The Siren by Alison Bruce

Goodhew had washed and dried his hands before Marks inquired, ‘Finished?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Find anything useful in there?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘You should think about where you direct your energies, Gary. For example, taking Kimberly Guyver to the fire site this morning . . .’
    ‘I know, sir.’
    Marks scowled. ‘You know what? That it was foolhardy? That it’s lucky the repercussions weren’t worse? What exactly were you thinking?’
    Goodhew did his best to look contrite, and lowered his voice so PC Gully wouldn’t hear. She might not welcome any favours, but he couldn’t bring himself to drop her in it either.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think it through. Sorry.’
    In response Marks lowered his voice, but managed to sound both louder and angrier. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as someone so easily led astray by the charms of the opposite
sex.’
    ‘It wasn’t like that.’
    ‘Tell me, how much of that conversation in there did you hear?’
    ‘All of it.’
    ‘Thought so.’ Marks had clearly moved on. ‘I’d like you to check out the Jay Andrews story.’
    ‘I already did. There’s someone of that name who’s resident at Hinton Avenue nursing home. They also confirmed that Kimberly and Riley Guyver are regular visitors.’
    ‘Someone’s going to need to tell him about his son.’
    ‘ I can go.’
    ‘Did they say anything about his condition?’
    ‘No, I kept it really brief.’
    ‘Didn’t want to miss anything from the other room?’ Marks managed a wry smile. ‘So what else have you found?’
    ‘Two boxes by the back door: personal papers in one, groceries in the other.’
    ‘No photos?’
    ‘No, sir, but it looks like something was standing on the mantelpiece until recently, so maybe she removed a photograph for some reason.’
    ‘That crossed my mind, too.’ Marks tilted his head to one side and frowned as he thought. ‘Let’s see what she brings us,’ he said finally, but he continued to
frown.
    ‘Everything OK, sir?’
    Before he could reply, Gully opened the kitchen door. ‘There’s a woman here to see Kimberly Guyver. Says she’s Anita McVey.’

 
    FOURTEEN
    Anita McVey was in her fifties, with a boyish figure dressed in purple and black; more shades of purple than Goodhew knew names for although he definitely spotted magenta,
indigo, mauve and what looked like the colour his mum had once tried on their front door, described on the tin as ‘Racy Rubine’. The hair escaping from her baker’s-boy hat was the
same shade as Kimberly’s, but beyond that he could see no resemblance. Anita’s appearance was one of deliberate chaos: over-accessorized and curly-permed, primary school teacher with a
twist of Marc Bolan.
    She looked neither surprised nor fazed by the police presence in the house. ‘Is she upstairs?’ Gully nodded and Anita dropped her rucksack-sized handbag on to the settee, then
plonked herself down next to it. ‘Does she know I’m here?’
    Once more Gully nodded. ‘I can call her again.’
    ‘No, she’ll come down when she’s ready, I’m quite sure.’ Anita looked directly at Marks and seemed to be assessing him in some way. He excused himself and
disappeared back into the kitchen; as if on cue, Gully followed.
    Neither Anita nor Goodhew spoke. He was aware that Kimberly had been upstairs for some time, although probably less time than it seemed. On days like this, minutes ran at a different rate. He
decided to go and look.
    Goodhew was halfway between floors when he heard the bathroom door unlock. He waited where he was until she reappeared, and she passed him on the stairs without comment, but there was no
mistaking the heaviness as her feet struck each tread, or the exhaustion which blanked her expression. Kimberly stumbled onwards, sagging only as the older woman’s arms wrapped themselves
around her. She buried her face in Anita’s shoulder and they hung on to one another. Kimberly was taller and of stronger build, yet Anita