Free Kissing the Demons by Kate Ellis Page A

diaries and address books. After rummaging for a while he found what he was looking for: the number without a name beside it. Her number. He picked up the telephone receiver and dialled, and as the ringing tone droned in his ear, he could hear his heart pounding against his ribs. This was something he had vowed never to do. But it was necessary. If the police found her first it could ruin everything. They had to get their story straight.
    He heard a breathless voice on the other end of the line. Either Jasmine had been hurrying to answer the phone or he had caught her in the throes of passion. His mind supplied all sorts of scenarios in those few moments, some mundane, some exotic. Somehow, knowing Jasmine, the exotic or erotic seemed more likely.
    â€˜Hello.’ The deep, throaty voice sent an unexpected thrill of excitement shooting through his body.
    â€˜Jasmine? It’s me. Barrington.’ He closed his eyes, imagining her reaction. ‘Look, I’ve had a visit from the police.’

SIX
    S unday afternoon is the traditional time for visiting relatives and Joe wondered whether they would have to battle with an army of Norman Quillan’s devoted family to gain his attention. Perhaps, Joe thought, his nephew and his wife would be there, doing their familial duty. But ideally he wanted to talk to the old man alone without any distractions.
    Emily was uncharacteristically quiet as they drove. Joe wasn’t sure whether she was thinking about the case or wallowing in guilt about abandoning her children on a Sunday. He knew it was the aspect of the job she found hardest to deal with. But she usually managed fine.
    â€˜Let’s hope he remembers something about this Jasmine,’ she said as he swung the car into a tree-lined drive. ‘The sooner we can confirm Jenks’s story, the better.’
    â€˜Did you believe him?’
    â€˜He was very convincing. But then a lot of people would say that he tells lies for a living so he’s bound to be good at it by now. What do you think?’
    Joe parked the car and they got out. Viking Court was a fairly new development of sheltered retirement flats, low-rise and neat. Emily observed that the flats here probably didn’t come cheap. And she was probably right.
    Norman Quillan was a little man, slightly built, with thinning grey hair and a small moustache that gave him the look of a worried rodent. He looked a little nervous as he invited them to sit but many people did when the police came to call.
    The flat was small but pleasingly decorated in shades of subtle green and the first thing Joe noticed was that there were no family photographs around the place. Emily sat down opposite the old man, smiling to put him at his ease. There were times when her down-to-earth bluntness worked wonders with the elderly.
    â€˜Now then, Mr Quillan,’ she began. ‘You’ll remember those two lasses who went missing in Dead Man’s Woods twelve years back?’
    â€˜You don’t forget something like that in a hurry,’ he muttered, avoiding Emily’s eyes.
    â€˜Can you tell us what you told the officers at the time?’
    â€˜It’s a long time ago. Haven’t you got it on record or something?’
    â€˜Maybe there’s something you’ve remembered since then,’ said Emily.
    â€˜Well I haven’t. I didn’t see owt then and I don’t remember owt more now.’
    â€˜Let me make a nice cup of tea,’ said Emily, standing up. She looked at Joe as if to say ‘you try’. Sometimes the one-to-one approach worked better.
    Joe gave the old man a friendly smile. ‘We called at your old house . . . met your nephew’s wife, Jackie.’
    The old man gave a dismissive grunt. ‘That little tart,’ he said with a surprising amount of venom.
    â€˜You don’t like her?’ Joe held his breath and awaited the answer.
    â€˜I don’t like either of them. They conned