Free An Early Grave by Robert McCracken Page B

close by, where she could get to see her every week, but it fair knocked the wind from the fifty-year-old school teacher when Tara announced that she was joining the police. Tara, her mother often told her, had a chance of an exciting life, a great career as a lawyer or a barrister, earning good money in a city with better opportunities than Liverpool. On days like this she was glad her mother didn’t know the half of what she got up to in her job.
    Turning her car into Sycamore Drive, she wondered again about Callum Armour. He seemed a strange mix of Liverpool and Belfast, inhabiting a world so different from the one she knew while growing up on The Wirral. Their backgrounds were diverse, and yet he also had done well to make it to one of the centres of elitist Britain, the rarefied environs of Oxford.
    ‘I’ve arranged for a community police officer to call with you,’ she said, struggling once again to find a place to sit in the ramshackle of a living room. ‘They’ll advise you on what’s best for dealing with the harassment you’ve been getting from local youths.’
    From his armchair of paper bundles he glared at her through puffy eyes, reddened as if he’d been crying.
    ‘What about harassment from the police? Who’s going to advise me about that?’
    She didn’t reply, didn’t rise to his challenge. She felt nervous enough sitting in this depressing room, and she’d forgotten to leave that note in her car.
    ‘There is also Community Support which is a charity that helps victims of crime. Here are the contact details; you can give them a call.’
    ‘Don’t have a phone.’
    ‘Do you have a computer?’
    ‘Not anymore. Had a break-in a while back. They took my lap-top, my TV and DVD player.’
    ‘You should consider getting a mobile phone.’
    He shook his head.
    ‘No way. Those things pickle your brain. One day the world’s going to wake up to the number of cases of brain tumours and mental disorders and finally blame it on the use of mobile phones. By then, of course, the men running the companies making a fortune will be long gone, and it’ll be a heck of a fight to find those responsible.’
    ‘Just a suggestion,’ she replied. It wasn’t her intention to start a debate on health and safety. She reached out some leaflets, though she suddenly realised that what Callum Armour did not require in this house was more paper. ‘Some information which may be of help. You should check with social services or with the Citizens Advice Bureau about your entitlements. They might be able to help you…’
    She stopped, suddenly conscious of saying too much or something that may offend him. Besides, he didn’t appear terribly interested in what she had to say.
    ‘Do you have a social worker?’
    ‘You must think I’m a real basket case. What exactly have you heard about me? What do you think I am?’
    She really didn’t want to get into this. Hadn’t intended to rile him. Even Midgey shifted his location from the feet of his master to the worn mat under the table. She was slow to answer, but he filled the pause.
    ‘You know nothing about me.’
    ‘Maybe that’s down to you. You’ve said little on our first three meetings.’
    ‘You want to know about the girl, don’t you? That’s the only reason you’re here. To winkle information out of me.’
    ‘It is my job, Callum. A young girl has been murdered, and so far you’re the only person with information. You seem reluctant to share it with us.’
    He shook his head and got to his feet. Tara thought that was an end to it. She’d failed to help him and failed in getting him to talk. Maybe Murray’s way was the right one. Bring him down to the station and let him stew for a day, threaten to charge him for with-holding information. She rose from the uncomfortable, poorly sprung sofa.
    ‘Not that you care,’ he said, ‘But there’s been another killing.’ He wiped his right eye with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
    ‘I don’t