‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’
‘And an added bonus is that they can keep an eye on any developments, spot any threats. Odi knew more than she was letting on. I want to find out who she was close to, who she spoke to, other than Broon.’
‘No, no, no.’ Pete’s voice is climbing. ‘If there is even the remotest chance you’re right, I’ve rarely seen anything as callous as what happened to Odi and Broon. This is not someone you want to mess with. Forty-five minutes – and I’m risking death and mutilation in an RTA.’
‘I wouldn’t want that. Why don’t I meet you in the Crown when I’m done? It can’t hurt for once. I’ll fill you in then.’
‘Somebody will be filling in your shallow grave, you daft cow.’
There is a sudden silence on the line, the silence of a man who knows he has gone too far, has overstepped the bounds of the fragile friendship.
‘I’m touched.’ Far from being offended, she finds his concern oddly moving. ‘Come if you must, but don’t rush. I need time to talk to these people.’
‘Bear does this occasionally.’ Sandra strides ahead as the two women make for the fairground. ‘He’s not supposed to, but the owners live abroad in the winter.’
They step under the illuminated, painted arch into the realm of enforced, motor-driven jollity and can almost smell last season’s candyfloss and stale cooking oil. The rides aren’t empty after all. There are people on the waltzer. Rowland is driving a solitary dodgem car around the track, weaving in and out of the other stationary cars with a look of fierce concentration on his face.
‘He lost his driving licence a couple of years ago.’ Sandra is standing close, her taller form keeping some of the wind off Maggie.
‘Sandra, was there anyone in the group that Odi seemed particularly close to? Apart from Broon, I mean. Anyone you saw her talking to?’
Sandra thinks for a few seconds. ‘Not really, just Broon. Oh, and Sirocco sometimes, I suppose.’
Right on cue, Sirocco herself emerges from the darkness, her loose, black clothes giving her the appearance of a crow with an injured wing. ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she says to Maggie. ‘Come on the big wheel.’
Maggie shakes her head. ‘I don’t think so. I’m not great with heights.’
Sirocco actually takes hold of her arm. ‘It’s perfectly safe. I want to talk to you about Odi. And I don’t want anyone else listening in.’
‘What? What is it?’ Sandra isn’t going to be left out.
‘Just her.’ Sirocco takes Maggie’s arm and pulls her along towards the now stationary Ferris wheel.
‘Who operates it?’ Close up, Maggie can see that several of its lights are missing. It looks bruised, as though it has narrowly escaped from a fight.
‘Bear. It’s his job in the summer. It’s fine, come on.’
The wheel appears decades old. The chairs seem flimsy, nothing more than double swing-seats with fold-up footrests and slot-in-place bars to protect the occupants. Bear is standing beside a red chair. There is a metal hood, which may offer some protection from a downpour, but nothing to guard them from the wind.
‘Ladies.’
Maggie opens her mouth to ask about maintenance and realizes that Bear is the sort of man who feeds off the fear of women. She does not want him to see that she is nervous. ‘Just once round, I think,’ she says, because it will sound as though it is she who is in charge. ‘It’s going to be cold up at the top.’
She climbs in first. Sirocco gets in after her and the chair rocks. Only Maggie and Sirocco will be riding the wheel, because Bear pulls down the safety bar, locks it in place and goes back to the control cab. The wheel starts to turn and they move forward before swooping up. Almost immediately, the wind gets stronger.
‘Odi knew something, didn’t she? What did she know?’ Barely is their seat a dozen feet from the ground before Sirocco twists round to face her. She is hatless, and her long black hair is flying up and around her head. She smells of patchouli oil.
‘Why don’t I ask the questions?’ They will have to shout the entire conversation. Already, this is feeling like a ridiculous idea. ‘A few weeks ago, someone entered my house without permission. Any idea who?’
Sirocco frowns. Her eyebrows are artificially dark, shaped to be two arched wings above her black eyes. They do not match.
‘They left a paper rose behind,’ Maggie goes on, ‘which I’m guessing they stole from Sandra, because I know it originated with Hamish, and they wrote something on the underside of my kitchen table.’
A sly smile creeps over Sirocco’s face. ‘Did it freak you out, knowing they’d been in your house while you were asleep?’