Cold Light by John Harvey

she’s all right?
    It wasn’t yet twenty-four hours; there was still time for her to turn up unannounced, unharmed. A postcard. Phone call. I just had to get away, Sorry if you were worried. Chance came along and I took it . It happened all the time. People taking off on an impulse, a whim. Paris, London, or Rome. Those weren’t the incidents Lynn had to deal with, not closely, not often. The twenty-four hours would stretch to forty-eight and if there’d been no word from her by then, no sign … Well, there was still time.
    Although the lights seemed to be out, she could hear voices inside; reversing her gloved hand, she knocked again.
    â€œYeh?” It was Gary who finally came to the door, still pushing one side of his shirt back down into his jeans. Behind him, Michelle had switched on the light.
    Lynn showed Gary her warrant card and asked if she could come in.
    â€œWhat’s this about then?”
    â€œIt might be easier if we talked inside.”
    â€œEasier for who?”
    â€œGary …” Michelle began.
    â€œYou keep out of this!”
    In the center of the room, involuntarily, Michelle flinched, a spasm of fear passing across her eyes.
    Lynn set one foot on the scarred boards inside the door.
    â€œWho said you …?”
    â€œGary …”
    â€œI thought I told you …”
    â€œBetter we talk here,” Lynn said, “than back down at the station. Surely?” Gary’s head dipped and he stepped away. “You’ll not want to let too much cold in,” Lynn said. “Night like this.” And she pushed the front door closed.
    â€œI was going to make tea,” Michelle said.
    â€œShe’ll not be here that long,” Gary said. “This isn’t going to take all night.”
    â€œA cup of tea would be nice,” Lynn said. “Thanks.” She smiled and Michelle headed off for the kitchen, glad to be out of there and leave the two of them alone.
    Except that the settee had been moved, nothing seemed to have changed since Lynn was there the day before. The same squares of worn carpet, oddments of furniture that had come from Family First. Two or three Christmas streamers, held in place with pins. A few Christmas cards. Mold in the corners, damp on the walls. Despite what was left of the fire, it was cold enough for Lynn to think twice before taking off her gloves.
    â€œWell?” Gary lit his cigarette, then dropped the spent match on the floor.
    â€œWhere were you last night?” Lynn asked.
    â€œYou know bloody well where I was last night.”
    â€œAfter you were released.”
    â€œWhere the hell d’you think I was?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m asking.”
    â€œHere, of course. Where d’you think I was going to fucking go?”
    In the doorway, Michelle bit her tongue; if only Gary didn’t lose his temper all the time.
    â€œSo you were here all evening?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œFrom what time?”
    â€œListen, I want to know what all this’s about.”
    â€œFrom what time were you here?”
    â€œFrom right after you bastards let me out!”
    â€œWhich would be when?” Lynn said. “Eight? Half-past eight?”
    â€œIt was twenty to nine,” Michelle said. “Almost exactly. I remember.”
    Gary looked as though he was going to tell her to keep quiet, but he scowled instead.
    â€œAnd you didn’t go out again?”
    â€œIsn’t that what I just said?”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œWell …” Coming towards her now, past the edge of the settee, right up close, “… that’s exactly what I’m saying now. I came in and I never went out. Not till this morning. Right?”
    Lynn could smell his tobacco breath, warm on her face. Dinner. Beer.
    â€œAnd Nancy Phelan?”
    â€œWho?” But she could tell in his eyes that he knew.
    â€œNancy Phelan.”
    â€œWhat about