‘You aren’t cheering me up here, Julia.’
‘Sorry, Sarge.’
‘Don’t be. You’ve done well and I’m grateful for the help. Keep at it. But don’t let on to the sweetie wifies in the canteen you’re doing so. They’re right — I am out on a limb and I don’t want you falling off the branch with me.’
CHAPTER 36
The morning drive into Stewart Street station from Highburgh Road was even more of a nightmare than usual because of the weather and Narey was already fed up with the day. She inched along Byres Road, then did the same on Great Western Road, cursing the snow, the ice, the lack of gritters and the twat in the silver Ford Fiesta who insisted on being inches from her rear bumper. All that stopped her from getting out of the car and telling the driver to back off was that she couldn’t trust herself to keep her temper if the eejit argued back.
To make matters worse, some other clown sitting at the front of the traffic lights at Park Road decided to treat other road users to his right-turn indicator only after the lights went to green. Narey was stuck behind him, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to turn until the filter and she wouldn’t get through the lights at all. She thumped her horn and the car behind her did the same, as if it were her fault rather than the twonk in front.
Eventually, her temper fraying further by the minute, she was able to get off Great Western Road and the rest of the journey only took another few minutes. As she turned onto Maitland Street and slowed on the approach to the station, a silver Fiesta loomed in her rear view and passed her. Narey was about to turn into the station car park when she saw the Fiesta pause further along Maitland Street and, on instinct, she drove a couple of hundred yards past the entrance, parked and began to walk back.
She heard a car park not far behind her but she didn’t turn round, not even when the footsteps began to close on her. She heard the click-clack of quick steps, realising the person was now only just a few feet behind. Suddenly, she stopped completely and whirled, forcing her pursuer on her sooner than expected and unsettling whomever it was. With the navy blue of the station wall on her right, she spun on her left foot and caught the would-be attacker’s collar with her left hand, shoving the person into the wall with her right.
The sound of heels had registered but the fact that her hunter was a woman didn’t stop Narey from disabling her. She twisted the woman’s left arm tightly behind her back and grabbed her hair, using the leverage to force her face hard against the wall. As the woman squealed in pain, Narey was amused to see a face peek through the window above her head — the duty sergeant, obviously wondering what the hell was going on.
‘You all right there, Sergeant Narey?’ he enquired in bemusement.
‘I’m just fine, Bill,’ she told him. ‘Just fine. Can’t say the same for this one though. Who are you?’
The woman only just managed to squeeze the words out of the corner of her mouth as it was wedged against the wall.
‘My name is Irene Paton.’
They sat opposite each other in Café Hula at the top of Hope Street, just a few minutes’ walk from the station. A black coffee sat undisturbed in front of Irene Paton while Narey sipped slowly on a latte, simmering under Paton’s angry glare. The woman seemed content to smoulder rather than speak and that suited Narey fine, as it gave her time to wonder what the hell Laurence Paton’s wife wanted with her. For all that, though, she was also impatient to find out what the new widow had to say for herself.
The café bustled around them but neither woman had eyes nor ears for the chatter or the clink of cups. They were both far too engrossed in their own play to be aware of anyone else’s. Paton was nervous, that much was obvious, but she also seethed with a resentment that overrode her anxiety. Narey was unusually edgy too; she didn’t like being ambushed, particularly on her own doorstep, and she didn’t have a handle on the older woman’s motives.
Paton’s eyes were puffy and reddened. Hardly surprising, Narey supposed, for someone whose husband had died so recently but it had clearly taken its toll on her. Her dark shoulder-length hair had barely had a brush pulled through it and her face, although made-up, was lined and tired. Irene Paton had been through the mill.
‘Why were you outside my house?’
The question came abruptly out of the tense silence and caught Narey off guard even though she knew it had to be coming.
‘It was part of an ongoing investigation’ was the best that she could come up with.
‘Not according to Central Scotland Police, it wasn’t. And according to my neighbour, you were rude and aggressive.’
Narey said nothing and Irene contemplated her coffee again.
‘Were you having an affair with my husband?’
Whatever it was Narey had been expecting, this wasn’t it. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed so she settled for surprised. Was this ridiculous assertion really what had driven the grieving widow to stalk a police officer? The weary fire that blazed in Irene’s eyes suggested she wasn’t joking.
‘No, Mrs Paton. I wasn’t.’
The widow held Narey’s gaze, seemingly desperate to find something behind the bold denial. Narey let her stare, all the time wondering what might have made the woman think such a thing.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Paton continued, although her voice had already lost the little confidence it had previously held.
‘I can assure you, I wasn’t. What makes you think he was having an affair?’
‘Laurence had been hiding something from me for years.’
‘Why do you say that?’
Mrs Paton glared at her. ‘A wife just knows these things. Are you married?’
Narey shook her head.
‘Then you wouldn’t understand. You live with someone as long as I did with Laurence, then you know things they barely know about themselves. You know when they’re up and when they’re down. You know when they’re lying to you even when you don’t know what about. You know when they’re giving you everything and when they’re not. There was something Laurence wasn’t telling me and he hadn’t been telling me for a very long time. I’ll ask you again: was it you he wasn’t telling me about?’
Tears welled up behind Irene Paton’s dark-rimmed spectacles as Narey slowly shook her head.
‘Are you sure it was another woman?’ she asked gently.
Paton began to speak but bit her lip. She looked utterly lost. Narey’s heart went out to her, recognising something in her she’d been feeling herself of late.
‘Another woman; another man. I don’t know. I know he was keeping something from me. And I want to know what you had to do with it.’
‘Nothing. I never even met your husband, Mrs Paton.’
Confusion and doubt were painted all over her face. She clearly had no idea whether to believe Narey or not.
‘But why…’ her voice cracked. ‘Why were you outside our house? Laurence was upset after you were there. He wouldn’t speak to me, or tell me who you were. Nothing. He was on the phone upstairs and on the computer afterwards for ages but wouldn’t tell me what it was all about.’
‘Who do you think he was on the phone to?’
‘I don’t know. If it wasn’t you…’
‘It wasn’t.’
‘Then I don’t know. He’d been on the phone with the door closed quite often recently. My husband had a secret.’
Narey hesitated, unsure how far to push it.
‘I think you’re right, Mrs Paton. Laurence did have a secret.’
The woman’s eyes widened.
‘And that’s why you were at our house?’
‘Yes. But I didn’t get the chance to talk to your husband so I’m not certain what the circumstances were. Perhaps you could help me.’