Pressure Head (7 page)

Damn it. “I need you to leave the room, okay?”

“What? You’re telling me you can’t do it while I’m watching? How old are you?”

“It’s just—you make me nervous, standing behind me like that. Happy now?”

He didn’t answer, just walked slowly out from behind me and around the bed, until he was standing pressed against the wall to one side of it. In my field of vision, but not right in my face. “Better?”

It was, actually. I tried to relax. My vision unfocused, and the tugging started up in my brain again—in several different directions, just like it had before. My eyes dropped half-closed, and then I had it. Clearly fate liked a laugh as much as the next girl, because the strongest vibes were coming from right next to Phil. I strode up to him, thought,
what the hell
, and dropped to my knees.

His expression was priceless. Managing not to laugh, I felt all around the corner of the pine bed frame—and found a packet taped to it. It felt plasticky but soft—like, say, a packet of some kind of powder.

Shit. “I think I’ve found Graham’s drugs stash,” I said, looking up. Phil seemed around fifty feet tall from this angle, a big unfriendly giant. Getting down even lower, I managed to peel away the tape holding the packet to the wood, and I passed it up to him. It was a sturdy plastic Ziploc bag holding half a dozen little baggies, and the powder in the smaller bags was light brown in colour—for some reason I’d been expecting white, but maybe that was just coke. Like I said, I don’t do drugs and I never have.

Phil echoed my thoughts. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Can you tell what it is?”

His scowl deepened. “It’ll be heroin. The stupid prick. I’m going to kill him.”

I felt all around the bed frame again, but there was nothing else. Awkwardly, because Phil was still taking up way too much space, I stood, my hip giving a sharp twinge to remind me it didn’t hold with crawling around on floors.

As I hissed in a breath, I felt Phil’s hand under my elbow. Supporting me. Sending electric tingles up my arm from the point of contact. Suddenly this whole situation seemed way too intimate. I muttered something I hoped he’d interpret as thanks and stepped back, hurriedly, to a distance where I couldn’t feel the warmth of him anymore.

“Are you going to tell the police?” I asked, hoping my heartbeat would slow down now.

Come to that, Phil seemed a bit short of breath himself. “What the hell do you think? If they find out about the drugs, they’ll stop looking for anyone else. Christ, what a wanker. I’m going to put the fear of God into that stupid little tosser. What the bloody hell was he thinking?” Phil paced up and down the narrow bit of space in the bedroom so fast I expected to see sparks flying from the cheap carpet.

Maybe he saw it as a personal failure or something. “Don’t a lot of ex-addicts slip up in times of stress? I mean, this hasn’t exactly been a picnic for him.”

“So handing the police a motive on a silver platter is going to help his case? You know what they’ll think: he started using again; she came home from work and found him high as a kite; they had a massive row, and he bashed her head in.”

I winced as his words brought back images of Melanie, lying dead up on Nomansland Common. “Look, I hate to say it—but maybe that’s how it was?” I held up a hand to ward him off as he advanced on me like a pissed-off pit bull. “People change when they’re on drugs. Do stuff they wouldn’t dream of, normally.”

Phil’s glare deepened to an extent that started to get a bit worrying—then he sighed and sat down heavily on the bed, his face in his hands. “I just don’t want to believe it. We got, well, close, back when he was picking himself up from the streets. And no, not like that, all right? It kind of… Helping him got me through a difficult time.”

I wondered what that had been, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate me asking about it. I sat down next to him, and put a hand awkwardly on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. What were you hoping I’d find? Really?”

“Graham told me, before, she’d been a bit distant in the last week or so. Like she’d had something on her mind.” He lifted his head, and immediately that weird, unsettling intimacy was back, so I let my hand fall from his shoulder. A tiny frown creased his forehead, just for a moment. “I can think of a couple of possibilities. She could have been having an affair—in which case, there’s another bloke running around who’s a prime suspect for the murder. Or, maybe there was something funny going on where she worked. That call from the boss—sounds dodgy to me. Particularly as I happen to know he’s denied meeting her that night.”

