‘Really?’
‘That’s what Gareth said.’
Clapping as if in receipt of the news directly from Heaven, Sonia smiled for the first time since she’d said goodbye to Mathew on Monday morning.
‘I think we should have a special lunch,’ Bernard said. ‘Do something to celebrate the good news.’
Pam shook her head. ‘I don’t think we should get too carried away with ourselves just yet. This might only be a temporary reprieve.’
‘As far as I’m concerned, the lad’s innocent,’ Bernard said. ‘It might take the police a while to realise it, but I’m confident the truth will come out in the end.’
‘Let’s have a fish and chip supper,’ Sonia said. ‘Mathew would like that. Oh, and a nice cold glass of lemonade to go with it.’
Pam stood. ‘I’ll make up his room up and check on Tortilla.’
Sonia forced a smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘Everything will be fine,’ Bernard told his daughter. ‘You just have to stay strong for the lad.’
Sonia wished she could believe that, hang on to it for all she was worth, but it was like being thrown a lifeline, only to find someone had greased the rope.
***
Gareth accompanied Mathew into the front room. The big guy stood just inside the doorway, head bowed, hands clasped in front of him, hair glued to his forehead in sweaty strands. He begged his mind to take him back into the cave where he could roll the boulder over the entrance and sit alone in the dark.
Bernard strode towards his grandson, stopped just in front of him, and held out his hand. ‘Good to see you back.’
Mathew didn’t acknowledge him. He stared at the floor as if entranced by the patterns in the carpet.
‘I think we need to give Mattie a bit of space,’ Gareth said. ‘He’s exhausted.’
Bernard nodded and stepped back. ‘Of course.’
‘I need a shower first,’ Mathew mumbled. ‘They took my fingerprints and put a big cotton wool bud in my mouth. Then they took my blood.’
‘I’ll set the temperature on the shower,’ Sonia said. ‘How warm do you want it?’
Mathew didn’t respond.
Gareth stepped alongside his brother. ‘I think it’s best to just give him some space, Mum. I’ll take him up and get him settled.’
‘And they asked me lots of questions.’
Gareth nodded. ‘I know, mate. Come on, let’s get you sorted out.’
‘I kept telling them I didn’t know the answers to their questions. That I’d been in the cave all day, but they wouldn’t listen. They kept telling me I had to know something because I was in the shed with her body. But I don’t. Why won’t they believe me?’
‘Because they’re daft,’ Bernard said. ‘The truth will come out in the wash. It always does.’
Mathew shook his head and allowed Gareth to lead him upstairs to his temporary bedroom. He didn’t trust the police anymore. They were sneaky. Trying to trip him up with their trick questions. He’d decided not to talk to them again, even if they drove him back to the station and made him sit in that horrible room again with the tape recorder and the big clock on the wall.
Walking into the small box room, Mathew saw Tortilla’s vivarium on top of the pine dressing table. He wanted to get him out and talk to him. Tell him how much he’d missed him and promise to never go away and leave him again. But that would be a lie, and he hated telling lies, especially to the tortoise.
Gareth opened the single pine wardrobe. ‘Looks like Mum’s brought most of your stuff from the house.’
Mathew sat on the single bed. ‘Why can’t we go home?’
‘You know why, Mattie. They’re gathering evidence.’
‘Tortilla needs to be in the shed during summer. He could get Runny Nose Syndrome if I keep him in the house for too long.’
‘But it’s not gonna be forever, is it? Just a few more days at the most.’
‘What if they arrest me again?’
‘They won’t.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I know you. And so will the police once they’ve gathered all the evidence.’
‘What if the killer planted evidence to make it look like I did it?’
Gareth shook his head. ‘You have to stop thinking like that. Killers always make mistakes. Leave clues, no matter how careful they are.’
‘This one might not.’
‘Do me a favour, Mattie. Have a shower and grab some sleep. You’ll feel much better for it. Then we can have a proper chat when you’re not so tired.
‘I just want to go to sleep and never wake up.’
‘I know. But it will get better. I promise.’
Mathew stripped out of his tee-shirt and shorts. ‘It can hardly get any worse, can it?’
He would soon learn that it could.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jim studied the plainclothes policewoman through the spyhole. She didn’t need to identify herself; he had an inbuilt radar regarding plod. Her blonde hair curled around her delicate chin. Unlike most female coppers around these parts, this one was a looker. Not a trace of a butch lesbian about her. She even had pretty blue eyes.
‘Who is it?’ Shona called from the front room. ‘I’m only in a towel.’
Bentley strode back into the lounge. ‘It’s the filth. Go back in the bedroom and make yourself decent.’
‘Do you think they’re here about the murder?’
‘No, Shona, I reckon it’s about the unusual number of fucking mosquitos down the river at this time of year.’
Shona uncurled herself from the sofa and tossed her Take a Break magazine onto the coffee table. It clipped the edge of a beer can and caused it to teeter and wobble.
‘And put some make up on. You look like a lump of pastry that’s sprouted a nose and a pair of eyes.’
‘Thanks!’ She headed off towards the bedroom, a small tattoo of a rose just above her right arse cheek the only sign of anything blooming in Shona.
Bentley returned to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
‘Hello, Mr Bentley. I’m DC Halliwell. May I come in?’
Jim flashed her his best grin, which might have been a little more appealing if he’d had a full set of front teeth. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘There’s been a development in the Jodie Willis case,’ Halliwell said. ‘Quite a major one. I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘Come on in,’ Jim said, in a voice cheerier than his mood.
He watched Halliwell’s gaze roam all over the flat. The empty beer cans sitting on the table suddenly looked like informants. Bentley gestured to the space on the sofa Shona had just vacated. ‘Take a seat. Can I get you anything?’
She declined his hospitality and stood by the TV. ‘Can you tell me where you were on Monday morning, August 10th.’
Bentley stalled for time as his mind wandered over the bleak landscape of his memory. Despite his best intentions to stay away from booze and drugs, he’d succumbed to the unbearable pressure in his head.
‘That’s two days ago, Jim. Not last year,’ she prompted.