Free Ramsay 06 - The Baby-Snatcher by Ann Cleeves

pleasant here than in some of the houses he’d visited, with their smells of old age, talcum powder and cat pee. He thought again he’d be happy to stay here all day.
    ‘I take Kirsty to the playgroup in. Heppleburn. There’s no nursery round here. Mrs Coulthard from the Coastguard House sends her oldest boy there too. Sometimes she gives me a lift home. She was talking about getting a nanny and I mentioned that Claire had done the course and was looking for a job.’
    ‘Very convenient.’
    ‘Yeah, though you wouldn’t think she’d need a nanny, would you? It’s not as if she works. Some people have got more money than sense.’ There was a silence. She twisted a bangle on her wrist. ‘Is it true what they’re saying?’
    ‘Depends what they’re saying.’
    ‘That Kath Howe was murdered. It wasn’t an accident.’
    ‘She was stabbed.’ Hunter said. He drained the last of his coffee noisily. He wouldn’t have minded another cup, wouldn’t have minded anyway another glimpse of her bum as she bent over the sink to fill the kettle.
    ‘Jesus!’ She seemed honestly shocked. ‘I thought it was just talk.’ There was a pause. ‘Was she mucked about first? You know what I mean.’
    ‘There was no indication of sexual assault.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘When did you last see her?’ Hunter asked. She was still so dazed that he had to repeat the question.
    ‘I’m not sure.’
    ‘Did you see her on Saturday?’
    ‘Saturday? No, I don’t think so.’
    ‘Where were you that day?’
    ‘Here for most of the time.’
    ‘Didn’t you go out at all?’
    ‘Not in the morning. Unless you call standing on the doorstep going out. I’d been down Whitley on Friday night and a friend stayed over. I went out to wave him off. I didn’t see anyone then. Except the bitch across the road who had her nose pressed to the bedroom window.’
    ‘I’ll need the name and address of your friend.’
    There was a moment of uncertainty then she said, with an attempt at the old flippancy, ‘You’ll be lucky.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I mean we weren’t on those sort of terms.’
    ‘You only met him that night?’
    ‘Na, I’d bumped into him a couple of times. He’d been back here once before.’
    ‘You must have a name for him then.’
    ‘He called himself Paul.’
    ‘You don’t think that was his real name?’
    She shrugged. ‘Could have been. But he’s married, and he wasn’t giving much away.’
    ‘And where did “Paul” live?’ Hunter recognized no contradiction in his previous fantasies about Kim Houghton and the disapproval of her behaviour which expressed itself in sarcasm.
    She seemed not to notice. ‘Newcastle.’
    ‘You can’t be more specific?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘What about a phone number?’
    It wasn’t that sort of thing. Just a bit of fun. At least it was supposed to be.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    She had been smoking a cigarette and stabbed it out fiercely in a glass ashtray.
    ‘Went all weepy on me, didn’t he? About how his wife didn’t understand him. About how screwed up she is. Just what I needed. Not.’
    ‘How did you get here on Friday night? Taxi or his car?’
    ‘His car.’
    ‘Which was?’
    ‘A red Mazda. Very fancy. Very fast.’
    ‘Number plate?’
    ‘New. N reg. That’s all I noticed.’
    ‘And it was parked in the street all night?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    Hunter sat back in his chair and looked at her. ‘Didn’t it bother you? Folks knowing you had a bloke to stay. Going out in the morning to see him off?’
    He imagined her standing there in her dressing gown. With nothing on underneath.
    ‘Stuff them,’ she said. She picked up the packet of cigarettes from the table, knocked one out, lit it. Her hands shook slightly but her voice was steady. ‘ Stuff them. They could do with some excitement in their tired lives.’
    ‘What time was that?’
    ‘I don’t know. Too early.’
    ‘You didn’t see Mrs Howe’s daughter? She walked down to wait for the bus