Suspicious Minds

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“Do you think I murdered Alison?” asked Stirrup.

Harry Devlin shaded his eyes against the glare of the midday sun. They had stepped out of the police station into a wall of heat and he needed a moment to catch his breath. As well as to judge how to answer a question better left unasked.

“What if I say yes?”

Stirrup stopped in his tracks.

“Remember, it’s easier to get rid of a solicitor than a wife.”

Tiredness had rubbed the varnish off Stirrup’s good humour, leaving his Brummie accent ugly and bare. Small wonder: the interrogation had stretched through four long hours into a test of patience and nerve.

Stirrup had phoned at seven that morning with the news that the police had called at his home again; they wanted to re-interview him about his wife’s disappearance.

“Said I was willing as long as you could make it too. All right?”

“I’ll meet you there. And remember, you haven’t been arrested. You’re not forced to say any more. They’ll try to get under your skin, that’s what they’re paid for. So keep your temper under control.”

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