Field of Blood

The corridor through editorial ran along the outside wall of the building. The harsh daylight flooding through the window did nothing to flatter Dr. Pete’s waxy complexion. Paddy glanced out into the street and noticed two cars outside, one parked at either end of the road, idling, neither of them taking advantage of the large, half-empty car park. They were police cars, watching the building to see who would try to leave now that the body had been found. The police were sure it was someone at the paper.

In the corridor the policemen at the front of the procession opened two doors next to each other and siphoned Paddy into one room, inviting Dr. Pete into the other.

II

The conference room held a large table with seating for fifteen. Paddy looked at her hands and realized she was trembling slightly. She was alone, frightened, and ten years younger than the two brawny men who were going to question her, outgu

The squat-faced man who had tried to speak to Pete was in charge in their room. He picked out the places for them, pointing his companion into a seat, putting Paddy next to him, and taking the opposite side of the table for himself. She hadn’t noticed before they sat down because he was so tall, but the policeman to her left was blond and square-jawed, with electric-blue eyes. Pete’s friend was dark and fat and older. His face looked squashed, his nose flat, as if someone had sat on it while the clay was still wet.

The squat man looked her in the eye, establishing himself as the boss.

“I’m DS Patterson and this is DC McGovern.”

She smiled at both, but neither of them caught her eye. It wasn’t open hostility, but neither of them seemed particularly interested in making new friends. Patterson took out a notepad and flipped to the relevant page, asking her to confirm her name and position as a copyboy and to give her home address.

“You had a fight with Heather, didn’t you? What was that about?”

Paddy looked around the table for a moment, wondering whether she had any reason not to tell the truth about Callum. “My fiancé’s related to one of the boys in the Wilcox case.”

“The what?”

“The Baby Brian case.”

The policemen shot each other significant looks and glanced at their papers for a moment, changing expressions before looking up again. The squat one nodded at her to go on.

“When I found out, I confided in Heather, and she wrote the story up and syndicated it.”

“Syndicated?”

“She sold the story to an agency, and they sell it on to lots of other papers, papers whose markets don’t overlap.” They didn’t look any more enlightened. “The English papers. The story was everywhere. My family won’t believe I didn’t do it, and now they won’t talk to me. I don’t even know if I’m still engaged. I don’t know if my fiancé’ll have me back.”

“So you were angry with her?”

She considered lying but didn’t think she could carry it off. “I was.”

“So you hit her?”

“No, we had an argument in the toilet.” She closed an eye and shifted in her seat.

“You seem uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t hit her.”

“You did something.”

“I held her head down the toilet and flushed it.” It sounded so thuggish she tried to excuse herself. “I’m sorry I did it now.”

“It must take quite a temper to actually hold someone’s head down the toilet and flush it.”

The beautiful policeman caught her eye and smiled encouragingly. “Have you got a temper?” She realized suddenly that he’d been brought in to question the wee fat bird deliberately. Resentful, she crossed her legs and turned to Patterson.

“Are you working on the Baby Brian case?”

They glanced at each other. “Our division is, yes.”

“Have you ever heard of a wee boy that died called Thomas Dempsie?”

Patterson barked an indignant laugh. It was an odd reaction. Even McGovern seemed surprised.

“Does no one think there are similarities between the two?”

“No,” said Patterson angrily. “If you knew anything about the cases, you’d know they were completely different.”

“But Barnhill-”

“Meehan.” He said it too loud, shouting over her. McGovern watched him, trying not to frown too openly. “We’re here to ask you about Heather Allen, not to speculate about ancient cases.”

“Thomas Dempsie was found in Barnhill. And it was his a

“How would you even know about that?” He looked at her carefully. “Who have you been talking to?’

“I was just asking if you’d thought about it.”

“Well, don’t.” He was getting very angry. “Don’t ask. Answer.”

Paddy suddenly remembered that the editorial toilets were two doors down the corridor, and she remembered Heather sitting on the sanitary bin. She wanted to cry.

“Are they really sure it was Heather?”

“They can’t say for sure. She was in a bad state. We can’t use dental records, but we’re quite sure it’s her. Whoever it is, it’s wearing her coat. Her parents are going to identify the body now.”

“Why can’t you use dental records?”

He said it with a certain relish. “Her skull was smashed in.”

It was the bareness of the statement that shocked Paddy, and suddenly she could see it, Heather’s body lying on the floor of the toilets in editorial, a halo of jammy mess, her blond hair spread out like the rays of the sun and a shuffled confusion of skin and bone in the middle.

McGovern handed her a paper hankie. She struggled to speak.

“Is there a chance it might not be her?”

“We think it is.” Patterson leaned in, watching her face. She couldn’t help but feel he was punishing her for asking him questions. “We need you to be as honest as possible. You may know something important. Being honest might help us catch whoever did this.”

Paddy blew her nose and nodded.

“Did Heather have a boyfriend?”

Paddy shook her head. “She doesn’t have one.”

“Are you sure? Couldn’t she have had a secret boyfriend that she didn’t tell you about?”

“I think she’d have told me. She got pretty jealous when I talked about my fiancé.”

She looked up at McGovern and he smiled inappropriately.

“So you think she’d have told you if she was having an affair with anyone working here?”

Paddy snorted. “No way. She wouldn’t go out with anyone here, she was too career conscious.”

“What difference would that make?”

“She’d have been labeled a tart. She just wouldn’t do it.”

“What if it gave her an advantage at work?”

Paddy wavered. “Well, she was very ambitious.”

“She was very good-looking,” said McGovern. “It can’t have been easy for you: two girls working in an office, one of them-” He caught Patterson’s eye and broke off.

“When one of them’s beautiful and I’m a right dog?”

“I didn’t say that.”

She could have slapped his perfect face into yesterday. “It’s what you meant.”

She talked fast and loud to hide her hurt pride. “To be honest, it’s easier working here if you’re not that good-looking. With Heather they were always making sexy jokes about her and then hating her for not fancying them back.”

“Did it bother her?”

“It must have. She wanted to be a journalist, not a bu

Paddy glanced at McGovern, leveling the accusation at him as well. He smiled enchantingly, oblivious to the implied insult. He really was gorgeous. It was a shame Heather wasn’t here, she thought before she caught herself. She was sure they’d have fancied each other.

“Were you jealous of Heather?” Patterson asked carefully.

She didn’t want to answer. It pained her to admit it and made her look small, but they had said it might help if she was honest. “Yes, I was.”

Had Patterson had any ma