Verdict Unsafe by Jill McGown Page A

eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. “You haven’t,” she said.
    “Go and look,” he said, nodding toward the window.
    She went slowly to the window, pulled open the curtains, and looked down at the road to see, parked under the orange glow of a streetlamp, a silver Renault Clio. “That’s Freddie’s wife’s car,” was what she said, idiotically.
    “It’s not,” said Lloyd. “It’s yours.”
    Lloyd was always trying to make her buy what he called a proper car, and to that ostensible end he had dragged her around to Freddie’s one evening, where they had “discovered” that his wife wanted to sell her car. Freddie, their friendly neighborhood pathologist, worked such odd hours and in such unlovely surroundings and with such unpleasant materials that his wife had threatened to leave him if he didn’t remove his name from the Home Office books. He, however, was deeplyenamoured of suddenly deceased corpses found in suspicious circumstances, and for a while his marriage had been touch and go. But a compromise had been reached which had involved the bribe of a new car, hence the sale of one silver two-year-old Renault Clio with a burst of speed that would turn what was left of Lloyd’s hair gray. But she hadn’t really been able to afford the asking price.
    Lloyd joined her at the window. “You were going to buy it, weren’t you?” he asked. “Freddie said it was just the price that was holding you back.”
    “But that’s just it!” she said. “You can’t afford to give me it as a present!”
    “I live very simply,” he said, with a grin, in his RSC Welsh accent. “I have a good salary, and I don’t spend very much. My children are grown up, my ex-wife has remarried—I have very few outgoings.” He expanded on the theme. “I am what is known as a good catch,” he said. “Or at least I was, until I began buying my fancy woman expensive presents.”
    She nodded, still bemused, taking the keys from their box.
    “Is it all right?” he asked anxiously, “Only Freddie was certain that you were going to buy it.”
    She looked at the car, and then at him, shaking her head a little. “It’s beautiful,” she said, dropping the keys into her pocket.
    “So are you,” he said, kissing her, his hands slipping under her bathrobe as the kiss grew more and more amorous.
    “Oh, your hands are cold,” she complained. “Anyway—I thought you didn’t go much for this sort of thing first thing in the morning.”
    “No, but you do,” he said, smiling. “Anyway, it isn’t first thing in the morning. I’ve been up for hours—I couldn’t very well park the car at the flat, could I? You might have seen it. Freddie and I had to organize all this.” He released her only to steer her out into the hallway, sharp right into the bedroom.
    “You’ll have to move the car first,” she said, aware of her lack of romance, but unable to abandon her practical nature. “The traffic wardens start massing for attack at five to eight.”
    “Don’t go away,” Lloyd said, fishing the keys from her pocket.
    He had been gone two minutes when the phone rang.
    “Doesn’t hang about, does he?” said the voice. “That’s what I call a quickie.”
    Judy swallowed. “Who is this?” she demanded.
    “Still don’t recognize my voice? A lot of women have that trouble.”
    She dropped the phone and ran to the window. The dark street was empty as far as she could see in both directions. Slowly, she walked back and picked up the receiver again, but he had hung up. She replaced it and sat on the edge of the bed, her hand pressed to her lips.
    Lloyd came back, and she went out into the hallway. “Did you see anyone on the street just now?” she asked.
    “No.” He took off his jacket. “Why?” He frowned slightly. “What’s the matter?”
    “He called again,” she said.
    “Your anonymous well-wisher?”
    She looked up at him. “I don’t think he wishes me well.” She told him what he’d said.
    “Oh,