The Cutting Room Read Free Page B

while I was talking and
    was searching in her handbag for her lighter. I caught a
    glimpse of make-up, black nylons, a packet of tampons, a
    sheaf of unpaid invoices, a dog-eared paperback, before she
    caught me watching and gave me a quick, sharp look. I took
    out a book of matches and sparked her up.
    `Thank you.’ Her tone was not entirely sincere.
    `I saw your visitors leaving.’
    Rose took a long drag on her cigarette, and shook her head.
    `When I was a girl I thought all sheriffs would look like Alan Ladd.’
    `Problem??
    ‘The usual. We turn over a lot, but the money we get stays
    the same while the price of everything else goes up. I asked the council for time to find last quarter’s rates. They told me, no favours.’
    `This could solve that.’
    Rose took a deep breath and dredged up a smile. I knew
    her well enough to know she was miserable, and I appreciated the effort.
     
    `All right,’ she said, `shall we have a drink while you tell me about it?’
    `I thought you were giving up during the day?’
    `It’s been a hard day. Anyway it’s after five.’ She went into
    the back office and returned with a bottle of wine already two glasses low in the mark. `Here, you’re allowed one when
    you’re driving, aren’t you?
    She polished a tumbler on the edge of her skirt and handed
    it to me.
    `Rose, did you just take this out of one of the boxes? I nodded towards the cartons of bric-a-brac under the centre table.
    `It’s clean. Christ, I remember a time when you weren’t
    bothered whether you had a glass or not, so long as there was some alcohol on the go. Now drink up and tell me all about
    it.’
    And I did. Pleased with my prize, laying it at her feet,
    never once thinking where it might lead us.

2
Say Cheese
    The roses every one were red,
    And all the ivy leaves were black.
    Sweet, do not even stir your head,
    Or all of my despairs come back.
     
    Paul Verlaine, `Spleen’
    I WAS BACK at the McKindless residence by six. I dismissed
    the squad at ten with instructions to be back by eight. I had a good, rough idea of what was in the place and knew we could
    do it in a week - just. I was about to leave when I
    remembered the attic.
    Miss McKindless had retired some time during the
    afternoon, presumably to her brother’s ground-floor study.
    Places look different after dark. An hour ago the house had
    been full of the shouts and jokes of the porters as they
    packed and shifted stuff into the vans outside, now it was
     
    deathly still. It was strange climbing the stairs to the upper floor unsure of whether I was alone in the house. I had no
    wish to frighten the old lady - there’s a spectral aspect to me: it’s not for nothing they call me the Walking Dead and so I sang softly to myself as I climbed, a bit of Cole Porter,
    It’s the wrong time,
    In the wrong place
    Though your looks are lovely,
    It’s the wrong face,
    It’s not her face,
    But it’s such a lovely face,
    That it’s all right by me.
    I thought I heard laughter, so faint I couldn’t be sure whether it had come from downstairs or above me. Miss McKindless
    still busy at her work and amused by my rendition, no doubt, but it spooked me a little. I knocked on the door of the spare bedroom at the very top of the staircase and when there was
    no reply entered.
    The room was the sparsest in the house, empty except for a
    bed, a small bedside cabinet and half a dozen chairs. The walls were a glaring white, as if they had recently been repainted.
    None of the chairs matched; a harlequin set, we would call them in the trade. I had been in the room earlier in the day and dismissed it as not worth a second inspection. Perhaps it was the late hour and tiredness but now there seemed
    something sinister about the arrangement of the chairs. They were grouped round the bed as if six people had kept vigil.
    Perhaps they had: this was a house of death, after all. Perhaps Mr McKindless had requested a Spartan room in his last days.
     
    Still, the