here with him, returned from whatever strange journey she had taken. Now, he felt relief that she had not come back from the dead to condemn him for what he’d done, that she would never see who he had become.
He reached for the framed photograph on the bedside locker, turned it back from the wall. Maggie smiling, pretty as she’d ever been. So pretty he couldn’t stand to look at her for another second. He turned her to face the wall once more.
McKay checked his watch. Two hours he’d been asleep. He swung his legs out of the bed and reached for his clothes. A few minutes later he descended the stairs, slowly, quietly, feeling like a thief come to rob his own house.
He found her at the kitchen table, typing on his old Dell laptop. It took a few moments for her to notice him watching from the doorway. Her eyes flashed in fear or anger for an instant, he couldn’t be sure which, before she gave him the faintest ofsmiles. A few more clicks and keystrokes, then she closed the computer, placed her hands on top of it.
‘What are you doing?’ McKay asked.
‘Nothing,’ Roberta said. ‘Just reading emails.’
‘Be careful. They can check that sort of thing these days. See what you’ve been saying, what you’ve been looking at.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about.’
He was about to ask her if she wanted something to eat when the doorbell rang, startling them both. McKay looked back over his shoulder towards the front door. He exhaled when he saw the now familiar shape.
‘Is it Flanagan?’ Roberta asked.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Tell her to go,’ she said. ‘I’m too distraught to talk.’
‘What if she insists?’
‘She can’t force me to talk to her unless she arrests me. Tell her she can’t see me.’
McKay looked from the door to Roberta and back again. The doorbell rang once more. ‘It might look bad. Maybe you should—’
‘Just fucking tell her,’ Roberta said, her words cutting the air between them.
McKay nodded. He was halfway along the hall when he realised he was barefoot, only half dressed. Too late to turn back. She could see him through the frosted glass.
He reached for the chain lock and slid it into place before he opened the door as far as the chain would allow.
‘Inspector Flanagan,’ he said.
‘Reverend,’ she said. She looked at the chain. ‘No need for that, is there?’
He stared back at her through the gap, his mouth opening and closing, searching for a reason to disagree. When he could find none, he smiled and said, ‘Sorry, force of habit. I’ve been robbed twice by bogus callers.’ He slid the lock free, let the chain hang loose. Easing the door open a few inches more, he asked, ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’d like to speak with Mrs Garrick,’ she said, looking past him into the hall.
He couldn’t help but follow her gaze to the closed kitchen door. He imagined Roberta on the other side, her ear pressed against the wood.
‘No,’ he said, turning back to Flanagan. ‘Not today. She’s really not fit for it.’
‘It won’t take long,’ she said. ‘Fifteen, twenty minutes at most.’
‘No, she can’t.’
‘I will need to speak to Mrs Garrick at some time in the next day or so. If I could get it out of the way now, before the coroner issues the interim death certificate, it’d leave Mrs Garrick to make the arrangements for the funeral.’
‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice firm enough to make his point. ‘So if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I was just going to take a shower.’
Flanagan’s shoulders fell as she exhaled. ‘All right. But please tell Mrs Garrick I’ll need to speak with her by tomorrow at the latest. You have my number. I’d appreciate it if you called me as soon as Mrs Garrick is ready to talk.’
‘I will,’ he said. He watched her walk back to her car, then closed the door.
Roberta waited in the kitchen, standing by the table. ‘Thank you,’ she
He reached for the framed photograph on the bedside locker, turned it back from the wall. Maggie smiling, pretty as she’d ever been. So pretty he couldn’t stand to look at her for another second. He turned her to face the wall once more.
McKay checked his watch. Two hours he’d been asleep. He swung his legs out of the bed and reached for his clothes. A few minutes later he descended the stairs, slowly, quietly, feeling like a thief come to rob his own house.
He found her at the kitchen table, typing on his old Dell laptop. It took a few moments for her to notice him watching from the doorway. Her eyes flashed in fear or anger for an instant, he couldn’t be sure which, before she gave him the faintest ofsmiles. A few more clicks and keystrokes, then she closed the computer, placed her hands on top of it.
‘What are you doing?’ McKay asked.
‘Nothing,’ Roberta said. ‘Just reading emails.’
‘Be careful. They can check that sort of thing these days. See what you’ve been saying, what you’ve been looking at.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about.’
He was about to ask her if she wanted something to eat when the doorbell rang, startling them both. McKay looked back over his shoulder towards the front door. He exhaled when he saw the now familiar shape.
‘Is it Flanagan?’ Roberta asked.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Tell her to go,’ she said. ‘I’m too distraught to talk.’
‘What if she insists?’
‘She can’t force me to talk to her unless she arrests me. Tell her she can’t see me.’
McKay looked from the door to Roberta and back again. The doorbell rang once more. ‘It might look bad. Maybe you should—’
‘Just fucking tell her,’ Roberta said, her words cutting the air between them.
McKay nodded. He was halfway along the hall when he realised he was barefoot, only half dressed. Too late to turn back. She could see him through the frosted glass.
He reached for the chain lock and slid it into place before he opened the door as far as the chain would allow.
‘Inspector Flanagan,’ he said.
‘Reverend,’ she said. She looked at the chain. ‘No need for that, is there?’
He stared back at her through the gap, his mouth opening and closing, searching for a reason to disagree. When he could find none, he smiled and said, ‘Sorry, force of habit. I’ve been robbed twice by bogus callers.’ He slid the lock free, let the chain hang loose. Easing the door open a few inches more, he asked, ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’d like to speak with Mrs Garrick,’ she said, looking past him into the hall.
He couldn’t help but follow her gaze to the closed kitchen door. He imagined Roberta on the other side, her ear pressed against the wood.
‘No,’ he said, turning back to Flanagan. ‘Not today. She’s really not fit for it.’
‘It won’t take long,’ she said. ‘Fifteen, twenty minutes at most.’
‘No, she can’t.’
‘I will need to speak to Mrs Garrick at some time in the next day or so. If I could get it out of the way now, before the coroner issues the interim death certificate, it’d leave Mrs Garrick to make the arrangements for the funeral.’
‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice firm enough to make his point. ‘So if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I was just going to take a shower.’
Flanagan’s shoulders fell as she exhaled. ‘All right. But please tell Mrs Garrick I’ll need to speak with her by tomorrow at the latest. You have my number. I’d appreciate it if you called me as soon as Mrs Garrick is ready to talk.’
‘I will,’ he said. He watched her walk back to her car, then closed the door.
Roberta waited in the kitchen, standing by the table. ‘Thank you,’ she
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