Free The Edge by Clare Curzon Page B

fax him everything that comes in on paper: invoices, bills, receipts, correspondence. That’s to say, my secretary does. Putting pen to paper bugs me, actually. Or finger to keyboard, as it is nowadays. We aren’t a large workforce. Thirty-one in all, but we get through some business. Our name’s getting well known. Just had a big order from Murano, Venice.’
    There was unmistakable pride in his voice.
    â€˜And how long have you been with the firm?’
    â€˜Twelve years now. But I’ve known Freddie a lot longer. We met at university. He was a mature student doing business studies and I was a first year engineer. We met at Dramsoc. He had a talent for producing and I was into stagecraft. We went our own ways later and chanced on each other at a charity do his wife was organising in London. My sister dragged me there and I’m glad now she did. Freddie and I slunk off into the bar and made up for lost time. I let out that I wasn’t happy working for a big conglomerate in Swindon and he suggested I should take a trip to Bristol and give my opinion on the firm he’d inherited from his dad. I had some ideas on technical improvements and we joined up. Been there ever since.’
    The mention of Swindon brought Salmon out of his slump. ‘Do you know a Miss or Mrs Alma Pavitt?’ he demanded.
    â€˜No. Should I?’
    â€˜Or a Mrs Bellinger who also lives in Swindon?’
    â€˜Never heard of her. Anyway I didn’t live in the town then. We were some eight miles outside.’
    â€œâ€˜We” being?’ Yeadings enquired, taking over the interview again.
    â€˜My mum and me. My dad scarpered when I was a kid, and my two sisters are married. One’s in Canada and the other’s in Cornwall.’
    Forty-nine years old and still living with his mother; brought
up in a family of women. How different did that make him? Yeadings wondered. ‘How did you get on with the late Mrs Hoad?’ he pressed.
    â€˜Jennifer? She scared the shit out of me. So bloody perfect. Could do everything better than anyone else. Couldn’t imagine her slopping around in curlers like a normal woman.’
    â€˜Uncomfortable to be with?’
    â€˜Unless she set out to charm you. She tried with me at first, but quickly decided I wasn’t worth the effort. Pity, because Freddie and I really hit it off, for all we’re so different. Were different. God, I can’t believe he’s been done in. I don’t suppose the poor sod ever hurt anyone in his whole life.’
    Â 
    At 4.15 p.m. Z returned to the caravan to take Anna Plumley for formal identification of the bodies. She found her sitting on the lowered steps outside, smoking a small brown cigar.
    â€˜Detestable habit,’ she growled, throwing the remains of it down and scrunching it under one well-shod heel. ‘I began it as an affectation, purely to annoy. By the time it had served that purpose I found I needed it in moments of stress. Better than hitting the bottle, I suppose. I’d hate to become an alcoholic and be obliged to give up drinking good Burgundy.’
    Her tone was wry, but she looked more relaxed. It was a pleasant face, Z realised; almost pretty in a plumply determined way.
    â€˜Time to go?’
    â€˜If you feel ready.’
    â€˜I’ll never be that.’
    As she rose, her mobile tinkled out the first few notes of the ‘Flight of the Valkyrie’. ‘Plum dear,’ she said, opening it, ‘how’re the fish rising? You did? Well done!’
    She listened, smiling indulgently, then grimaced. ‘No, it’s much as we expected here. Daniel hasn’t put in an appearance yet. A lot of waiting about, but we’re just off to the mortuary. I’ll ring you tonight, lovey. Mind that new speed camera on the hill. One of us must keep a clean licence. Yes, I do. Goodbye.
    â€˜My husband,’ she explained, and catching a flicker of surprise
on Z’s