Free Exile by Denise Mina Page B

letters, just hand them over and let them deal with it, but the letters hinted at Millport. “Tell Joe that I know I don’t have to answer anything,” she said.
    “Well, why on earth would you refuse to answer us?” said Inness, feigning cheap surprise. “Could it be that you have something to hide?”
    McAskill blushed and looked at his shoes.
    “I’d think you’d want to help us,” said Inness, plowing on with an already failed ploy.
    Maureen caught Hugh’s eye. “Isn’t his patter woeful?” she said in a vain attempt to cheer herself up.
    Hugh raised his eyebrows again. He was always more or less silent during these visits. They had been friendly to each other during the investigation into Douglas’s death. She knew he was sharper than Inness and that Joe trusted him more, but every time they came up Hugh stood by and let Inness do the talking.
    “Angus Farrell has convinced the doctors that he’s mental,” said Inness, glaring into the living room. He saw discarded newspapers, full ashtrays and the low sun seeping through the sheen of white dirt on the windows. He looked at Maureen, tousle-haired and half naked under her overcoat. She felt the implicit criticism of everything his eye fell on and knew he’d report every detail to Joe McEwan.
    “Maybe he is mental,” said Maureen.
    “Yeah,” said Inness. “My boss thinks Farrell knows what it means if he’s mental. He knows he’ll get a short sentence in minimum security. Maybe he’ll make a miraculous recovery in two years’ time and get out. Do you think a psychologist would know that?”
    Maureen shrugged. “I don’t know him that well,” she said.
    “But he was your therapist.”
    “Briefly,” she said. “Only briefly.”
    “The hospital told us he’s writing to you. Is he?”
    “No,” she said, conscious of the letter below the telephone table.
    “The nurses,” said Inness forcefully, “post the letters to you, so you can stop lying. I’ll ask again. Is he writing to you?”
    “Maybe he’s got the wrong address. Did ye think of that?”
    “Is he threatening you?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Inness ground his teeth. “If Farrell gets a sentence in low security who do you think he’d be most anxious to see?”
    Maureen began to sweat and felt an anxious prickle on her neck. She looked to Hugh for support, but he slid his eyes away from her and left her alone. Whatever she said or did was going straight back to McEwan. She took a deep breath. “Look, Inness,” she said, “I know Joe sends you down to do the talking because he hasn’t got anything on me. He sends you because you’re an idiot and you’re aggravating.” She could see Inness getting annoyed. She could see him thinking through the order to come down here, thinking through the politics at the office, wondering if she was right. Hugh bit his bottom lip and stared at the ceiling. “So just tell him from me, you’re not as much of an aggravation as he thinks you are and I’m not going to confess to an offense I didn’t commit to get out of your company. Will ye tell him that for me?”
    Flustered, Inness raised his hand to his face, flattening his mustache. “This place is filthy,” he said bitterly. “Is that a feminist thing? Not cleaning up after yourself?”
    Maureen mustered her threadbare dignity. “Are you taunting me in an official capacity now?” she said, feeling the rising panic at the back of her throat, hearing Michael scratching through the glass. “Tell Joe that this isn’t Chile. He can’t just send you up here whenever he feels like it. These fishing trips are illegal.”
    “Who told you that?”
    “My brother.”
    Inness gave himself a couple of seconds to think up a witty retort. “How is your brother? Still selling drugs to schoolkids?” Evidently a couple of seconds wasn’t long enough.
    “Liam’s retired,” she said. “You know he’s retired.”
    “Aye, he’s a student now. Selling drugs to