Page 17

17

Monday morning

“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” Charlie asked.

Corrine Bailey said, “Sure,” and led him past Huw Jones’ office to a small kitchen, with a door to the back yard. There was just enough room for a table and chairs, pushed up into one corner, opposite a counter with sink, microwave, kettle and an under-counter fridge. A collection of mugs hung on a mug tree, next to a box of tea bags, a bag of sugar and a jar of instant coffee. Not that she offered Charlie a drink. Corrine pulled out a chair and sat. She looked about his own age, Charlie thought, maybe a little older. Her hair was a glossy dark brown, and very well cut into a sharp asymmetrical bob. She wore a cream linen dress, which from the rustle when Corrine sat down, Charlie assumed was fully lined. Matching low-heeled sandals completed the look: professional, smart and attractive. She wasn’t Welsh, or at least she didn’t have a Welsh accent; rather a generic newsreader’s English.

“What’s this about?” she asked. “Because, sorry and all that, but I do have to get started before Megan and Jackie come in.”

Charlie pulled out another chair and sat at right angles to her. “I’m investigating the murder of one of my colleagues, Ms Bailey. A murder which happened in the shop next door. I understand that the keys to the back door of the shop are kept in your key cabinet here, and that everyone who works here has access to those keys.”

Corrine nodded, a look of wariness on her face. “Do you want me to check if they’re still there?”

“In a minute,” Charlie said. “First, could you tell me your movements from lunchtime on Saturday, until yesterday morning?”

“My movements?”

“Where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.” Did this woman not watch TV?

“Why would you want to know that?”

“I’m asking the same questions of everyone even remotely connected to this case. That includes everyone who has access to the keys to the shop next door.”

Corrine nodded, slowly, turning the rings round on her fingers. “OK,” she said. “Let me think. I would have been here on Saturday afternoon. I didn’t have any viewings, but I did take some details for a new client and arranged some things for next week. Saturday afternoons are usually quiet, especially on nice days.”

“What time did you leave?” Charlie asked.

More ring turning. “We close at five.”

This was like pulling teeth. Charlie said nothing, leaving silence for the manager to fill.

After a few moments, she did. “I don’t know what time I left. I had my car here, so I went to the supermarket for a few bits and then went home. I live in those new flats near the river, and I sat outside on my balcony until I heard the sirens, and a friend called to say she thought this place was on fire. I walked back into the town, which is when I met Huw, and you, of course.”

“After that?”

“Huw and I came in here, to make sure everything was OK. He was worried about smoke damage, but there wasn’t much. So, I went home and went to bed.”

“Do you live alone?” Charlie asked, although he was sure that Corrine would have mentioned a husband, partner, or housemate if there was one. She must surely realise that she was being asked for an alibi.

“I do,” she said, and smiled. “I’m very happily single.”

No alibi, then. For a professional woman, Charlie thought she seemed very vague about time. Though to be fair, the current weather was enervating. No wonder hot countries were famous for having ‘a slower pace of life.’ Charlie could imagine that nobody had enough energy to do more than the minimum needed to keep body and soul together.

Charlie asked to see the key cabinet. It was fixed to the wall in a dark corner of the main office, behind a stand holding advertising brochures for the company. Corrine went to one of the desks, opened the top drawer and produced a key with which she opened the cabinet. Rings of keys, each with a little tag, hung on hooks inside the cabinet.

“I’ll have to put the computer on,” Corrine said. “To get the right number.” Charlie had to wait until she muttered “Twenty-one.” She pointed at a set of keys: “That one.”

Charlie took an evidence bag from his pocket and gathered the keys into it. Probably a pointless exercise, but it would be remiss not to check for fingerprints. “I’ll give you a receipt,” he said.

There was a knock at the front door. Two young women, both dressed in business clothes, summer edition, stood outside on the street. Corrine let them in. They stared at Charlie with wide eyes.

“This is Detective Sergeant Rees,” Corrine said. “He wants to talk to each of you.” Then to Charlie, “You can use the kitchen.”

The taller of the two spoke. “Is it true that Patsy Hargreaves’ boyfriend has been murdered?”

“How do you know Patsy?” Charlie asked.

“College,” the young woman replied. “Everyone knows Patsy, and Unwin was lush. Best of the Joshes by a long way.”

“Joshes?” asked the other woman.

“You remember, four guys called Josh in one class?”

The second woman shook her head. Corrine interrupted. “Fascinating though this is, DS Rees needs to get on, and so do we. Megan, take DC Rees into the kitchen, and Jackie, you wait here, please.”

As Charlie followed Megan into the kitchen, he heard Jackie asking what was going on and getting no answer from Corrine.

“She can’t tell you anything, anyway,” Megan said. “She’s been away in Turkey for the last two weeks. Only got back last night. I told her, if you wanted a tan, you should have saved your money and stayed here. Is it true about Patsy’s bloke?” Megan’s eyes were huge, and she was almost straining forwards in her chair with the desire to know.

Charlie stifled his impulse to laugh, because none of it was funny. “I’m sorry to tell you that Unwin is dead, yes.”

Immediately, Megan’s face crumpled. She would be a terrible poker player. “Is Patsy OK? I mean, we weren’t besties or anything, but … you don’t expect anyone you know to be, well, murdered.”

Charlie did know. Any kind of connection to murder was shocking.

“What did you mean that Unwin was the best of the Joshes?” he asked.

Megan was wearing a linen dress, shorter than Corrine’s, and from the creases beginning to form, unlined. She pulled the skirt down towards her knees. “Unwin was the best-looking. To be fair, I mostly saw them with a big load of other people, like on nights out and stuff. Everyone knew he was a policeman, and that Patsy wanted to be one, too, and people talked about the four Joshes. One of them was a total creep. Like, a put-his-hand-up-your-dress kind of creep.” Megan shuddered. “The others were OK, though. Like I say, it was mostly in big groups. Most of them stayed in Wrexham anyway.”

From this garbled account, Charlie concluded that Patsy and Unwin had been together since Patsy was at college, and that Megan relied on other people’s opinions rather than her own observations. He asked for her full name and address, as well as her movements since the day of the fire and wasn’t surprised to learn that she had been part of the crowd in Llanfair town centre watching the fire, or that she had had “a few drinks after work,” so couldn’t remember much.

If what Megan had told him was true, all Charlie needed from Jackie was confirmation, that she had not arrived back in the UK until Sunday, and had spent most of the day on the train and bus from Manchester airport. He would check, because that was the job, but her tired eyes and sunburned skin suggested she was telling the truth. Time to go back to the station.

He wasn’t expecting to see Tom sitting on the seat by the war memorial.

I’m so not ready for this conversation. Not in the middle of a case, with the girls waiting at home.

But Tom stood up. It looked like the conversation was going to happen whatever Charlie wanted.