Read Online Blood, Salt, Water by Denise Mina - Free Book Online

ogre.’
    His eyes reddened suddenly, but not with the slow grind of worry, not with sadness, something more intense than fear. It looked like panic. He wasn’t behaving like someone who had murdered his girlfriend the day before and then let the police into his house. He wasn’t trying to act innocent at all.
    Morrow looked away, giving him a private moment. She found herself staring straight at the sixty-four thousand quid display cabinet. It looked smaller than it did in the photographs, but just as ugly.
    ‘That’s a one-off. A Larkin and Sons.’ Walker took a deep breath. ‘A design icon, actually. Handcrafted.’
    ‘Nice,’ said McGrain politely.
    Morrow nodded and hummed as if she agreed. ‘What is “a design icon”? I’ve never really understood that.’
    Walker struggled to explain. It was a special design. Sort of a very good one? One that other people copied, he thought. He attempted a charming smile. The mouth managed it but his eyes stayed sad and angry. Walker was out of his depth. He was young. Being so handsome wasn’t making him less sympathetic.
    Morrow remembered who she was pretending to be. She opened her briefcase, took out the missing person form and a pen.
    ‘So, Mr Walker. Let’s see if we can find her, put an end to your worry. When did you last see Roxanna?’
    Robin Walker looked into the near distance, clutched his hands together and told them that Roxanna had left for work yesterday morning, dropping the kids off at school. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since. It was very out of character.
    McGrain nodded encouragingly as Morrow wrote.
    ‘You’ve just moved here?’ she asked.
    ‘From London. Two months ago.’
    ‘And how are you enjoying Glasgow?’
    ‘Great,’ he said, but a twitch in his jaw suggested otherwise. Morrow tried not to smile. Glasgow was strong cheese: not to everyone’s taste.
    How did Roxanna seem yesterday morning? Fine, normal. She took the kids to school at the normal time but then didn’t go into work, didn’t call anyone, had not been back to the house. None of her clothes were missing and her passport was still here: he’d found it in a drawer in the bedroom.
    She asked him: Had they argued? Most couples argue sometimes. He smiled. We argue all the time. But no. Nothing special. Do your arguments ever become physical? She hit me with a pizza once . . . He hurried to correct himself: but it was funny, she was trying to be funny because we got, sort of, you know, stuck, fighting about something. He refreshed his smile, wrung his hands.
    McGrain echoed the smile.
    Walker was giving a very bad account of himself. If Morrow had no previous knowledge she would be suspicious. The pizza story rang true. If Walker had killed his girlfriend he would be trying to misdirect them. He’d say they didn’t fight, theorise that she had run away. He would have hidden her passport.
    ‘Why didn’t you call us?’
    He looked her straight in the eye and, unblinking, said he didn’t know, he just didn’t know. That part wasn’t true: he did know. He hadn’t called because they were doing something illegal. Morrow noted his tell: the long, unblinking stare. He had the grace to wring his hands as he lied.
    She began to work her way through the set questions on the missing persons form: did he have a recent photograph of her? Walker stepped over to the mantelpiece and lifted a silver-framed photo of Roxanna. He handed it to Morrow. Roxanna, head and shoulders, grinning lovingly into the camera lens, a soft spring light behind her. She was gorgeous: high cheekbones, olive skin, scarlet lips. Her thick blonde hair was pulled up loosely, pinned with a feathered fascinator.
    ‘Is this your wedding?’
    ‘No. We’re not married. We were just at a wedding.’
    ‘We might do better with a more workaday one.’ As she handed it back, Walker’s eye fell on the image and yearning, unbidden, overwhelmed him. He turned away and laid the picture face down on the