The heavy rain on top of melting snow had overwhelmed the drains and Clare drove carefully back to the station, negotiating several large floods. She pulled into the car park just as a familiar figure was going in the front door. She locked her car and hurried in after the man. Inside the front entrance the floor was becoming wetter and muddier as callers brought the melting slush in on their feet, and she felt for the cleaner who would be in soon to try and make the station presentable.
Charlie McAinsh had been a reporter with North News for the past twenty years and had a good nose for a story. He was trying his best to engage Jim in conversation without much luck. Clare tried slipping past as she made for her office but she wasn’t quick enough.
‘Inspector Mackay,’ he called. ‘Happy new year to you.’
Clare stopped in her tracks and turned. ‘And the same to you too, Charlie. Good Christmas?’
‘Ach yes. Same as usual. Ate too much, drank too much. But I hear you’ve a bit of a story developing.’
Clare prepared to fend him off, planning to say something about their enquiries being at an early stage; then she realised he wasn’t talking about the murders.
‘How many shops have been hit since the start of December?’ he was saying. ‘Has to be at least a dozen. Is St Andrews being targeted by a gang of shoplifters?’
Clare hoped the relief didn’t show on her face. ‘Rest assured, Charlie, I’m on top of it. We’ll catch the culprits.’
Charlie tried engaging Clare in further conversation but she managed to deflect his questions and escaped into her office. She sent Jim a quick email asking him to let her know when the coast was clear and she sat back to consider what she’d learned from Kathy. It looked as if Miles had poached a client from Crossford. Hardly crime of the century but it might explain his covert meeting with Alison in the car park. Had Miles actually gone to Glasgow on the twenty-third? Maybe Tanya Sullivan was mistaken about the car. Hopefully Chris would be able to shed some light on that tomorrow.
Most important of all, if Miles was engaged in something illegal, and Alison had found out about it, was that enough of a motive for him to kill her? Clare shook her head. It didn’t sound likely. Miles Sharp struck her as a weaselly bastard, but a killer? She didn’t think so.
She yawned and suddenly realised she’d been on the go for ten hours without a break. No wonder she felt done in. She shook the mouse to bring her computer to life and, scanning her Inbox quickly, saw that Jim had finally rid them of Charlie McAinsh. She logged off and shut down the computer.
Zoe had gone home and Jim was preparing to switch the phones through to the control room for the night.
‘I’m heading home, Jim, if anyone’s looking for me. Time you were away too.’
‘Right behind you, Clare,’ he said.
Outside, the rain was still heavy, the snow almost gone. She ran across the car park and jumped into her Mercedes, starting the engine. The automatic wipers came to life and the temperature display said it was five degrees. It looked as if it wasn’t going to freeze tonight, after all. She hoped they’d seen an end to the snow – for now at least, and she pulled out of the car park, heading for home.
Ten minutes later she turned into her drive and saw that the Christmas card image of Daisy Cottage had gone. Even in the winter darkness she could see the trees were dripping with snow-melt, and a large puddle was forming at the front porch. Her Christmas tree, which she’d carried out and left by the side of the porch, had fallen over and was a forlorn sight. Moira, her dog walker, had said something about Christmas trees being used to shore up the dunes on the West Sands and she resolved to investigate this at the weekend. She stepped carefully over the puddle and into the house, shutting out the driving rain. As she kicked off her shoes and hung her coat on a hook by the door Benjy came rushing towards her, his tail wagging furiously. He had one of her slippers in his mouth which he was disinclined to yield. She tried imitating Isobel’s stentorian tones and, to her surprise, he dropped it at her feet. Maybe the training was paying off after all.
The box of Christmas decorations was still in a corner of the sitting room and she knew she should take it up to the attic and tidy up the spot where the tree had stood. The furniture she had moved to accommodate it was still out of place and there was a scattering of pine needles on the carpet. It would take five minutes to put the decorations away and run the Hoover over the carpet. But somehow she hadn’t the energy.
In the kitchen she retrieved a portion of her mother’s turkey curry from the freezer and put it in the microwave to defrost. She glanced at the wine bottle then decided against it. The early evening glass of wine was turning into a bit of a habit, and on a wet dark January night it would be so easy to drink her way out of the doldrums. And, standing in her kitchen, watching the rain teem down against the window, Clare felt she was very much in the doldrums. Instead, she took a bottle of apple juice from the fridge and poured herself a glass.
While the curry defrosted she switched on her laptop. She decided against looking at Facebook. There were no notifications anyway and she wanted to avoid the temptation to look at Geoffrey’s page. Or Al Gibson’s, for that matter. Instead she went to her Favourites where she’d saved Attracto. She stopped for a moment, remembering her warning to Zoe to stay off the site. She should delete it from her laptop and forget about it. And then she told herself it would do no harm to look. Just to see…
Seconds later she’d logged in. A red number three was flashing in the top right-hand corner. She had three Likes. Clare felt a small frisson of excitement as she clicked to see who had Liked her profile.
It didn’t last. She was pretty sure she’d arrested one of them last summer and the other two were no more inspiring. ‘Is this what I’m reduced to?’ she asked Benjy. ‘Trawling the internet like a desperate teenager?’
Benjy jumped up beside her and put his paws on her shoulder, nuzzling her cheek. This simple act of love disarmed her and her throat grew tight. And as she felt his tongue, wet against her ear, she buried her face in his fur and began very quietly to weep.