulford Road the Monet treatment.
    ‘Home? Or shall I drop you somewhere else?’ George Forester asked.
    ‘Angeles’ house,’ Sam told him. ‘I need to talk my way through this one.’
    He phoned Celia and Geordie on his mobile, spoke to each of them for a few seconds. ‘I’m out,’ he said. ‘Going to see Angeles. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.’
    Angeles answered his knock and stood back to allow him into the house. She closed the door and stood still while he put his arms around her. ‘There’s an institutional scent to you,’ she said. ‘If I didn’t know you’d been to the police station I’d guess the tax office or an army barracks. You smell of fixed ideas and intimidation. Good dollop of fear mixed in as well.’
    She was a couple of inches shorter than him, slim and straight. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a sleeveless white blouse. Her feet were bare and her hair was mussed on one side, as though she’d been lying on it. There was Scotch on her breath, one of the Island malts. Laphroaig? When they’d first met Sam had thought she might be a soak but, unlike him, she was one of those people who can walk the line without falling into the vat.
    Angeles had a hereditary eye condition, Retinitis Pigmentosa (RP), which was degenerative and incurable and which had now consumed most of her visual experience. During daylight hours she was aware of shadowy outlines, misty silhouettes, and at night she was utterly blind.
    He took her by the