Free Truth Will Out by Pamela Oldfield Page B

just wanted to cheer her up.’
    Emily Rider heard the front-door bell and swore under her breath. She went into the front room, looked out through the thick net curtain and swore again. The man on the doorstep wasn’t in uniform but she knew the type. A detective. They were back.
    ‘I knew it! I just knew it!’ She put a hand to her heart and tried to compose her features. Never let the police think you’re scared. Her husband had said that more times than she cared to remember before he took himself off four years earlier – and good riddance to him! In and out of prison like a blasted yo-yo!
    On the way to the front door she pushed back her lank hair, which was now a faded auburn, and smoothed her floral pinafore over plump hips. She also struggled to forget her anger with Jem. Must keep calm in front of the police. They were like bloodhounds. If they thought she had anything to hide they’d be on her like a pack of wolves.
    Opening the front door she said, ‘You lot again?’
    ‘Mrs Rider?’
    She gave an exaggerated groan. ‘Whatever you’re selling, the answer’s “No”.’ She smiled and hoped she sounded perky and carefree.
    ‘I’m Detective Constable Fleet and I’m investigating the—’
    ‘I’m not interested. I’ve got a load of ironing to do so . . .’ She began to close the door but the DC put his foot in the way. ‘What?’ she demanded.
    ‘I’d like a word with your son Jem, Mrs Rider. We think he may be able to help us in our enquiries. Is he in?’
    ‘No and if he was he couldn’t help you. He doesn’t know anything, that’s why. We know your lot. You’ll twist his words, trip him up over everything he says and try and pin the blame on him.’
    ‘Blame? Blame for what? What do you think your son has done, Mrs Rider?’
    She was silent for a moment, weighing up what she could and couldn’t say. She found herself wishing that she had taken off the pinafore. He was a decent-looking chap, for a policeman.
    He said, ‘Do you want us to have this conversation on the doorstep, Mrs Rider?’ and jerked his head in the direction of the woman next door, who was pretending to polish her already gleaming brass knocker.
    ‘Nosy cow!’ Reluctantly Emily held the door open and they moved inside and into the front room. ‘She thinks herself so much better than the rest of us, next door, but her Tom’s a troublemaker. He tries to wind Jem up. Knows he’s got a short fuse, as they say. You can sit down if you want to.’ Without waiting for an answer she seized a tortoiseshell cat from the only armchair and tossed it none too gently into the hallway.
    ‘I won’t sit down, thank you, Mrs Rider. I mustn’t get too comfortable because I have a lot of work to do. We’re investigating the disappearance of one of the guests at the Romilees Hotel – you may have heard about it – and we believe Jem met him recently and might give us a clue to his whereabouts. That’s the only reason we want to talk to him.’
    The relief was enormous. So Jem was not in any trouble. She allowed herself another smile. ‘Maybe he can help but he’s not here at the moment. If you want to call round again—’
    ‘I need to speak to him now, Mrs Rider. If he is in I’d—’
    ‘I just told you, he isn’t here!’
    ‘Then if you can tell me where he is . . .’
    ‘No, I can’t. I don’t know where he is. Very independent, my son. Always off, here and there.’ She shrugged. ‘Kids, eh! They worry you to death.’
    ‘Are you worried about him?’
    Emily cursed her careless tongue. Of course she was worried about him. He hadn’t come home the previous night and she had no idea where he was or when he would come home. ‘Worried about Jem? No more than any mother worries about her kids. You got a family?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘My advice is to think about it, long and hard. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’ She glanced at the only framed photograph she owned, which showed her and her