Free Death of a Murderer by Rupert Thomson Page B

room and stood by the stainless-steel sink in the corner. He rubbed his hands together. “Cold in here.”
    “Would you mind taking over?” Billy said.
    “No problem.”
    Billy signed himself out, making a note of the time, then watched as the constable signed himself in. His name was Fowler.
    “I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes,” Billy said. “That’s if I don’t get lost.”
    “Bloody corridors,” Fowler said.

15
    After eight o’clock at night the main entrance was locked, and the only access to the hospital was through Accident and Emergency. As Billy followed the signs, hurrying now, he was still thinking about that afternoon in Weston Point. They had cycled back along the brow of the hill, a dense yellow haze hanging over the Mersey. The river had a sweaty gleam to it, more like skin than water. Billy had hoped Amanda might still be sunbathing in the garden, but when they got to Raymond’s house she’d gone indoors. On his way home, Billy ate some grass to disguise the smell of alcohol, and Mrs. Parks, their neighbour, saw him do it. He’d felt bad about the break-in. At least he hadn’t taken any of the money, though.
    When Billy reached A and E, Sue was sitting on a chair with a copy of the
News of the World
lying unopened on her lap. Inwardly, he was already groaning. What had happened this time? What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait till morning?
    As soon as she saw him, she stood up, the newspaper splashing to the floor.
    “What is it, Sue?” he said. “Is something wrong?”
    He watched her pick up the paper and put it on a small formica table. Looking away, he caught the eye of a constable stationed by the entrance. The man’s expression was one of mild commiseration.
    Billy turned back to Sue. “How did you get here?” he said. “Where’s Emma?” He stepped past Sue and peered through the glass door, as if his daughter might be out there somewhere, in the dark. She could never be left alone, not even for a moment. She was always wandering off. She had no sense.
    “She’s asleep,” Sue said. “Jan came over.”
    Janet Crook lived two doors down, next to the Gibsons. Her husband had left her three years ago. There had been talk of a younger woman.
    “I borrowed Jan’s car,” Sue said.
    Billy was aware that both the constable and the two volunteers behind reception were listening to their conversation, though they were pretending not to.
    “Let’s go outside,” he said.
    His arm round Sue’s shoulders, he ushered her through the sliding door. Reporters instantly closed in, their faces blank, insistent, and Billy had to remind himself of one of Phil Shaw’s directives: as regards the press, he should do his best to be patient and friendly.
    “Could you leave us alone, please?” Billy said. “This is a private matter.” He spoke more bluntly than he’d intended to, but his annoyance had spread rapidly and would now, he felt, include almost anyone he came across.
    He walked Sue to the left, past the locked main entrance, then down the slope towards the building where the nurses lived. They found a picnic table set in among some trees and sat down side by side, facing out, like people on a bus. Though there was no moon, the tree-trunks glinted. Silver birches. He stared upwards through a tangle of bare branches. The yellow car-park lights made the pieces of sky that were visible look blue.
    “Do you love me, Billy?”
    Billy sighed. “Is that what you drove out here for?” Leaning forwards, with his elbows on his knees, he looked straight ahead. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for this. “For God’s sake, Sue, I’m working.”
    “I was worried,” she said. “I don’t know. I just got worried.” Lines appeared on her forehead. “Will we be all right, do you think?”
    His voice softened a little. “Of course we will.”
    “I don’t know. Sometimes it seems so difficult.”
    “I know,” he said. “I know it does.”
    “Maybe we could go away for