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not missing anything. OK?’

      She looked at him dully and he nodded as if acknowledging her agreement.

      ‘Your full name is Jane Maguire? And from the form you filled in for the kindergarten, I gather you’re a widow?’

      She nodded. Once.

      ‘Could I ask how long it is since Mr Maguire …’

      ‘Beck.’ She interrupted his search for a euphemism. ‘His name is … was Beck. I started using my own name again when I came back.’

      ‘From where?’

      ‘America. He was American. He died eight months ago. In a boating accident. He drowned.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ said Dog formally. ‘Now, we’ve got your address. Do you live alone, by the way?’

      He dropped it in casually. Johnson, the DC dispatched to Maguire’s flat, would have checked it out by now, but he wanted to see the woman’s reaction.

      She said, ‘I live with Noll. My son. No boy friend, if that’s what you mean.’

      ‘No live-in boy friend, or no boy friend period?’

      ‘No boy friend, no lover, no one, period!’ she said harshly.

      It was a strong reaction. Worth pressing? Not yet, he decided. First get the facts. Or at least, get her story.

      He said, ‘OK. Now, in your own time, tell me what happened. Start when you left your flat this morning.’

      She closed her eyes as though in pain. The silence stretched till it became a barrier. The door opened and WPC Scott slipped back in.

      ‘Mrs Maguire,’ said Dog.

      She sighed deeply and began to speak.

      ‘It was raining,’ she said. ‘It had been raining all night. Perhaps that’s why the car wouldn’t start. But I was late already. Noll hadn’t been too well over the weekend and he was still a bit fractious when I got up. Usually he’s keen to get to the kindergarten, and I know he’d been particularly looking forward … it’s the last week before they break up, you see, and they were doing all kinds of Christmassy things …’

      Her voice faded then picked up again before he could frame a consolation.

      ‘Anyway, he announced this morning he didn’t want to go. I suppose he sensed I was in a hurry and just decided to be bloody minded. They can be like that, you know, kids. Don’t want to, don’t want to, over and over … and you try to be reasonable like you were taught, and time’s passing, you can hear it ticking away …’

      ‘Did it matter so much if Noll was late for school?’ wondered Dog.

      ‘No, of course not. But I’ve got an aerobics class at nine-thirty on Mondays …’

      ‘You take it, you mean? That’s your job?’

      A hesitation. A decision?

      ‘Yes. I work at the Family Fun Health Centre in Shell Street. It’s about thirty minutes’ drive through the morning traffic, so I’ve really got to be on my way by nine.’

      ‘But this morning the car wouldn’t start?’

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘I kept on trying the starter, then I got worried about the battery. So I got out and looked under the bonnet.’

      ‘And you found the trouble?’

      ‘No. I’m not mechanically minded. I suppose I was just trying to advertise that there was a helpless little woman in trouble. It didn’t work at first. Seems those macho know-it-alls don’t function so well in the wet either.’

      It sounded like a bitter joke, but he got the feeling it was also a delaying tactic. This was painful, but the greatest pain was yet to come.

      ‘So in the end you managed yourself?’ he asked.

      ‘No. There was this man, a boy really, you know, leather jacket and jeans, he stuck his head under the bonnet, fiddled around for a few seconds, said, “There you go,” and went on his way. I thought he was joking, or maybe just walking off fast rather than admit it was beyond him. Men do that, don’t they? Walk away rather than admit defeat? But when I tried it again, the engine started straightaway. So did Noll. I’d strapped him in his chair in the back and he’d sat there, happy as Larry, all the time I couldn’t get the thing going. But now he started up again. You wonder where they get the lung power from. All the way to Charnwood Grove he kept it up without a break. And the rain was still coming down, and the windows were all misted up, and all I could think of was that Mr Granger would be furious …’

      ‘Mr Granger?’

      ‘George Granger. He owns the Health Centre.’

      ‘Where you work from nine-thirty till …?’

      ‘Till two-thirty.’

      ‘Odd hours.’

      ‘They suit. Housewives in the morning fighting the flab. Businessmen pumping iron, over their lunch hours.’

      She spoke with something close to contempt, noticed him noticing and went on in a neutral tone, ‘Then it’s fairly quiet till evening. I go in four nights a week, seven to ten.’

      ‘Leaving Noll with a baby sitter?’

      ‘Yes. Naturally. Do you think I’d leave him alone?’ she flashed.

      ‘Naturally, no. What do you do for lunch, Mrs Maguire?’

      The question surprised her, quenched her anger. Made her wary.

      ‘Nothing really. There’s a coffee machine. I usually don’t bother till I get home. Then Noll and I have tea together …’

      Tears brimmed again. He preferred anger to tears. He said brusquely, ‘Is there a bar at the Centre?’

      ‘No,’ she said. She watched him, saw his nose twitch, remembered Vestey’s nostrils flaring. He’d smelt the gin, or that cow had told him she’d smelt it. She waited for the question. If asked, she’d tell him. But he had to ask. She had no strength to tell what she wasn’t asked.

      But he was set in his method. The diversion was over. He was back on the old rails.

      ‘So you finally arrived in Charnwood Grove. At what time?’

      ‘Nine-fifteen. Nine-twenty. I parked the car and got Noll out. He didn’t want to come and I almost had to drag him out. And then Miss Gosling came along …’

      She halted. It was close now. The moment when she described seeing Noll for the last time. The last time …

      She had to move. She thrust back the sheet and swung her legs over the side of the bed. There was a moment of dizziness but her body was so well tuned it carried her easily through it. Then she was on her feet. Cicero drew in his breath. All impression of frailty was dispelled. Not even the shapeless hospital gown could disguise her grace as, long-legged and full-bosomed, she moved around the room with the frustrated energy of a circus cat exploring the limits of its cage.

      ‘Who’s Miss Gosling?’

      ‘One of the teachers … at least I thought … She was walking along with her head down into the rain. Noll ran into her. She almost knocked him over.’

      She seemed to have got past a sticking point and was now talking fast and fluently.

      ‘She stooped down and steadied him and she said, “Hello. It’s Noll, isn’t it? You must be in a hurry to get into school. Is it those Christmas decorations you’re so keen to finish off?” And Noll said, “Yes.” All that grizzling about not going to school and here he was saying yes to a stranger …’

      ‘Stranger?’ interrupted Dog. ‘I thought you said this Miss Gosling was a member of staff.’

      ‘She

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