Ripped (67 page)

'Eddy
Stewart.'

'I
was
sorry
I
couldn't
manage
in.'

'I
had
plenty
to
think
about,'
Murray
said.
Irene
laughed.

He
was
conscious
of
her
in
a
way
he
did
not
want
to
be,
every movement
of
her
shoulders,
every
inclination
of
her
head,
a
gesture
in
which
she
enclosed
the
palm
of
her
right
hand
in
the
fingers
of
the
left.
Because
he
had
wanted
to
look
only
at
her
since
she
came
into
the
room,
deliberately
he
had
kept
his
eyes
turned
away
as
if
they
had
quarrelled.
Now
when
she
laughed,
she
lifted
her
chin
and
stretched
the
white
smoothness
of
her
throat.

She
said,
'Murray's
going
to
find
who
killed
John
Merchant.'

'You
know
that's
stupid,'
Malcolm
said.

'Look
for
then.
Blair
Heathers
is
paying
him
to
do
it,
isn't
that
right,
Murray?'

'Why
would
Heathers
do
that?'
Malcolm
asked
blankly
.
'What
on
earth
could
you
find
out?'
Another
idea
struck
him,
'was
that
what
you
were
doing
when
you
got
attacked?'

'No,'
Murray
said.
'I
was
asking
questions
about
Frances
Fernie.'
In
the
stillness,
he
could
hear
the
clatter
of
a
pot
being
put
down
in
the
kitchen.
'I
couldn't
understand
why
she'd
claimed
my
brother
was
sleeping
with
her.
That
was
before
I
knew
she
was
a
friend
of
Irene's,
of
course.'

'Mother
doesn't
know
anything
about
this,'
Malcolm
said.

'We've
kept
it
from
her.'

'I
can
understand
that.
When
I
saw
Frances
Fernie,
she
told
me
it
was
you
who
introduced
her
to
John
Merchant.
Was
she
telling
the
truth?'

'You're
the
one
who's
supposed
to
care
about
Mother,'
Malcolm
said
bitterly.
'All
right,
all
right.
Why
not?
They
hit
it
off.'

'Is
that
the
new
name
for
it –
fixing
your
boss
up
with
a
whore?'

'For
God's
sake!'
He
let
his
voice
rise,
so
that
Murray,
despite
himself,
glanced
uneasily
in
the
direction
of
the
open
kitchen
door.
'You're
unbelievable.
People
don't
think
that
way
about relationships
any
more.
Sex
isn't
dirty
any
more.'

Irene
laughed
again.
'Oh,
Murray,'
she
said.
'Your
mouth's
open.
You're
staring
at
him
as
if
he'd
gone
mad.'

Taking
heart
from
her
support,
the
younger
brother
cried,
'You've
spent
too
long
spying
on
bedrooms
in
third-rate
hotels.
Too
many
divorce
cases-
you
think
the
whole
world's
a
dirty
little
keyhole.'

In
a
flush
of
pure
rage,
Murray
gathered
his
weight
under
him
to
spring
up.
In
the
same
instant,
however,
he
saw
the
colour
drain
out
of
Malcolm's
face.
Settling
back,
he
said
in
the
tone
of
a
man
offering
information,
'You're
behind
the
times.
People
don't
need
that
stuff
for
a
divorce
anymore.'

Although
– that's human nature – for other reasons they still want to know; and will pay someone to pry...

Mother
came
out
of
the
kitchen,
taking
off
her
apron
.
'Did
none
of
you
hear
the
door?'
They
had
put
a
light
in
the
kitchen
for
her
that
flashed
when
the
front
door
bell
was
rung.
'You're
all
so
busy
talking,'
she
scolded,
smiling.

They
heard
her
opening
the
door
and
then
the
deep
note
of
a man's
voice.

'It
sounds
as
though
she's
letting
someone
in,'
Malcolm
said
in
surprise,
and
Murray
twisted
in
his
chair
to
see
the
tall
figure
of
Ian
Peerse
precede
Mother
into
the
room.
Behind
him,
he
heard
his
brother
blunder
to
his
feet.

'I
was
explaining
to
Mrs
Wilson,'
Peerse
said,
studying
them
all from
his
great
height,
'how
sorry
I
am
to
disturb
you
on
a
Sunday.'

'What
is
it?'
Malcolm
sounded
panic-stricken.

With
an
unhurried
movement,
Murray
too
stood
up
and
came between
Malcolm
and
his
mother.
Smiling
at
her
.
He
said
quietly
to
Peerse,
'Did
you
tell
her
you
were
a
policeman?
What
makes
you
think
you
can
get
away
with
a
stroke
like
his?'

