Dead Wrong - [46]

He glared at me. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

‘You were shouting at him, grabbed him by the collar. Can’t you remember? Were you so smashed that you don’t recall it? You owe a lot of money, don’t you? Was it to do with that?’

He set his jaw. ‘You should keep your fucking nose out, see, or you might get hurt. My cousin’s dead.’

‘Don’t threaten me,’ I said so he could just hear me. ‘You threaten me and I might have to report you.’ I locked onto his eyes. No way was he going to see me cowed. ‘They’d be interested in that, wouldn’t they? A witness nobbling one of the defence investigators. Worth looking into?’

He struggled briefly to contain his anger, lips pressed tight, jaw working away. Then he lost it. ‘You cunt, you fucking-’

I shut the door quickly. Leant back against the wall for a moment, heart kicking at my stomach. The knife-tip at my throat, needing to swallow, spittle on his lips…I concentrated on my breathing. Felt my pulse begin to slow. I looked out through the spy-hole. Saw him kicking the gate open, leaving, thank God.

I was interested in the timing. I’d spoken to Mrs Siddiq the previous afternoon and now here was Zeb Khan warning me off. Must be getting too close for comfort. More evidence for Mr Pitt the brief.

When I left to collect the children I felt edgy. I doubted that Zeb would actually attack me, he seemed more likely to do that in the heat of the moment, but being threatened had made me wary. I had a good look round before I left the Dobsons’ and kept scanning the area on my way to school.

It was a long, slow walk back home, with a stop to buy a lolly for Tom and Maddie and Maddie’s friend, Holly, and a second emergency stop when Maddie tripped and skinned her knees. She would die, she couldn’t walk, all her blood was coming out. I’ve grown used to Maddie’s low pain threshold and incipient hypochondria. I soothed until I’d had enough, then adopted a brisk, no-nonsense tone to steer her home.

There was a red car parked outside our house. A Mondeo. My heart squeezed hard. There was a man in the car. I shepherded the children up the drive. I heard the car door open and close. As I got them inside I turned to see who it was. I didn’t know him.

He came up the drive. ‘Miss Kilkenny?’

Ms actually, but now wasn’t the time. I didn’t commit myself ‘What’s it about?’

‘Mike Courtney – freelance journalist.’ He stuck out a large hand. I caught a whiff of spicy cologne. ‘I believe you were the mystery woman at the Belle Vue suicide scene?’

The drone of flies, that putrid stench. Oh, hell. And he’d tracked me down – a dogged reporter. All I needed. ‘There was no mystery,’ I said coolly. ‘The police have all the details.’

‘Why were you calling on Mr Kearsley?’

‘Kearsal’

‘Kearsal. Was it in connection with a case?’

‘My work is confidential. There isn’t a story, there’s no mystery, you’re wasting your time.’ I tried not to snap. After all, I didn’t want MYSTERY WOMAN’S VOW OF SILENCE or SECRET SLEUTH WHO DARES NOT SPEAK plastered all over the paper.

‘There’s a lot of interest in private eyes,’ he pressed on. ‘Look at the telly; Morse, Dalziel and Pascoe, The Bill.’

‘They’re police,’ I quibbled.

‘Well,’ he shrugged, ‘same difference. Readers may well be interested in a feature about your work. Woman in a Man’s World, Girl Gumshoe – that sort of thing.’

Spare me. I’d have walked away then but I was all too aware of the need to build on my reputation, keep a steady flow of work coming in. If the piece was pitched right, it could be free publicity. ‘Can I think about it?’

He looked impatient.

‘I couldn’t do anything now,’ I explained, ‘I’m in the middle of a job and I wouldn’t want any publicity at the moment.’ Like the stalker having my picture to alert him. ‘I’m not sure about photos anyway. It could be a liability, if I was recognised.’

He sighed. This was going to be hard work.

‘Sal!’ Tom’s voice called from inside, ‘Sal!’

‘Coming,’ I replied.

‘What about Mr Kearsal?’ Mike Courtney persevered, ‘They’ve not had the inquest yet. Will you be a witness?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve already explained the case was confidential.’

‘The guy’s dead,’ he pointed out.

So it’s OK then? To gossip and speculate and use him for a filler in the paper? The little house in the middle of an urban wasteland, the robbery that had made him fearful, escape to his sister’s in Ashton now and then. ‘Yeah, so let him rest in peace, eh?’

He tutted at me reproachfully then drew out his card. ‘So you do all right for yourself?’ He nodded up at the house. ‘Make a decent whack or are you married?’

Oh, per-lease! ‘No,’ I lied, ‘it’s all mine.’ Childish, I know, but he brought that side of me to the fore. And I enjoyed his envy. I marked him out as the type who can spend a whole evening talking about money, everything in Ks, only able to value what had a large price-tag on it. I gave him an insincere smile and a goodbye and went in.

Maddie refused to let me touch the grazes on her knees, so I gave her a little lecture about hygiene and healing, and provided her with cotton wool, boiled water and some clean cotton cloths and strips of sticky plaster.