‘Thank you. That’s helpful.’
She looked at me, eyes narrow and shrewd. ‘If the protestors outside andThe Mystic Informerare to be believed, then you’re dating an ogre.’ She held a hand up before I could protest. ‘I don’t give two hoots about who you shag, Inspector. You get your rocks off however you need to, but the ME said the wounds were caused by ogre tusks. Does that represent a conflict of interest for you? Because no matter how bad a husband he was, I do want justice for him. For Frankie.’
I nodded once, keeping my face a calm mask. ‘I’ll do my best to get justice for him, Mrs Marlow. One way or another.’
‘And if there’s a conflict?’
‘There won’t be,’ I said firmly. ‘Lady Justice is blind, impartial, unbiased. She doesn’t care about your wealth or your politics – only that the truth is served. There is no conflict in seeking it. There is only truth and lies. I will find out who killed your husband, and then I will give them my judgement.’
She stood, satisfied. ‘See that you do.’
Chapter Eleven
I showed Mrs Marlow to the mess hall – calling it a cafeteria was overly generous – but it was a gathering space with tables, chairs and a toaster. There were always basic supplies on hand, funded by a collection we all contributed to, keeping us in tea and coffee. It was there that Ada found her son washing down his teacake with a glass of orange juice while happily drawing on some paper. Channing sat opposite the boy, while Detective Frost sat next to him.
Frost was drawing flowers on the paper, and Frankie was tracing over them. The other pictures strewn across the mess hall table had various states of scrawl across them.
‘Oh Frankie!’ Mrs Marlow said, cooing over the scribbles. ‘These are just wonderful.’
‘This is a rainbow,’ he said, pointing to a doodle which, to be fair to him, did have a decent arch. Then he pointed to a dark ball of scribbles, sharp and edgy. ‘And here is Daddy, dead.’
‘Oh,’ she faltered. ‘Well … that’s … nice.’
He smiled beauteously up at her. ‘And here’s one of him in heaven.’ He pointed to another sketch which looked, to my untrained eye, exactly like ninety percent of the rest of the sketches.
‘Very nice,’ Mrs Marlow replied, smile strained. ‘Well, we’ve taken up the lovely Inspector’s time for long enough, haven’t we? Let’s go and see if we can’t find Tyler.’
‘For ice cream?’ he asked optimistically.
‘It’s a little early for ice cream.’
‘Please?’ He batted huge eyes at his mum.
‘We’ll see,’ she hedged. ‘Come on now Frankie. Say thank you to the nice policemen.’
‘Policemen help keep us safe,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘They’re people who help us.’
Frost smiled. ‘That’s right.’
‘Thank you!’ He gave Frost an enthusiastic hug goodbye, which she warmly reciprocated, and then we all watched them go.
‘Cute kid,’ Frost said.
‘Looks like he had a shit dad, though,’ I commented.
Frost shrugged. ‘His mum will be enough for him.’
I nodded, thinking of my own mum who’d struggled fiercely to raise us all after Dad died. ‘Yeah. She will be.’
Laura strode over to us. Today the pencil skirt she wore was black, the shirt was white, and her choker was black lace with a small pearl-drop pendant. She was wringing her hands as she approached, balanced neatly on small kitten heels.
‘The DSU wants to see you, Stacy, and he’s on the warpath.’
I sighed. When was he not? ‘Okay, thanks, I’ll go see him.’ I pulled out a five-pound note from my pocket and passed it to Channing. ‘For whoever’s teacake we stole.’
‘It was mine,’ Frost said. ‘It’s okay. I could probably do without the extra calories anyway.’ She patted her non-existent stomach.
‘Take the money. Get yourself another teacake. Thanks for looking after the kid.’
