Telling Tales by Ann Cleeves

introduce himself, enquire about his neighbours. His manner was reserved, but overhearing the conversation, she’d thought there was something very blunt about his questions. Direct, like a child. He wasn’t much good at flattering small talk. Certainly he had talked to James that evening. She had watched them laugh together. But he had made no effort to come up to her. It was as if he’d sensed that there would be a danger in their being physically too close. That was what she’d thought then. Now she wondered if she’d been deluding herself. He and James had become friends in that easy, casual way that men do. They often met up for a pint on Friday nights. They both played cricket for the village team. She didn’t know what they talked about their work, she supposed, sport, gossip.
    Now, she felt awkward, tongue-tied. She had often dreamed about coming here, confronting him with how she felt, but this would be a different confrontation.
    “Emma.” This time he did stand up, and he walked round to the front of the desk. He was frowning, anxious. “Is anything the matter?”
    She ignored the question. “You never told me you used to be a policeman.”
    “It was a long time ago. Something I try to forget.”
    “You worked on the Mantel case. I’ve just seen you on the television.”
    He seemed to be forming an explanation but she didn’t allow him a chance to speak. “You recognized me when we first met. Did you come to Springhead the day I found Abigail? I don’t remember.”
    “I spoke to your father.”
    “But you saw me?”
    “Through the kitchen door. Briefly. And then later James confirmed who you were.”
    “Does he know you’re an ex-cop?”
    “It’s not something I feel I have to hide. It came up recently in conversation.”
    How? she wondered. Does James use that incident in my past as an excuse for my behaviour? We’d have you round to dinner, but Em’s not very good in company. She found the body of her murdered best friend… As if one had any relevance to the other.
    “Didn’t you think I’d be interested to know that you’d worked on the case?”
    “I didn’t think you’d want reminding of it.” . “It’s hard to forget,” she said. “Now, with all that’s going on.”
    “Have you been bothered by the press?”
    “No.”
    “They’ll track you down. I know you use your married name but it might be worth changing your phone number.”
    “We’re ex-directory.”
    “That won’t stop them.”
    The exchange seemed unnaturally loud and fast. The words seemed to ricochet off the walls. They looked at each other for a moment in silence.
    “Look,” he said. “I can make you a coffee.” He wiped the seat of the chair with his sleeve. “Why don’t you sit down?”
    “I want to know what’s going on,” she cried. “No one’s been to see me. It’s not fair. I’m involved.”
    She had the argument clear in her head. The grievance had been growing all night. She hadn’t thought it would be directed towards Dan Greenwood. That Inspector Fletcher, Caroline, made the effort then. She kept us sweet while the police were preparing the case for court, while I could still be of use. She came every day to see what I could remember. Now I have to hear about developments on the news.
    Though that wasn’t true. Dan had warned her, through James, of Jeanie’s suicide and that the case might be reopened.
    While she hesitated, wondering what tone to take, her thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind her.
    “That seems fair enough to me, pet.” The voice was very close. It seemed to rasp in Emma’s ear. She turned. The woman from the church was leaning on the wall behind her. “But that’s the police all over for you. They keep you in the dark and they feed you shit. That’s why Danny got out. Or so he says.”
    She had emerged through a door. Emma could see a small room cluttered with boxes. There was a rickety armchair, a kettle, a tray of grubby mugs on the floor in one