She smiled and raised her eyebrows and leaned forward, none of which brought her an answer. “So you’ll have some news for me,” she risked saying.
“Unfortunately, Mrs Maynard, I have to -”
Wilf came between them to hand Claire her drink on his way to the couch, and in that moment she wished she could see the policeman’s eyes. “Sorry,” she said for Wilf as he moved on, and had a sudden piercing sense that she might be expected to apologise for herself. “You were saying, please, go on.”
“Only that regrettably we still have nothing definite.”
“You haven’t. Nothing at all.”
“I do understand how these things seem, believe me. If we can’t make an immediate arrest then as far as the victim’s family is concerned the investigation may as well be taking forever.”
“When you say not immediate you mean . . .”
“I appreciate it’s been the best part of four months.”
“No, what I’m getting at, you mean you’ve an idea of who it is and you’re working on having a reason to show for arresting him.”
“I wish I could tell you that.”
“Tell me the reason. Us, not just me, obviously, but that’s what you mean about telling.”
“Sadly not, Mrs Maynard. I meant that so far, and I do stress it’s only so far, we’ve had no useful leads. But you have my word we don’t give up on a case like this.”
“No leads at all.” Claire fed herself a gulp of gin, and shivered as the ice-cubes knocked a chill into her teeth. “I can’t believe you’ve had none.”
“We and our colleagues elsewhere questioned everyone with a recorded history of even remotely similar behaviour, I do assure you.” The policeman looked at his hands piled on his stomach, then met her eyes again, his face having absorbed any hint of expression. “I may as well mention we received an anonymous tip last week.”
“You did.” Claire almost raised her glass again, but wasn’t sure what the action might seem to imply. “I suppose you need time to get ready to follow something like that up.”
“It’s been dealt with, Mrs Maynard.”
“Oh.” There was no question that she needed a drink before saying “Good. And . . .”
“We’re sure it was a vindictive call. The informant was a woman who must bear some kind of grudge against the chap. Felt rebuffed by him in some way, most likely. She didn’t offer anything in the way of evidence, just his name and address.”
“So that’s enough of an excuse not to bother with anything she said.”
“I understand your anger, but please don’t let it make you feel we would be less than thorough. Of course we interviewed him, and the person who provided his alibi, and we’ve no reason to doubt either.”
Claire had - Mrs Gummer had admitted to having been asleep - but how could she introduce that point or discover the story the old woman was telling now? “So if there’s no news,” she said to release some of her anger before her words got out of control, “why are you here?”
“I was wondering if either of you might have remembered anything further to tell me. Anything at all, no matter how minor it may seem. Sometimes that’s all that’s needed to start us filling in the picture.”
“I’ve told you all I can. Don’t you think I’d have told you more if I could?”
“Mr Maynard?”
“I’d have to say the same as my wife.”
“I’ll leave you then if you’ll excuse me. Perhaps it might be worth your discussing what I asked when I’m gone. I hope, Mrs Maynard . . .” Bairns was out of his chair and had one foot in the hall before he said “I hope at least you can accept we’re doing everything the law allows.”
She did, and her rage focused itself again, letting her accompany him to the gate and send him on his way. The closing of his car door sounded like a single decisive blow of a weapon, and was followed by the reddening of the rear lights. The car was shrinking along the road when she saw Duncan Gummer at the junction - saw him wave to Bairns as if he was giving him a comradely sign. The next moment his patrolling took him out of view, but she could still see him, as close and clear in her mind as her rage.
* * * *
“Who is this? Hello?”
“It’s Claire Maynard.”
“It wasn’t you that kept ringing off when my mother answered, was it?”
“Why would I have done that, Mr Gummer?”
“No reason at all, of course. My apologies. It’s got us both a little, well, not her any longer, she’s sound asleep. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to discuss an idea I had which I think might be profitable.”
“I don’t normally talk business outside business hours, but with you I’m happy to make an exception. Would you like to meet now?”
“Why don’t you come here and keep me company. We can talk over a couple of drinks.”
“That sounds ideal. Give me ten minutes.”
“No more than that, I hope. And I shouldn’t bother troubling your mother if she needs her sleep.”
“Don’t worry, I’m with you. Softly does it. I’m all in favour of not disturbing anyone who doesn’t have to be.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Claire said with a sweetness she imagined she could taste. It made her sick. She heard him terminate the call, and listened to the contented purring of the receiver, the sound of a cat which had trapped its prey. When she became aware of holding the receiver for something to do while she risked growing unhelpfully tense she hooked it and went to pour herself a necessary drink.
She loaded ice into the tumbler, the silver teeth of the tongs grating on the cubes, then filled the remaining two-thirds of the glass almost to the top. More room needed to be made for tonic, and she saw the best way to do that. The tumbler was nearly at her lips when she opened the gin bottle and returned the contents to it. She mustn’t lose control now. To prove she had it, she crunched the ice cubes one by one, each of them sending an intensified chill through her jaw into her skull until her brain felt composed of impregnable metal. She had just popped the last cube into her mouth when she saw Gummer’s glossy black Rover draw up outside the house. She bit the cube into three chunks which she was just able to swallow, bringing tears to her eyes. They were going to be the last tears Gummer would cause her to shed, and her knuckles dealt with them as she went to let him in before he could ring the bell.
Whether his grin was meant to express surprise or pleasure at her apparent scramble to greet him, it bared even more of his lower lip than usual until he produced a sympathetic look. “I’m glad you felt able to call,” he said.
“Why wouldn’t I?”