She blows out a stream of air. ‘I’m not in the mood for this right now, Cody. What do you want?’
‘Okaaaay… I just thought you’d like to know we’ve found Sam Ridley.’
Webley takes a deep breath, tells herself to calm down. This isn’t Cody’s fault.
‘All right. Thanks. I’m on my way. Are we bringing him in for questioning?’
‘Not a lot of point,’ Cody says. ‘He’s dead.’
18
The Book of Love
– Peter Gabriel
‘I’m eighty-nine,’ says Mrs Washington.
Cody looks at the old lady in the wing chair facing his. A halo of fine silver hair. Rheumy eyes that look like they’ve seen so many things, happy and sad. Her history etched into the lines on her face. On the mahogany table to one side of her is a cup of tea made for her by one of the uniforms. Next to that, in a silver frame, is a photograph of her on her wedding day, with smooth skin and luscious lips and curves instead of angles. It is as if much of the air has been let out of her since then.
Mrs Washington’s skeletal figure is encased in a plum-coloured cardigan over a frilly blouse and navy-blue slacks. Her twig-like ankles disappear into an immense pair of slippers with about a sheep’s worth of wool in each one. She keeps lifting her feet from the carpet and frowning down at them, as though disappointed in her ensemble.
‘On my next birthday I’ll be ninety,’ she says, in case Cody can’t do the arithmetic. ‘And then I think I’ll stop.’
The comment alarms Cody. He has often heard old people forecasting their imminent demise and it shocks him every time. He can’t imagine being so old that death feels constantly at your heels.
But Mrs Washington smiles mischievously, and it calms him.
She says, ‘I have friends who are over a hundred. I don’t want to live that long. You wouldn’t know, young fella like you, but the ailments come after you with a vengeance as you get older. Arthritis. Dodgy hips. Failing eyesight. High blood pressure. Aches and pains. And they get worse the longer you go on. No, ninety will do me just fine, thank you very much.’
‘Well, you look amazing for your age,’ Cody says.
‘Thank you, but please don’t feel the need to butter me up. I look my age, and that’s that. No better and no worse. You, on the other hand, look like you should still be in short trousers.’
Cody laughs. ‘I think my boss would have something to say about it if I turned up for work in shorts.’
He waits while Mrs Washington takes a sip of her tea, and then he says, ‘I know it must be upsetting, but do you mind if we talk about the events of this morning?’
‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Go ahead, ask me. I’m not as fragile as I appear, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
Cody readies his notebook and pen. ‘Okay, so could you tell me what led you to go into Mr Ridley’s flat?’
‘The television.’
‘The television?’
‘Yes. Sam’s, not mine. I don’t watch the telly much. I prefer to read.’ She reaches for something on the side table. ‘I have this magnifying glass for the small-print books. Do you read?’
‘Yes, I’m a big reader. Always got at least one book on the go.’
‘Glad to hear it. Too many young people don’t. Always on their phones and what-not. Anti-social media, I call it. Because it is anti-social, isn’t it? Members of the younger generation never seem to speak face-to-face anymore. God knows how they find partners. Do you have a partner?’
‘Not currently.’
‘No? Oh.’ She seems genuinely sad for him.
‘So, you were saying. About Sam’s television?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I noticed it was on when I got home last night.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Eight o’clock. Dead on. Ask me how I know.’
‘How do you know it was precisely eight o’clock?’
‘Because he had the news on. The BBC news. I could hear the theme music as I went past his door. You know, the countdown with all the drums? Dum-da-dum-dum, dum-da-dum-dum.’
She gives him another cheeky smile and he smiles back.
‘But you didn’t see or hear Sam himself at that time?’
‘No. We can go long periods without seeing each other. Sam works from home. He’s a web designer, but who needs to design webs, right?’ That smile again. ‘He coops himself up in front of his computer for whole days at a time. I’ve tried telling him it’s not healthy, but as I say, that’s the current generation for you.’
‘Did you see him at all yesterday?’
‘No. Not once. Mind you, I was out most of the day. I went to see Earnest.’
‘Ernest?’
