Darkside_ A Novel - Belinda Bauer [31]
Marvel squeezed and Priddy pushed back and the worry lines on Reynolds's brow got deeper and more indicative of imminent hair loss the more evident it became that they were really just there taking a flyer.
'Of course my hairs are going to be on the bed!' said Priddy. 'She's my mother! I don't stand at the door and shout at her!'
'But you didn't visit her on Saturday night?'
'I told you.'
'Were you in Shipcott on Saturday at all?'
'No! I told you!'
Marvel nodded slowly as if he agreed 100 per cent with what Peter Priddy had told them. 'Because we have a witness who saw your car parked on Barnstaple Road at ...' He stopped for Reynolds to fill him in on the details but never took his eyes off Peter Priddy's face, so was perfectly placed to see the big man's fair skin flush a deep red.
'Between 8.45pm and 6am,' supplied Reynolds.
'Bollocks!' Priddy pushed his chair back from the staffroom table with a loud rasp.
'We have a witness,' said Marvel with a careless shrug.
'Who? Where? They're lying.'
'No need to get agitated, Mr Priddy,' said Marvel in a tone guaranteed to agitate.
'Fuck off.'
'Are you saying you weren't there, Mr Priddy?'
'Yes I am.'
Marvel raised his eyebrows in open disbelief. 'Well, maybe they're mistaken.'
'Yes they bloody are. Or mischief-making.'
'Why would anyone want to make mischief with you, Mr Priddy?' said Marvel. 'You've just lost your mother in the saddest of circumstances. Why would anyone want to make life harder for you?'
Peter Priddy got up, not looking at Marvel or Reynolds. 'I don't know. Like you said, people are sick. I have to get back to work.'
'Mr Priddy,' said Reynolds soothingly, 'we're just going through a process of elimination. We're speaking to everybody like this.'
'Bollocks.'
'We are,' said Reynolds, hoping it would be true before too long. He looked at Marvel for confirmation and got a grudging nod. 'It's our job. You're in law enforcement, Mr Priddy; you understand. We're on the same team here.'
The flattery worked and Priddy softened a little. 'Yeah. OK.'
Some of the tension drained from the room.
Reynolds cleared his throat. 'Before you go, I wonder if I could ask you for a DNA sample?'
Priddy stared at the two men with undisguised disgust. Reynolds looked away and got out the kit. In silence he got the swabs from the sterile plastic. In silence, Peter Priddy opened his mouth and allowed Reynolds to scrape the inside of his cheek.
'I've got to get back to work. And you do too, because the more time you waste with me, the more time you're not trying to catch the man who killed my mother. And that really pisses me off.'
In the silence that followed him slamming the door behind him, Reynolds closed his notebook, turned his palms upwards and sighed. 'Can't blame him, I suppose.'
'I'll blame him for whatever the bloody hell I want,' snapped Marvel.
As if Reynolds didn't know that.
On their way out, the prison staff were noticeably less friendly than they had been on the way in.
Eighteen Days
Annette Rogers had been interviewed at the scene and had already moved on to care full-time for an elderly man in Minehead, but Gary Liss and Lynne Twitchett both worked part-time in Shipcott at Sunset Lodge, a large detached stone house in its own grounds set back from the road and conveniently adjoining the graveyard behind the church. As they got out of the car, Marvel wondered at the horror of growing old and infirm within a geriatric stone's throw of your final resting place.
The home's owner, Rupert Cooke, was a chubby, happy-faced man with the habit of bending slightly forward and turning his head attentively when he listened, even though Marvel wasn't seated in a wheelchair. He offered Marvel and Reynolds his office for privacy and Reynolds thanked him politely.
'I'll give Lynne and Gary a shout,' he said.
'Don't,' said Marvel. 'We'll find them. Have a look around at the same time.'
'If