Dying of the Light by Gillian Galbraith Page B

was, in some way, complicit, as if her hand, too, had been on the knife.
    Paper crumples, she thought, not people, yet it was the word which came to mind on seeing the child’s reaction to the awful news. Looking at Diane’s tearful face, she wrapped her arms around the slight body, feeling her quivering like a frightened bird, aware that the protection she could give was illusory, shielded her from nothing. Tomorrow Diane would have to face the world alone, having lost the most precious person known to her; and her childish love had not yet curdled, become judgemental , still remained open and unashamed.
    By the time the family liaison officer arrived, the girl had stopped crying and was drinking from a mug of hot chocolate, sniffing to herself between sips. Alice waved goodbye to her and then crept out, feeling drained and inadequate, worried now that her replacement had seemed so cool, detached, in her dealings with the child. Should the possibility of ‘care’ even have been mentioned, when there might be a relation somewhere or other, a grandparent unaware of the existence of a grandchild, or an uncle or aunt prepared to give her a home? Preoccupied, she almost walked past the mail she had seen stacked neatly on the hall table, remembering before crossing the threshold to check the most recent postmark on the letters. Andthe neighbours must be seen too, questioned as soon as possible while anything of any significance remained fresh in their memories.
    Finding that all the flats in the tenement bar one were boarded up, she knocked on its scratched front door, getting no response. Then, noticing a gap in it where a spy hole once had been, she put her eye to it and found herself eyeball to eyeball with the occupant.
    ‘Ye’re lucky I didnae poke a sharp pencil right through it,’ an old voice croaked, and the door was opened a foot or two to reveal an unshaven little fellow, his pyjama top visible below his knitted jersey. Concluding that his visitor posed no threat, he said cheerily, ‘C’mon, hen, c’mon in.’
    The sound of dozens of budgies cheeping and chirruping greeted her as they entered the kitchenette, making any conversation impossible until the old man turned on a tap, soothing or intriguing them into silence. Nonetheless , many of them continued to fly free, swooping from cage to cage, some now sitting on the mixer tap, heads bent to one side. Moving a soiled newspaper from a chair, their owner sat down and began to speak, cutting an apple into budgie-size bites as he did so.
    ‘The last time I seen Annie wid be oan the Friday night, eh… the twelfth, that’d be,’ he said, running his fingers up and down over the stubble on his cheek. ‘No since then, mind. Mebbe she’s been away or somethin’.’
    ‘Does she go away often?’
    ‘Naw. She’s nivver away. I seen her oan the stair, aboot the back o’ eight. She wis oan her way tae her work.’
    ‘Her work?’ Did he know that she was a prostitute?
    ‘Aha. She’s a cleaner, ken. Cleans nights at schools up the toon. Sleep a’ day, practically. Looks aifter the wee yinperfect, though,’ he added quickly, anxious not to create official suspicion about her child-care arrangements or anything else. She was much more than a neighbour to him, she was his friend.
    ‘So, sir, you’ve not seen her since the back of eight on Friday night. But have you maybe heard her? Coming up the stairs or in the flat or anywhere? Even the sound of a radio or TV?’
    ‘Naw. Not a cheep, darlin’.’

    ‘Get the fucking result and get it now!’
    Elaine Bell banged down the phone and looked up at Alice from her desk.
    ‘Bloody lab,’ she said, by way of explanation. ‘We’ll see about that. I’ll have it in a couple of days or they’ll feel the Chief Constable’s hot breath on their collars. What do you want, Alice?’
    ‘Er…’ stammered the sergeant, confused, ‘DI Manson said you wanted me, had something in mind that I am to do –