“So…you weren’t looking for dirt on Graham at all?” I frowned. I wasn’t too keen on the way he’d been holding out on me.

“Oh, for—” He stood suddenly and flung his arms out, so wide I ducked instinctively. “I’m looking for whatever there is to find, all right? I don’t know who killed her.
I don’t know
. I’m hoping it wasn’t Graham—but if there’s evidence he did it, I’m not going to cover it up.”

“Apart from the drugs,” I reminded him, nettled.

“That’s just evidence he’s a prat!”

I stood, not much liking the added height difference with him standing and me not. “It doesn’t mean he’s a prat; it just means he was desperate. Have you ever tried to give up something you were desperate for?”

It was a rhetorical question, so I was surprised when he answered it. “What the hell’s that got to do with you?”

“You were on drugs?”

“
What?
No, I wasn’t.” His fists clenched, and I tensed, wondering what the hell this was all about. Phil turned away from me, and I heard him take a couple of deep breaths. “Was there anything else? Hidden in here, I mean.”

“Yeah.” I frowned, not that he could see me. It was probably just as well. “You’ll need to get the drugs out of here, though, if you want me to find it.”

“Why? We’ve found them—they’re not hidden anymore.” He turned but made no move to do as I’d asked, the annoying git.

“I don’t know why! They’re still giving off vibes, all right?” Actually, they were already shouting at me a lot less brightly—oh, you know what I mean—but I was damned if I was going to backtrack now.

He stared at me, eyes narrowed. I stared stubbornly back.

“Fine.” Phil stomped out, plastic baggies of heroin stashed in his pocket.

Feeling smug, I set to work. Trouble was, as I said before, everyone hides stuff in the bedroom. I found several items neither Graham nor Melanie’s parents would thank me for mentioning, plus a little suede case where she kept her decent jewellery.

Nothing that’d explain her death, though. I made sure I put everything back exactly as I’d found it. Not so much because I was worried Graham would realise I’d been in here, but because, well, I like to have a bit of respect for people’s stuff. Most of my work is in other people’s homes, so I get to see a lot of things even their best mates never see. Doesn’t mean I have to trample all over it in hob-nailed boots, does it?

“Drawn a blank,” I said, returning to the living room.

Phil stepped back from the bookshelf he’d been rifling through and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How about in here?”

I listened. “Nope. Are we done here, then?”

Phil sighed. Then he nodded. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“No,” I said cautiously. Was he about to ask me out?

Apparently he was. “Come for a pub lunch, and I’ll fill you in about Melanie’s boss.”

I didn’t get why he wanted to talk to me about the bloke—but sod it, I was hungry, and having a good-looking bloke sitting across the table from me has never been known to harm my appetite. Plus, I reckoned he owed me, after all that. “All right. Where did you have in mind?” We left the flat, Phil locking the door behind us, and clattered downstairs. Either all of Graham’s neighbours were out, or none of them were curious enough to poke their heads out of their front doors to see what we were up to.

Phil shrugged. “There must be places in the village.”

“Don’t you know?” I frowned. “Are you still living around here?” I’d have thought we’d have bumped into each other
somewhere
before now, if he was. Up at the Dyke, if nowhere else.

“Just moved back to St Albans. I was in London before that.”

“Oh? I’d have thought that’d be better for business, in your line of work. How come you moved back out to the sticks?”

His face went stonier than a brick wall. “Personal reasons.” His tone said loud and clear,
Ask me at your peril.

I managed not to roll my eyes like a teenager. “All right, keep your hair on. I’m not the one who makes a living poking his nose into other peoples’ business. How about we try the Duck and Grouse? The Four Candles is all right, but the Duck and Grouse is more relaxed. And the food’s cheaper.”

“Fine. Your car or mine?”

“Why don’t we both drive?”

“Got it in for the environment, have you?”

