talk to
you in answer to your second.” The smug little grin widened
imperceptibly.
“You’re
trespassing,” I reminded him.
“Door was
open,” he responded, as if that made it all right.
“It was
shut,” I argued. “I remember closing it.”
“Wind
must have blown it open.”
“And did
the wind turn on the CD player?”
“Thought
I would amuse myself while I waited for you,” he said, shrugging.
“Nice catchy stuff by the way. Is it new material?”
When I
failed to answer he said, “Shall we talk up here?” and jerked his
head, indicating the attic room. “Or will it be downstairs? It’s
your call.”
“What
makes you think I want to talk to you?” I asked. “What makes you
think I won’t simply call the police, or set my dog on you? You
still haven’t told me your business here?”
He slowly
descended the stairs. Lennon’s tensed and gave a throaty growl. I
yanked the leash, instructing the retriever to be quiet. Norris
arrived on the cramped landing, at which point he flipped the
cigarette into his mouth, and with his hand freed produced a dog
eared Press Card from the inside pocket of his anorak. Lennon
barked ferociously. Norris stared dispassionately, and said
nothing.
“Well, Mr
Norris,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even, “I’m
waiting.”
“Ashley
Chronicle,” he announced, flashing the card, “Thought I’d give you
the chance to put your side of the story.” He nodded towards
Lennon. “By the way, if your pooch takes a chunk out of me, I’ll
sue.”
He
brushed past and descended the stairs to ground level, leaving me
staring into space, contemplating the implication of what he’d just
said.
By the
time I entered the lounge, having locked Lennon in the kitchen,
he’d made himself comfortable in an armchair by the window, and was
puffing on the now lighted cigarette. A trail of grey blue smoke
rose lazily into the air.
“Make
yourself at home why don’t you,” I said, irritated by his cocksure
manner.
“Why
don’t you relax Mr O’Shea,” he parried. “What’s the big deal? I
need to talk to you about an important matter. So I come here, find
the place unlocked and let myself in. I haven’t exactly committed
murder. Now, you on the other hand...” He purposely left the
sentence unfinished.
“What’s
that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever
you want it to, I guess.”
I could
have kicked him out right there and then, I suppose, but he was
Press, and it wasn’t a good idea to get on the wrong side of
paparazzi regardless of their stature within the industry, or their
attitude. I sat down opposite him and waited.
“How’s
the writing going?” he asked, flicking ash into an
ashtray.
“It would
go better without the interruptions Mr Norris.”
He drew
on the cigarette, exhaled smoke, milking the situation for all it
was worth.
Finally:
“What’s the story with the disappearances?”
“There
isn’t one.”
“Two
people vanish from here in as many days. That’s a story in
itself.”
“Nobody
knows what happened,” I said. “Not yet anyway.”
He drew
slowly on his cigarette and blew out a steady stream of
smoke.
“This
area is a strange one,” he said gazing out of the window. “It’s got
a rather unpleasant history. Were you aware of that?”
“I’m
learning,” I said.
“I take
it you know about the suicide that took place in this
cottage?”
I nodded
my head.
“And the
three girls that disappeared shortly before, do you know about
them?”
Again I
nodded, whilst wondering where this was leading.
“And then
there was the suicide victim’s wife and daughter, who allegedly ran
away, never to return, but they may as well have disappeared like
the rest of them, don’t you think? And then there was the one that
vanished on her way home from a friends place a few years later.
Did you know about that one?”
I
didn’t.
He
clocked the fact, and gave a self satisfied smile.
“What’s
your point, Mr
you in answer to your second.” The smug little grin widened
imperceptibly.
“You’re
trespassing,” I reminded him.
“Door was
open,” he responded, as if that made it all right.
“It was
shut,” I argued. “I remember closing it.”
“Wind
must have blown it open.”
“And did
the wind turn on the CD player?”
“Thought
I would amuse myself while I waited for you,” he said, shrugging.
“Nice catchy stuff by the way. Is it new material?”
When I
failed to answer he said, “Shall we talk up here?” and jerked his
head, indicating the attic room. “Or will it be downstairs? It’s
your call.”
“What
makes you think I want to talk to you?” I asked. “What makes you
think I won’t simply call the police, or set my dog on you? You
still haven’t told me your business here?”
He slowly
descended the stairs. Lennon’s tensed and gave a throaty growl. I
yanked the leash, instructing the retriever to be quiet. Norris
arrived on the cramped landing, at which point he flipped the
cigarette into his mouth, and with his hand freed produced a dog
eared Press Card from the inside pocket of his anorak. Lennon
barked ferociously. Norris stared dispassionately, and said
nothing.
“Well, Mr
Norris,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even, “I’m
waiting.”
“Ashley
Chronicle,” he announced, flashing the card, “Thought I’d give you
the chance to put your side of the story.” He nodded towards
Lennon. “By the way, if your pooch takes a chunk out of me, I’ll
sue.”
He
brushed past and descended the stairs to ground level, leaving me
staring into space, contemplating the implication of what he’d just
said.
By the
time I entered the lounge, having locked Lennon in the kitchen,
he’d made himself comfortable in an armchair by the window, and was
puffing on the now lighted cigarette. A trail of grey blue smoke
rose lazily into the air.
“Make
yourself at home why don’t you,” I said, irritated by his cocksure
manner.
“Why
don’t you relax Mr O’Shea,” he parried. “What’s the big deal? I
need to talk to you about an important matter. So I come here, find
the place unlocked and let myself in. I haven’t exactly committed
murder. Now, you on the other hand...” He purposely left the
sentence unfinished.
“What’s
that supposed to mean?”
“Whatever
you want it to, I guess.”
I could
have kicked him out right there and then, I suppose, but he was
Press, and it wasn’t a good idea to get on the wrong side of
paparazzi regardless of their stature within the industry, or their
attitude. I sat down opposite him and waited.
“How’s
the writing going?” he asked, flicking ash into an
ashtray.
“It would
go better without the interruptions Mr Norris.”
He drew
on the cigarette, exhaled smoke, milking the situation for all it
was worth.
Finally:
“What’s the story with the disappearances?”
“There
isn’t one.”
“Two
people vanish from here in as many days. That’s a story in
itself.”
“Nobody
knows what happened,” I said. “Not yet anyway.”
He drew
slowly on his cigarette and blew out a steady stream of
smoke.
“This
area is a strange one,” he said gazing out of the window. “It’s got
a rather unpleasant history. Were you aware of that?”
“I’m
learning,” I said.
“I take
it you know about the suicide that took place in this
cottage?”
I nodded
my head.
“And the
three girls that disappeared shortly before, do you know about
them?”
Again I
nodded, whilst wondering where this was leading.
“And then
there was the suicide victim’s wife and daughter, who allegedly ran
away, never to return, but they may as well have disappeared like
the rest of them, don’t you think? And then there was the one that
vanished on her way home from a friends place a few years later.
Did you know about that one?”
I
didn’t.
He
clocked the fact, and gave a self satisfied smile.
“What’s
your point, Mr
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