‘It was a shitty thing to do,’ he told Sam. ‘Especially since I was Lottie’s godfather. Well, still am, I suppose, though I haven’t acted like it. I was scared, I suppose. Scared of ending up on my own. Stupid, really – I was, what, twenty-five years old? I mean, I’m scared of ending up on my ownnow, when I really am past it, at thirty-eight, but then? I didn’t realise how much life I still had ahead of me. Anyway, last year she ditched me – my ex. Since then, I’ve had no girlfriend, no friends … just Lucas, my no-mark brother, for company, and this shithole for a home.’ Tulloch twisted the end of his wiry beard around his fingers. ‘Probably no more than I deserve, you must be thinking.’
Sam was. He smiled politely. Past it at thirty-eight? What a ridiculous thing to say. Since Dooper had turned everything upside down at work, Sam had been busy trying to persuade himself that he was about to start a whole new exciting chapter of his life in Lincolnshire, aged fifty. The last thing he needed was some no-mark whinger suggesting it was too late for him.
‘I suppose I was gambling on Jemma never making me do the actual kill,’ Tulloch said. ‘I was hoping that, by declaring myself willing, I’d be able to prove to her I was capable ofloyalty. To be honest, I kind of thought that might be the only reason she’d asked me – like, maybe it was more about testing me than wanting Marianne dead.’
‘You wouldn’t have minded having to give back the first instalment of the murder fee?’ Sam asked him.
‘Wouldn’t necessarily have had to,’ said Tulloch. ‘The house-sitting happened. I definitely did that.’ He seemed to be considering the question seriously. ‘I don’t think Jemma would have asked for the money back,’ he said eventually. ‘She’d have known I didn’t have it to give her. I’ve got debt coming out of my eyeballs.’
‘Do you have a job?’
Tulloch shook his head. ‘I’ve not been doing so well since Janice kicked me out,’ he said. ‘Can’t really … settle to anything, you know?’
‘Where were you between 5.20 and 5.30 today?’ said Sam.
‘I was here with Lucas till Paddy texted me. That was about 5.30. Then I went over to his, to mind Lottie. He’d offered me £100 to do it.’
‘So you have an alibi for when Marianne Upton was murdered and that alibi is your brother,’ said Sam. ‘Just like in your and Jemma’s plan.’
‘Hey.’ Tulloch looked offended. ‘It was her plan, not mine. And if you’re thinking Lucas’d lie for me, you can ask the Domino’s driver who dropped off a pizza here just as I was walking out the door. Cold by the time I got back – Sod’s law.’
‘From which Domino’s?’ Sam asked.
‘The one on Kessin Road in Rawndesley.’
Sam made a note of it. ‘If you’ve got nothing to hide, why weren’t you answering your phone?’ he asked Tulloch. ‘When people act like they don’t want to be contacted or found, that tends to arouse suspicion.’
‘Right, but I wasn’t trying to avoid suspicion, was I?’Cause I had no idea Marianne had been murdered or that anyone might be thinking I did it. And if it’s a phone number I don’t know, I never answer. I’ve had trouble in the past with girls I’ve met on Tinder. They’ve rung from different numbers to try and track me down – ones they know I won’t link to them.’ Tulloch’s sheepish smile was one of kinship and commiseration, as if he assumed Sam must be familiar with the problem. ‘There are some disturbed people out there,’ he said.
14
Monday 30 October 2023, 10 p.m.
SELLERS
Sellers couldn’t work out if he was finding Paddy Stelling’s company soothing or alarming. The man seemed to have no … What was it? Sellers had been racking his brains and failing to come up with a word that described the main thing that seemed to be lacking. If Paddy had been a streaming platform, Sellers would have said content was what was missing.A contentless man.
Oomph – that was it. Paddy Stelling had no oomph about him, and spending time alone with him was draining Sellers of what little of the stuff he had left, which wasn’t much at this time of night.
The two of them were sitting on tartan-upholstered sofas in a long, thin lounge, half of which had been turned into a library. Gareth Upton had referred to the room twice as ‘Mulberry’ when suggesting where Sellers might speak privately to Paddy, perhaps because of its wine-coloured curtains and carpet. Sellers knew mulberry was a colour as well as a fruit, and he suspected it was this colour, though he personally would have called it claret.
God, he could have murdered a bottle of red right now. Hewondered if Gareth Upton had any spare. It wasn’t the kind of question you could ask of a grieving widower, unfortunately.
‘Tell me about your relationship with Marianne,’ he said to Paddy. ‘Was it good? Did the two of you get on well?’
‘All right, I s’pose.’
For fuck’s sake, make an effort, man.Sellers was tired, and didn’t want to expend unnecessary energy any more than Paddy did. ‘Can you elaborate?’
‘Marianne was always a bit … hot and cold, you know?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Sellers. ‘You’re going to have to explain. Please.’
‘She used to want us to have a good relationship,’ Paddy said. ‘She invited me out for lunch once – just me, not Jemma. I thought that was odd, but it would have been rude to say no, I thought, so I went. Free lunch? I’m not going to turn it down.’
‘When was this?’ Sellers asked.
‘Just before Jemm and I got married. Before the starters had even arrived, she locked eyes with me and told me she had a confession to make, that it was serious and I’d better prepare myself.’