Peerse
bent
courteously
over
the
old
woman.
'This
is
my
first chance
to
see
Murray
since
he
came
out
of
hospital.
We're
old
friends,
though
he
left
the
police
and
I
stayed
on.'
And,
with
a
glance
at
Murray
.
'It
was
good
of
you
to
invite
me
in,
Mrs
Wilson.'

'A
friend
of
Murray
's?'
She
was
bewildered.
'I
thought
you
said you
were
Malcolm's
friend
.
I
don't
hear
as
well
as
I
used
to.'

It
was
unprecedented
for
her
to
admit
her
deafness.

'You
can
see
I'm
fine,'
Murray
said.
'Thanks
for
looking
in.'
He
made
a
move
as
if
to
walk
back
with
Peerse
into
the
hall.

'We
were
just
going
to
sit
down
at
the
table,'
Mother
said.
'Would
Mr
Peerse
not
like
to
join
us?'

'No –
'
Murray
began.

'If
it
wasn't
too
much
trouble?
I
think
Murray
feels
it
might
be too
much
for
you
.
'

'There's
plenty
,
'
Mother
said
firmly.
'I
always
make
sure
there's
plenty
of
food
in
the
house.
I'm
always
being
told
it's
wasteful.'
She
glanced
indignantly
at
Murray.
'But
there
you
are,
you
see.
It
means
you
never
have
to
worry
if
someone
comes
in
unexpectedly.'

'It
seems
as
if
you're
joining
us
for
dinner,'
Irene
said,
smiling up
at
Peerse.
'Since
you're
an
old
friend
of
Murray's,
you
can
sit
here
opposite
him.
I'll
set
another
place,
shall
I,
Mum
Wilson?'

Settled
at
the
table,
Malcolm
said,
'My
mother
doesn't
know –
about
what
happened
last
week.
She
doesn't
know
about
Frances
Fernie
–
or
–
any
of
that.
We've
kept
it
from
her.'
He
spoke
just
too
softly
for
her
to
hear.

'You
surprise
me,'
Peerse
said,
taking
the
cue
for
the
pitch
of
his
voice
with
a
cruel
exactness.
'I
don't
see
how
you'll
be
able
to
keep
that
up.'

Mother
had
refused
Irene's
help
in
bringing
food.
Murray
saw
her
hesitate
now
at
the
kitchen
door,
and
that
her
eyes
were
fixed
on
Peerse's
mouth
with
a
painful
attentiveness.

'My
mother's
deaf,'
he
said
softly,
'she's
not
senile.
She's
trying
to
find
out
what's
wrong.'

As
they
ate,
however,
Peerse
began
to
question
Malcolm,
choosing
his
moment
and
always
in
that
maddeningly
exact
lowered
tone.

'I
don't
swallow,'
he
said,
chewing
with
neat
pursed
lips
and,
in fact,
visibly
passing
the
bolus
down
the
long
passage
of
his
throat.
'I
don't
go
at
all
for
the
story
that
you
were
with
the
Fernie
woman.'

'It's
not
the
kind
of
thing
you
tell
lies
about,'
Malcolm
said bitterly.

'Don't
answer
him,'
Murray
warned
.
'This
isn't
official.
He
has
no
right
to
be
here.'

'It's
not
the
kind
of
thing
a
man
would
want
his
wife
to
know
about,'
Irene
offered,
with
the
air
of
a
woman
making
a
point
on
her
husband's
behalf.

'So
why
didn't
he
deny
being
there?'
Peerse
asked,
very reasonable in
his
turn.

'Shut
up,'
Murray
said
in
a
harsh
whisper.
'Leave
it!'

At
which
Peerse
raised
his
voice
to
compliment
Mother
as
she
sat
down
again.
'That
was
very
nice,
I
enjoyed
it.
We
were
talking
about
the
case
I'm
working
on
just
now.
I'm
afraid
it's
murder –
not
the
best
subject
for
Sunday
dinner.'

'Oh,
no,'
Mother
said,
'I'm
not
a
great
reader,
but
I
like
watching
the
television.
There's
a
lot
of
good
programmes –
and
I
like
the
detective
ones.'

'This
case
of
mine
was
about
an
alibi,'
Peerse
said,
taking
a
cream
cake
from
the
plate
she
had
set
down
and
dividing
it
neatly
in
half.
Somehow
Murray
had
never
thought
of
him
as
having
a
sweet
tooth.
'A
man
was
found
dead
in
the
street
at
five
o'clock
in
the
morning.
From
other
evidence,
we
knew
he
must
have
been
left
there
at
some
time
after
midnight,
and
the
doctor's
best
guess
was
that
he'd
been
killed
around
nine
o'clock
that
same
evening.'