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Nobody said anything. Someone wandering into the room at that moment would have felt the tension and backed straight out. Reid knew what a prick he was being but he wasn’t going to admit it.
‘What about her private life? Family? Lover? Kids?’
Ashcroft tried again. ‘One child. Name of Jake. Started at the local primary school. No partner as far as we know, but we haven’t had time to check that out. Her mother lives in the same town. Looks after the kid quite a lot while Sinead works at a hotel.’
‘Right.’ Reid had heard enough. ‘Sergeant, you and me will go and pay a courtesy call on Ms Parkinson. Harry, you concentrate on her background. For now, I need addresses for her house, her mother’s house and the hotel. And get an ANPR out for her car. Now let’s get on with it.’
* * *
‘What a mess!’
Sam was lying on the sofa, feet up on the arm rest, while Sinead examined his foot. She had tweezers, disinfectant and a roll of bandage next to her on the small round table.
‘This may hurt a bit,’ she said, and pulled a shard out of his heel.
He said nothing. He was trying to think, and not to show any pain.
She pulled at another piece of embedded glass and his foot twitched.
‘Keep still!’ she ordered. Her sympathy was buried deeper than the glass.
He studied her as best he could from his supine position. She was bent over in concentration, her blonde hair hanging untidily down. The roots were showing brown. Perhaps she sensed his gaze, because she gave an extra hard tug at a resistant fragment and snapped out a question — or was it an accusation?
‘So what did you do to her to make her do a runner?’
Definitely an accusation. He didn’t answer immediately. He was still feeling half-doped. Putting together a coherent train of thought was proving difficult. He certainly wasn’t going to admit to having attempted to grope Maggie. Not when the evidence of its consequences were so obvious.
‘I don’t think she trusts me.’
Sinead gave a snort. ‘Are you surprised?’
He ignored the question. ‘I mean, I reckon she thinks I’m the enemy. Playing a double game. Pretending to be her friend from way back when, but . . .’ He paused.
‘But what?’
‘I feel I owe her.’
‘Owe her what?’ Sinead had stopped her ministrations and was looking directly at him, holding the tweezers as if they were a weapon. ‘An old girlfriend, is she? Or a new one?’
Sam had been skiing just the once. On the fourth day, arrogant and bored with his teacher, he had skipped class and made his way up to the top on his own. After three days of bright sunshine it had turned cloudy, which was why he had mistaken a black run for a blue one. Suddenly he had been hurtling downhill very fast with zero hope of avoiding a very nasty crash. That was what it was like now. He tried an emergency stop.
‘I need her.’
‘You need her?’
He shut his eyes, half expecting her to dig her tweezers right into his foot — and keep on digging.
He tried to explain. ‘I need her for Beth. I can’t look after the kid on my own.’
He had thought that this would soften her up, win her over. An appeal on behalf of a motherless child. That should penetrate any woman’s defences, surely? So he was amazed to see Sinead lurch to her feet. She picked up the roll of bandage and hurled it at his head. He caught it one-handed and was absurdly pleased with himself. Reflexes still intact then.
‘You can finish it yourself!’ She stormed from the room, through the kitchen and out, slamming the door behind her.
By the time he had finished bandaging his foot and jammed a shoe over it, she had returned to the kitchen and was making toast. Still smouldering, like the toast, she banged two plates on the table and some strawberry jam, then the toast.
‘Eat!’
He did so obediently, calculating his next move. She thrust a mug of black tea at him, then sat on the far side of the table and busied herself with her own breakfast. Her anger was evident in every gesture, every time she wielded her knife, every time she brushed her hair from her eyes. When she glanced across at him, he thought he could see hatred in her eyes.
