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‘It’s what Miss May said, about Ben’s nunny.’
‘What did she say?’ His eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror.
‘Well, it’s just that she wouldn’t know about his nunny.’
‘I’m not sure I’m following you.’
‘He’s embarrassed about his nunny, that’s the thing. It’s an old cot blanket, a ragged thing. He’s had
it since he was a baby. He uses it to get to sleep. He would never have told her about it.’
Silence, as he negotiated a roundabout. ‘Couldn’t he have told her about it?’ he asked. Victorian
terraces now, narrow streets climbing up and down hillsides.
I leaned forward, between the front seats. ‘He would never tell her, that’s what I’m telling you.’
The radio sputtered again and I raised my voice to drown it out. DI Bennett parked on my street, a
few doors away from my house, and turned to face me.
‘Right,’ he said, stringing out the word out, scepticism the subtext. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.’
‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do then.’ His careful tone of voice made me think he wasn’t taking me
seriously, that he was just humouring me. ‘I’ll pass that information onto the boss. Would you like me
to do that?’
‘Could we call it in now? I think it’s important.’
‘I’m heading straight back now and I’ll let them know and that’s a promise.’
‘DI Bennett, I don’t think you understand…⁠’
‘I’ve promised, haven’t I? Can’t do more than that. They’ll ring you if they think there’s something
in it. You’d better get out, love. Don’t worry about that lot. Come on. I mean it.’
A few journalists were in front of the house, watching us. He wound down the window. ‘Clear off
out of her way,’ he shouted. ‘Go on. Get away.’
Another blast from the radio and I knew I had to go, or the news about the keys would surely come
through.
I climbed out of the car, my head down and my hood up, and ran for it.
Inside the house I stood there with the keys in my hand, and tried to think what to do. Skittle, still in
his cast, wove clumsily between my legs, his tail wagging, wanting affection.
I called Kenneth Steele House and yet again I asked to be put through to Fraser, but I was told she
was busy and would call me back. They assured me that they understood how urgent my request to
speak to Fraser was, and that they’d pass my message on and somebody would get back to me.
Nicky answered her phone, listened in silence as I blurted the whole story out: Lucas Grantham’s
arrest, Miss May in the car on the way back home, everything. ‘Tell the police again,’ she said when
I’d finished. ‘Call them back. Make them listen.’
In the background I heard the distinctive sound of the doorbell at the cottage.
‘Where are you, Nicky? I thought you were at home.’
‘I’ve got to get the door. Sorry. I’ll call you back.’
‘Don’t go.’
‘OK hold on, let me just see who it is. I’ll get rid of them.’
I heard the sound of her footsteps, the click of a door opening, a male voice, then Nicky was back
on the line, saying: ‘I’m so sorry, I really have to go,’ and it went dead.