Free Requiem for a Dealer by Jo Bannister Page A

let me see him. He must have broken into the house when I wasn’t there.’
    Deacon wondered if she had any idea how foolish she sounded. ‘Miss Barker, when you accused Mr Windham of murdering your father we had a good look at him. We found out exactly where he was the night of the accident. He was in Germany, collecting a lorry-load of horses. He’d been there for thirty-six hours and he stayed there another day. There is no way he could have been involved in your father’s death. Which makes it kind of silly to keep accusing him.’

    â€˜You don’t know him. I do. I know what he’s capable of.’
    Deacon wasn’t prepared to go down that road again. He was only here because he’d hoped she could help with his Scram inquiry. If she wasn’t going to, his detective’s instinct was to move on and leave her to the hospital psychiatrist. What stopped him was the outside chance that there was a grain of truth in what she was saying. That she was in danger. Also, Scram had got into her system somehow. Whether he liked it or not, what had happened to her was part of his investigation.
    â€˜All right,’ he said. ‘Tell me why you think Windham tried to kill you.’
    For a moment she didn’t answer. He felt her eyes assessing him. ‘Because you’ll do something about it? Or because, once I’ve got it off my chest, we can talk about the drugs?’
    Deacon suspected Alison Barker had a history of making it hard for people to help or even like her. ‘Because you seem to believe it, and I want to be sure you’re a crank before I bin it.’
    Alison gave a little snort with something like a chuckle in it. ‘At least that’s honest.’
    â€˜They say it’s the best policy. Especially, I suppose, when you’re a policeman.’
    â€˜All right,’ she said, ‘I’ll tell you. But why should you believe me this time when you didn’t three months ago?’
    In fact Deacon hadn’t interviewed her himself. Stanley Barker’s death had never seriously looked like a crime. ‘Maybe I won’t,’ he agreed. ‘But I’m willing to listen, and you’re not going anywhere …’
    Dead on cue, the mouse in the attic started to scratch. Daniel came back from the phone. ‘Jack,’ he said warily, keeping his distance.
    â€˜Daniel,’ growled Deacon.
    â€˜Is this official? I can come back later …’
    Deacon would have accepted his offer but Alison waved him to the end of her bed. ‘Superintendent Deacon wants to know why I think Johnny Windham wants me dead. I expect you do too.’
    It took a moment to organise her thoughts. ‘Don’t suppose I don’t know how this sounds. People I’ve known most of my life
won’t talk to me any more. They think my dad’s death somehow turned my head. That’s what Mary thinks.’ She caught Daniel’s eye with her own. ‘She told you as much, didn’t she?’
    He didn’t answer. He didn’t make a habit of betraying confidences.
    Alison took his silence as consent. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said tiredly, ‘you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. Mary’s been a good friend to me, but I know she thinks I dreamt this up because I needed someone to blame for Dad’s death. But then, she thinks he killed himself. I know better.’
    â€˜What do you think happened?’ asked Deacon, his voice wiped of expression.
    â€˜I think he was murdered,’ said Alison bluntly. ‘If you tell me there was no way Johnny could have done it himself, I believe you; but he was behind it. Dad stopped using him after the problems he caused us, and word got around. Windham Transport ended up in nearly as bad shape as us. He was reduced to local moves and ferrying people to shows and things – which was a come-down for someone who was used to spending