Read Online The Kill by Jane Casey - Free Book Online Page B

bother you so early. It’s about Terence. I’m so sorry. May we come in?’
    I saw the shock hit her. I watched her world fall apart.
    And we hadn’t even got around to breaking her heart yet.
    The kitchen was dark, even with the lights on. It was in need of an update: at least two of the cupboard doors were hanging off their hinges and the tiles by the cooker had cracked. If it had been Hammond’s intention to redo it, he’d missed his chance. I hunted for mugs and sugar, opening wobbly drawers in search of a teaspoon as the kettle boiled. I had one ear trained on the conversation in the living room between Mrs Hammond and the three senior police officers. I didn’t want to crash in at an awkward moment with my tea tray.
    Tea, the answer for every problem. Burglary? Tea. Missing child? Tea. Dead husband? Tea. No one ever seemed to drink it. For us, the cups were a prop, something to do with your hands while gently delivering the bad news and easing yourself back out to the street. Nothing ever felt as good as the first breath of fresh air when you walked out of a house filled with grief.
    And yet I felt as if I was in my natural environment. It was the wedding that felt unreal now. I’d already forgotten the details of the day, the dress, the conversations I had had. Now I was at work I focused on everything around me, my mind working to see significance in mundane details, even though I didn’t expect to find anything of interest in Hammond’s kitchen. I might never be in the Hammonds’ house again but I would be able to close my eyes and say for certain which drawer had a loose handle or which cupboard door was chipped or where the floor was stained, by the bin.
    The rest of the house was in a better state than the kitchen, but it was unwelcoming and unloved. I’d looked into a small dining room that was functioning as a junk room and study, piled with paperwork and boxes. The sitting room was furnished in a perfunctory way – two sofas facing each other across a wide coffee table and a single armchair facing the television. The carpet was grey, the curtains dark blue and the effect dreary beyond belief.
    The atmosphere in the sitting room wasn’t helping much. There was a reason I was currently hiding in the kitchen. I’d made my escape thanks to foresight in standing near the door. Mrs Hammond was not devastated by grief or silent with misery. She was angry, and she wanted us to know it. She had taken up a position on one sofa, her back ramrod-straight. She glared across at West and Lowry as if she held them personally responsible for what had happened to her husband. The air had fairly trembled with awkwardness.
    ‘So you’re saying he stopped on his way home. Why would he stop?’
    Good question, lady.
    West and Lowry fidgeted unhappily, and it was Godley who answered her.
    ‘We’re still trying to establish what happened in the last few hours. Anything that I could tell you now would be speculation. And I don’t want to speculate. I’d ask you to wait until we’re sure of the facts.’
    ‘The facts.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘I can tell you some facts if you like.’
    ‘Please do.’ Godley leaned in. I knew he was hoping she would bring up Terry’s extra-marital activities.
    ‘It’s a fact that I’ve got two kids. It’s a fact that one of them has special needs. It’s a fact that Terry’s gone and I’ve got to try to look after them on my own.’ She laughed. ‘He was never bloody here in the first place, I don’t know why I’m worrying.’
    ‘If we can alleviate that worry for you, there will be a pension.’ Lowry sounded relieved to have some good news to share. It didn’t last long.
    ‘It’s not about money ,’ Mrs Hammond said, her eyes as bright and unblinking as a snake’s. ‘You don’t have a clue. I earn more than Terry. I always have. Money isn’t the problem. Money can’t buy you someone to share the responsibility of having a son like Ben. Money doesn’t help