Dark Side by Margaret Duffy Page B

but Patrick had already put his foot in the way, following this up with announcing who we were and that we wanted to talk to Mrs Smithson.
    â€˜Thought you were them religious nutters,’ the man said sheepishly.
    â€˜I can do that as well when I’ve had a few pints,’ Patrick told him in matey fashion.
    He received a gap-toothed grin for this and we went in.
    The place smelt like the pubs of yesteryear, of stale beer and cigarette smoke. It had that same look of time-worn nicotine-stained weariness of old hostelries too, and I found it hard to tell whether the beige-coloured soft furnishings in the room we were shown into had started life like that or had never been washed. The middle-aged woman sprawled on the sofa followed this trend, sporting a faded fake tan and a tight tracksuit – she was a large lady – that might have been one of the lucky ones but had been put into the washing machine with various garments from which the dye had run, the end result being a strange pinky-purply grey.
    â€˜Susan Smithson?’ Patrick queried after introducing us.
    â€˜I don’t call myself that now,’ the woman replied.
    â€˜How would you like to be known?’
    â€˜Just call me Sue; it saves a lot of bother.’
    â€˜May we sit down?’ Patrick went on to ask politely.
    â€˜God, you must be the first one to have asked that in here – ever,’ she answered with a guffaw of laughter. ‘Go on, sit. Cigarette?’
    â€˜No, thanks.’
    â€˜Is she allowed to have one?’ Sue enquired, gazing at me dubiously. Well, as was our working habit I
had
merely been referred to as an assistant who would take a few notes.
    â€˜Thanks, but I don’t smoke,’ I said.
    â€˜We do, don’t we, Jonno? He’s my son,’ she added with a wave of her hand in his direction.
    They both lit up and there was a short silence before Sue said, ‘You must want to talk about Paul.’ She swung fiercely in Jonno’s direction. ‘Unless you’ve been up to something. Have yer?’
    Her son twitched in alarm and almost dropped his cigarette. ‘No, Mum. Would I?’
    â€˜I do wonder sometimes,’ the woman remarked darkly. ‘I just wish you’d go and get an effin’ job.’
    â€˜I
have
tried, Mum,’ was the faintly snivelling response.
    â€˜It is about your late husband,’ Patrick confirmed. ‘I understand you didn’t agree with the inquest findings.’
    â€˜No, never in a million years. Someone killed him.’
    â€˜Look, I’m sorry to bring back unpleasant memories but he had taken a large overdose of sleeping tablets together with enough whisky to have rendered him in danger of dying from alcohol poisoning.’
    â€˜Paul never took sleeping tablets, never even ’ad one – he slept like something … well … dead.’ A flicker of emotion crossed her face. ‘Well, he did. And he never touched whisky either – didn’t like spirits. Bitter was his drink. I told you lot that at the time.’
    â€˜In desperation, though?’ Patrick prompted gently.
    â€˜Yeah, he was in trouble, wasn’t he?’ A big sigh. ‘All I know is that he was working on this case involving some crime boss who the Met had been after for ages. Paul would have never taken money but someone might have threatened him to make him do something he shouldn’t. I can’t really help you as he never talked about his work. But he wasn’t the sort of bloke just to chuck in living and top himself if he’d screwed up.’
    â€˜I shall have to ask you why you broke up.’
    â€˜That was my fault,’ Sue said sadly. ‘He was never around, working all the time, so I went out with someone else – just for a couple of meals, you understand – not an affair. Paul took it very badly when he found out, didn’t believe me, and walked out. I was quite shocked, really.