Read Online Kill My Darling by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles - Free Book Online Page A

McGuire roused himself to say, ‘Thanks,’ and felt in his jacket pocket and brought out a pill bottle. ‘Aspirin,’ he said, seeing Slider’s look. ‘Got a rotten headache.’ He unscrewed the bottle one-handed and slid two into his palm, tossed them into his mouth, re-lidded the bottle and holstered it like a fancy gunslinger displaying his dexterity. Again, seeing Slider watching, he said, ‘Had a bit to drink last night.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose you guessed that.’ Slider nodded, and it seemed to touch some pride in him. He straightened a little in the chair and said, ‘I only drink at the weekends. That’s my prerogative, right? I don’t let it interfere with work.’ And almost immediately the expression of despair returned to his face and he slumped again by the inches he had pulled back.
    â€˜What job do you do?’ Slider asked him.
    â€˜I work for the council. Parks and Gardens department. Mowing, cutting, pruning, planting – you name it. You can ask them – I’ve got a good employment record. Two years with never a day off.’
    â€˜I’m sure you have,’ Slider said. ‘You look well on it.’ He could imagine the lonely-man regime, working off by physical exertion through the week the booze taken on board at weekends. Though if he didn’t let it interfere with work, how come he was boozing on a Sunday night? Friday and Saturday ought to be his drinking nights.
    â€˜I keep all right,’ McGuire admitted.
    â€˜And I expect Toby gives you plenty of exercise,’ Slider suggested pleasantly, edging him back closer to the point. ‘I expect you try to give him a walk every morning before work?’
    â€˜He comes to work with me,’ McGuire said. ‘That’s one of the good things about the job. But it isn’t the same as a walk. A dog needs a couple of good walks a day, never mind what else he’s doing.’
    â€˜Well, you’re living in the right place for it,’ Slider said. ‘Lots of good walks round here. Tell me about this morning. Was it your usual routine?’
    The brown eyes moved away and he frowned, remembering. ‘Yeah. I was up at six, same as usual. Got ready for work.’ He was dressed in a battered tweed jacket, tough-looking cords and work boots scarred and stained with ancient mud – his work clothes, presumably. ‘Took Toby out. Went through the car park into the woods.’
    â€˜Do you always go the same way?’
    â€˜Nah, different every day. Just as the fancy takes us.’
    â€˜And that would be – what time?’
    â€˜About half past, give or take. Time I’d washed and had a cup of tea and a bit of toast.’
    â€˜Go on.’
    He shrugged. ‘Not much to tell. Just walking through the woods when suddenly Toby goes stiff all over, like he’s seen something. I thought it was a squirrel – he likes to chase ’em. Then he goes off to one side, growling, his whiskers sticking out and his hair all on end. It wasn’t like him, usually, so I followed. And there—’ He swallowed. ‘There she was.’ The tears welled up again effortlessly. ‘That poor girl,’ he said in broken tones. ‘Who would do such a thing? That poor—’ His face was quivering. He dragged out the handkerchief, blew and wiped and regained control. ‘Have you found out who she is?’ he asked from behind it.
    â€˜Yes, we know who she is,’ Slider said.
    â€˜Her parents – they must be going mad, wondering. If she was my kid . . . Have you told them?’
    â€˜Someone will be with them now,’ Slider said. It was usual to send a uniform round with the news – more official and reassuring than plain clothes, so was the thinking.
    McGuire shook his head. ‘I’ll never get over seeing her there like that. I’m just – I can’t get my head round