Die of Shame by Mark Billingham Page A

here for college then stayed on.’
    ‘I knew it was up north somewhere,’ Clemence said. ‘Used to take the piss out of her accent. Eeh-bah-gum, all that. She used to do the same with me, told me I was like a camp cockney or something.’ He smiled. There was almost nothing of the coffee cup left and he gently eased the debris to one side of the table. ‘A pearly queen, she called me once.’
    ‘While we’re talking about names, it would be helpful if you could tell us who else was in that Monday night group with you and Heather.’ Tanner turned a page in her notebook.
    Clemence narrowed his eyes. ‘What did Tony say about that?’
    ‘He wouldn’t tell us, but said it was fine if you did. Call him if you want.’
    Clemence shrugged. ‘Fair enough, but like I told you it was only first names.’ He thought for a few seconds. ‘Robin’s probably your best bet, because at least I know what he does.’
    ‘What does Robin do?’ Chall asked.
    ‘He’s a doctor… an anaesthetist. A consultant, I think, or something high up anyway, because he always wants everyone to know how great he is. He mentioned the hospital once. The Royal something?’
    ‘Thanks, that’s extremely helpful.’
    ‘I do my best.’
    Tanner wrote the information down then looked up at him. ‘What’s that below your eye, Chris?’
    ‘What’s what?’
    Tanner gestured vaguely towards what was clearly a bump beneath Clemence’s right eye, bruising not quite faded around it. ‘Been walking into things?’
    ‘I’m clumsy,’ Clemence said.
    Tanner nodded. ‘Are you clean at the moment?’
    ‘Come again?’
    She waited.
    ‘Yeah, I fucking am. Like that’s got anything to do with anything.’
    ‘How long?’
    He pushed himself back into the corner, the muscles working in his jaw. ‘I have ups and downs, fair enough?’ He took a few deep breaths then stood up quickly, stared out the woman with the laptop who had turned to watch. ‘Can I go now?’
    Chall got to his feet too. ‘Scared someone’s going to beat your high score?’
    Tanner stayed seated. ‘Before you head off, can you just tell us what you did on the evening of March the twenty-second?’ She looked at him. ‘If it helps you remember, that was the last session Heather attended.’
    Clemence refused to look at her. A few more deep breaths as hands were thrust into pockets then taken out again. ‘After the session, I went to the pub with everyone else, same as every other week… then I left.’
    ‘To go where?’
    ‘To wherever I was staying at the time.’
    ‘The shelter at St Martin’s?’
    ‘Might have been, I move around. I’m supposed to be getting a flat, aren’t I, but it’s taking a while. Paperwork and all that.’
    ‘Tell me about it,’ Chall said.
    Tanner closed her notebook. ‘It’s all important,’ she said. ‘The red tape, the paperwork. People doing things properly is what might get you a flat in the end.’ She reached for what was left of her coffee. ‘Doing things properly is how I’m going to find Heather Finlay’s killer.’

… NOW
     
    Tony’s wife rang when he was in the queue for the checkout.
    ‘We need fresh spinach,’ she said. ‘And pancetta.’
    ‘I’m just about to pay.’
    ‘Might as well get some more mozzarella while you’re at it.’
    Tony sighed and stepped out of the queue, asked his wife if there was anything else as he walked back into one of the crowded aisles. More often than not, the weekend shop on a Saturday morning fell to him, and though there were always crowds to negotiate and parking spaces to fight for he’d come to look forward to it. Once the shopping was done, he would deposit the bags in the boot of his car then enjoy half an hour or so in the Crocodile Gallery café with the newspaper. A double espresso and an almond croissant, then a crafty cigarette afterwards.
    He relished the routine.
    ‘Why were there police here yesterday?’
    ‘What?’ Tony waited for a shopper to move, then