FIFTY-SIX

‘She’s lying,’ Linda said. ‘Course she is. Polesford’s full of little bitches like that.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘And you’d know, would you?’

‘I talked to her,’ Helen said. ‘She’s just trying to help Steve.’

‘Oh, is she?’

‘So are we . . . Tom and me. We think we can get proof that he didn’t do it and this girl’s statement alongside that—’

‘Fuck her statement and fuck her help.’

They were standing in the kitchen and Linda did not seem too concerned about their conversation being overheard. She had been in bed when Helen arrived and the officer watching TV in the next room had looked as though he was ready to turn in himself when he’d let Helen in.

‘I know this can’t be easy to hear,’ Helen said.

‘That what makes you such a good copper, is it? Your sensitivity.’ Linda tightened the cord of her dressing gown and stared until Helen looked away. ‘Whose side are you on, anyway?’

‘I told you, yours and Steve’s.’

‘And how do you think things are going to be between me and Steve after this?’

‘Isn’t proving he’s innocent more important?’

‘Right this minute, no it isn’t,’ Linda said. ‘Right this minute, I couldn’t care less.’

‘Shall I make some tea?’

Linda looked at her, barked out a laugh. ‘You are joking, right?’ She pushed past Helen to the fridge, took out a half-empty wine bottle then reached up to the cupboard and grabbed a glass. She poured, drank. She said, ‘Can you prove Steve didn’t do it, or can’t you?’

‘Tom thinks he can.’

‘Good.’

‘It’s all about when that girl was killed. The insects on the body—’

Linda raised a hand to shut Helen up. She clearly had no need of further detail when there was a more basic reason for asking. ‘So why does anyone need to know anything about this girl?’

‘It can’t hurt to establish an alibi,’ Helen said.

‘Can’t hurt you.’

At that moment, Helen understood that this pain was something Linda was familiar with. That it was not the first time she had reached for a bottle late at night; eaten up by rage and self-pity and railing against one of those ‘little bitches’ Polesford was apparently so full of.

It was almost certainly the first time she had shared it.

‘I should let you get some sleep,’ Helen said.

‘Sleep? You think?’

‘Sorry.’ Helen was struggling for words that did not sound pat or pathetic. The truth was that she wanted to be out of the house, out of the firing line. Every snap and sneer was adding weight to the guilt and the shame.

Her throat burned and she could still taste the sick in her mouth.

The copper next door was watching football. A roar went up, a goal or a bad tackle.

‘I feel so stupid,’ Linda said.

Helen said nothing. For trusting him? For choosing to believe that he wouldn’t do this again?

‘What am I supposed to tell the kids?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How can I tell Charli that we know her stepdad’s innocent because he was with a girl younger than she is?’ The wine had gone and now the fight was quickly going out of Linda too. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the worktop.

‘What can I do?’ Helen asked.

Linda said, ‘Tell me what she’s like.’ She folded her arms and smiled grimly, as though relishing Helen’s discomfort. ‘Is she pretty?’

‘She wears too much make-up.’

Linda rolled her eyes. ‘Short? Tall? Has she got nice firm tits?’

‘How is this going to help?’ Helen asked.

‘Know your enemy,’ Linda said. ‘We learned that a long time ago, right, Hel?’ She plucked casually at a loose thread on her dressing gown, pulled it out. ‘So, what’s her name?’

There was another roar from the adjacent room. The copper shouted something at the television.

Helen said, ‘I don’t know.’

It appeared that even the most committed of gawpers needed to sleep sometimes. Outside, there was only a group of kids smoking and drinking cans of cider under a streetlamp. They didn’t give Helen a second look. A pair of uniformed officers were talking at the end of the drive.

‘How did that go?’ Thorne asked as they drove away.

‘How do you think?’

Helen could only hope that the conversation would begin and end there. As of now, she had no wish to talk about how painful it had been in that house, for Linda and for her. She did not want to discuss the things that had been said or why others had remained unsaid.

The reasons for the lies.

‘Can’t have been easy.’

‘No,’ Helen said.

It was only a five-minute drive back to Paula’s at this time of night. They drove in silence through the town centre, deserted save for a few people carrying kebabs who had presumably been drinking somewhere after hours or simply didn’t know any better.

The streetlighting stopped as the road narrowed just past the final parade of shops, and within a few seconds of Thorne flicking on his main beam they drove past three teenagers walking back towards the centre of town. They held up their hands against the dazzle. Gestures were made.

‘Cheeky bastards.’

‘Turn round,’ Helen said.

‘Where?’

‘Reverse then.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Those boys . . . ’

Thorne understood and did as he was told. Mercifully the road was straight with no traffic to be seen and, within thirty seconds, Thorne had slammed on the brakes and Helen was getting out of the car.

The boy with the dirty blond hair grinned when he saw Helen walking towards him, but the smile disappeared when he saw Thorne; the look on his face. The Asian kid and his mate took a step back, moved behind the blond boy, the biggest of the three.

‘Good move,’ Thorne said. ‘Not such ballsy little gangstas now, are you?’

‘What d’you want?’ The blond kid shrugged, put his shoulders back.

‘I don’t want to piss about.’ Thorne stepped close to him. ‘Now, I could just do you with assaulting a police officer, but I’m guessing you don’t really want a criminal record, not if you want that special job in KFC, right?’

‘It’s her word against ours,’ the boy said.

‘And I don’t fancy all the paperwork, if I’m honest.’

The boy looked at him, squared up. The others had stepped even further back into the shadows.

‘So, say sorry nicely, I’ll just give you a slap and we can forget all about it. Fair enough?’

‘Let me,’ Helen said.

The boy raised his hands to protect his face as Helen pushed in front of Thorne and came at him, but it wasn’t his face she was aiming at.

Her knee came up hard and she stepped smartly back to give the boy room to go down.

The Asian kid said, ‘Fuck . . . ’

The boy dropped to his knees and then rolled on to his side on the grass verge, moaning and cursing, cradling his balls. Thorne walked back to the car as Helen moved to put one foot on either side of the writhing figure on the ground, leaned over and spat.