‘Four. Nine. Seven. Seven. Most people use birthdays as their key codes. You’re a cautious type, Maggie, you wouldn’t use anything as obvious as your own birthday. Nor would you keep the same one all the time. I’m guessing you change codes on your phone every time you take on a new case. Four nine seven seven is Hamish Wolfe’s birth date. Now, let’s see . . .’
His eyebrows grow closer. He holds the phone a little further from his eyes. ‘He loves me.’ He glances up. ‘That’s the same thing that was written underneath this table. You’re getting text messages from the person who broke into your house. Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me that?’
She’s telling him now. Or rather, he’s dragging the information out of her. She thinks about the words that were scrawled on the underside of the table they are sitting at, and fights back a temptation to crawl beneath it, to check they haven’t mysteriously reappeared.
‘Have you had them before today?’
‘No.’ She can see he doesn’t believe her. ‘No.’
His eyes go back to the phone. He needs reading glasses, is too vain to admit it. His hesitation gives her a split second to think.
‘He loves me.’ Pete reads out the first message again and moves on to the second. ‘He loves me not. Then we’ve got He loves me again. Hang on, this is—’
‘A game lovers play with daisies. They count the petals, pulling them off one by one.’
‘If there’s an odd number, it’s good, an even number and he loves her not?’ he tries.
‘Exactly.’
‘When you had that break-in, did whoever it was have access to your phone?’
‘I sometimes leave it downstairs, but it’s passcode protected.’
She sees his raised eyebrows, his slightly pitying look. He got through her phone’s passcode in an instant. Someone else could have done exactly the same thing. ‘I’ve been an idiot,’ she says.
He doesn’t argue. ‘Please tell me you changed the locks,’ he says.
She nods. ‘And improved them. No one’s getting in here again.’
‘All the same, it might be time to bring that Sirocco Silverwood character in for a chat. If you still think she’s the most likely candidate?’
‘She’s the only one I’ve met who’s claimed undying love for Hamish.’
‘It does seem odd, though, that anyone from the Wolfe Pack would threaten you. They might all be an apple short of a barrel of scrumpy, but if they’re genuine, it’s very much in their interest to keep you on side.’
‘Maybe they aren’t all. Don’t killers like to stay close to the investigation? They enjoy being at the centre of things, all the time having a big secret.’
‘Anyone you suspect, apart from Sirocco?’
‘How can I say? I spent very little time with them. They all looked pretty weird to me.’
‘Says the lady with blue hair.’
Ping.
They both jump. He gets to the phone first. He looks at the screen and pulls a face. He hands it over.
‘Dental appointment reminder for tomorrow,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’
She’s had enough. She stands up. ‘I need to get out of here. You can stay and finish your dinner, or you can come with me. Your call.’
Chapter 54
‘THEY’RE NOT THERE,’ Pete calls across Market Square as Maggie is getting out of her car. ‘Their stuff’s all there. They’re probably in a pub somewhere, although I don’t think they’re exactly welcome in most of them.’
Maggie looks round at the smart shops, the medieval buildings, the soft golden glow of the cathedral tower.
‘If you’re still determined to talk to them tonight,’ Pete says, ‘come inside and wait an hour or so. I can do coffee, or we can sit in the bar downstairs.’
‘I’m going to have a wander round,’ she tells him. ‘If I don’t find them, I’ll come and find you. Fair enough?’
‘I’ll come with you,’ he says.
So very gallant. Always determined to do the right thing. A born police officer.
‘Odi won’t talk to me if she sees me with the police. You know that. I’ll phone you in half an hour, I promise.’
He gives up and turns back to the pub. Ignoring the main entrance, he disappears around the side, into a private car park.
Maggie pulls the collar of her coat a little tighter and walks away from the main part of the town, towards the cathedral. The homeless are not welcome in pubs, there are no official shelters in the town, but the church will rarely turn away the needy.
She finds them in the nave, towards the rear, as far from the door as they can sit. To Maggie, it feels cold in the cathedral, but all things are relative and shelter of any kind must be welcome to those who have none they can call their own. Broon has removed his hat, out of respect to his surroundings, but his shabby red coat is as she remembers it. His hair is thick, salt-and-pepper grey, in need of washing. Odi’s multi-badged cap is still on her head. She sits close to Broon, the two of them sharing body warmth.
The cathedral will close in less than ten minutes. Already, its staff are asking people to leave, their tone low and regretful. So sorry to lose you, but only for now. Do come back again soon.