“Fine. Yours, then. I’ll save my petrol as well as the planet.”

It took all of two minutes to drive there and park in the little car park at the back of the pub. It was just down from the village primary school, and I could hear the shrieks of the kiddies in the playground as we got out of the car. Phil’s head turned towards the sound, and I could have sworn he got a wistful look in his eye.

I thought about asking him if he was planning on having kids one day, but something told me it’d just piss him off. “Coming?” I said instead and led the way into the pub.

The Duck and Grouse in Brock’s Hollow is a cosy sort of place. It dates from around Shakespeare’s time, but bits have been added on or taken off in the centuries since then, so it looks more grown than built. Inside, there are ancient timbers and fireplaces, and the sort of red patterned carpet you only ever see in old pubs or your Gran’s hallway. And they’ve got a pool table and Sky Sports, a definite improvement on Ye Goode Olde Days. It’s a bloke’s pub, I suppose. Even the girls who go regularly tend to be a bit laddish, although not in the Devil’s Dyke sort of way. More in the getting pissed and showing your knickers sort of way.

And the food’s decent, although if I kept on having pub lunches at this rate, I’d end up as soft as Gary, I thought ruefully as I ordered my fish and chips.

“Garden peas or mushy?” the girl asked in a perky voice.

“Mushy, please, love.” I gave her a smile, which she returned, a pink tinge on her cheeks. I could practically hear Phil rolling his eyes behind me. I noticed she didn’t smile as he ordered his steak-and-kidney pie.

We got our drinks—pint for Phil; Diet Coke for me—and pulled up a couple of stools around a wobbly table in the corner. Bloody awful sight lines for the telly, which meant we had a bit of privacy. “If that’s what you’re like with bar staff, I’d hate to see you with the bored housewives,” Phil murmured, sounding amused.

“Oh, for—I only smiled at her.” I folded up a beer mat and slipped it under a table leg. Perfect.

Phil paused for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure whether to say it or not. “I think you underestimate the power of that smile.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should try it some time. Smiling, I mean,” I added, in case he thought I was suggesting he tried my smile, not that I was actually sure what that would have meant in any case. Mostly because ninety percent of my brain was a bit preoccupied with the thought that Phil liked my smile. I coughed. “So come on, what was it you were going to tell me about?”

Phil reached into his jacket and drew out a small sheaf of papers. One of them was a photo, which he slid across the table to me. “That’s him. Robin East. Manager of Village Properties.”

The photo showed a man in his forties or so, his face turned away from the camera to give an excellent view of a classically handsome profile. “Nice,” I said without thinking. I wasn’t sure, but I think Phil might have tutted. “So this is the bloke Melanie went to meet that night?”

“Yeah. Except according to him, she didn’t. He claims he didn’t even call her.”

“Can’t the police check phone records and find out who called?”

Phil nodded. “They can. I can’t.” He looked down at his pint for a minute. “How good a mate of yours is Dave Southgate?”

Great. Bloody brilliant. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’m not going to do your sodding job for you. Dave’s a mate. I’d like him to stay one. And hang on, didn’t you used to be on the force anyhow? You must have friends there yourself.” His jaw tightened, and I wondered if it was a sore point.

“I can get the information. But it’ll take time—and it’ll mean calling in favours. Would it kill you just to ask the bloke? For Graham, if not for me?”

I heaved a sigh and looked pointedly over at the bar. The sooner they served our food and I could eat it and get out, the better. “Fine. I’ll try. But I’m not making any promises.”

Phil nodded slowly. “Seeing anyone at the moment?”

I nearly spilled my Coke all down myself. “Jesus! Where the hell did that come from?”

He laughed, the bastard. “Just passing the time of day.”

“I’ll give you passing the time of day, you smug—” I didn’t finish the insult, because our food arrived. “Cheers, love,” I said instead. “That looks smashing. Got any ketchup?”

The waitress smiled and fetched a bottle of Heinz from the side. “Here you go. Enjoy your meal.”