He shrugged. I had to concede that if the stats were right, very few murderers were psychopaths. They snapped and had a moment of madness. Tarquin was that. Well, his later actions rather undermined that theory, but the original premise stuck.
“Can I give some unsolicited advice?” I said. Whatever I was doing was the opposite of my usual plan with the police, which was to shut the fuck up as much as possible.
Maslin made a hand gesture indicating for me to proceed.
“Simon’s job. It’s complicated. Don’t expect co-operation or to be allowed to haul him over the coals. Cops or no cops. Murder or no. Some things are above even you lot.”
For the first time, Maslin looked at me with something other than anthropological curiosity. We were stopped at the intersection of Winterborne village green, waiting to turn right for the lane to my house. A tractor rattled past at the speed of anti-sound. I shrugged. “You’ll see.”
Even if he was the murderer, the establishment was not gonna let it be known. Maslin had swapped tower blocks for hay bales, but it was just as messy, this country idyll.
Conversation ended after that, for which I was grateful. Maslin was lost in his thoughts. Probably tossing up stats on partners killing their spouses versus whatever factionof Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service Simon fixed the IT systems for.
What I wasn’t grateful for was the photographers outside my house blocking the path. They didn’t even make room for the police car. One banged on the window as we passed. “Oi, Arden! Your brother a paedo then?”
Maslin parked as close as he could. “Do you want me to escort you? Knock some heads together?”
Last thing I needed. Though Maslin looked like he’d enjoy kicking the paps. His application form to the police probably listed ‘waylaying bunches of yobs’ under ‘Special Skills’. I shook my head. “Thanks for the lift.”
“Good luck,” he said as I made a run for it. About half a dozen photographers tried to accost me as I hot-footed it up the path to my house and slammed the door shut. Kenny came bounding towards me.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, boy. I’m such a bad dog owner.” I put my head onto the thick fur around his neck and let him lick me. “Do you forgive me?” I asked and took further licking as a good sign.
“He was fine,” Sonia came in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. All the curtains were closed, I noticed. Clearly, Sonia had been accosted earlier. “Bit hungry and whiney, but he’d been a good boy and only done one very small wee on the kitchen floor, so at least it was easy to clean.”
“You didn’t pee on the carpet for once? Good boy,” I said and kissed his fur. I stood up. Which was an effort.
Sonia noticed. “Mum sent me round with enough food to feed an army. Go shower and I’ll have a chilli con carne ready for you when you’re done.”
Ten minutes later, I was shovelling rice and beans into my mouth without tasting anything. “When was the last time you ate?” Sonia asked.
Did a sandwich count? I stopped to think. “I wanna say yesterday? Lunchtime?”
“Arden, that’s twenty-four hours without food. No wonder you always look like you’re about to collapse. That’s terrible for you.”
“I know, I know, but I’m never hungry so I … forget.”
“Christ, you should bottle that and sell it. You’d make a fortune.”
“I thought you said it was terrible.”
“And so is society. A pill to make you forget to eat would sadly sell a million on the first day.”
She nodded at my phone. “You gonna charge that?” It had died during the interview.
I spun the phone in a circle with my finger.
She looked at me. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
I shook my head. “Anything else, please.”
“Okay, well, Mum gave me about twenty portions of this and an entire chicken and leek pie, and a nice apple crumble. So, don’t even think about not eating this week.”
“Thanks, Son.”
She smiled at me. “We all worry about you, Arden.”
“We?”
