Ripped (69 page)

'You
don't
want
more
coffee,'
he
said
to
Peerse.
'You've
remembered
an
appointment.'

Malcolm
leaned
across
the
table
towards
Peerse.
'I
don't
know
why
you
won't
believe
me,'
he
said.
'I
was
with
her
all
night.
I
wish
I'd
never
seen
her,
never
been
near
the
place,
but
I
was
and
that's
the
truth.
She
didn't
have
anything
to
do
with
this
terrible
thing.
Can't
you
accept
that,
and
leave
me
alone?'

'Does
your
wife
accept
it?'
Peerse
wondered,
staring
not
at
him
but
at
Irene.
'It
doesn't
bother
her
at
all,
where
you
were?'

'It's
because
they
believe
in
relationships,'
Murray
said
as
the
tray
with
the
pot
of
tea
and
coffee
cups
was
set
on
the
table.
'It's
only
policemen
who
have
dirty
minds.'

'In
my
house,'
Mother
said,
fixing
her
pale
gaze
on
her
elder
son,
'I
expect
people
not
to
mumble.'

'I
was
saying
it
was
a
pity
Mr
Peerse
–
Ian
–
has
to
go.'

'But
he
hasn't
had
his
coffee.
He
has
to
go?'

Peerse
shrugged.
'Yes,
yes.
Thank
you
for
the
meal.
I
enjoyed
myself,
Mrs
Wilson.'

As
Peerse
got
up,
Murray
rose
with
him.
With
the
relief
of
it being
over,
he
was
suddenly
gripped
by
the
anger
he
had
been
restraining.
Unexpressed,
however,
it
was
like
a
poison
exhausting
him.

It
was
in
this
slack
off-guard
moment
he
heard
Mother
say, 'That
man
who
gave
the
woman
the
alibi,
I
wouldn't
be
surprised
if
the
two
of
them
were
in
it
together.
I
was
thinking
about
it
while
I
was
making
the
tea.'
Again,
adding
to
Murray's
disorientation,
the
pleasure
of
this
involvement
had
altered
the
expression
of
her
face,
like
an
echo
of
a
memory
out
of
his
childhood.
'And
that solves
it,
you
see,
because
they'll
have
done
the
murder
together.
I
don't
know
why
you
didn't
think
of
that.'

He
had
been
only
a
child
and
they
had
been
standing
on
a
bridge
across
a
river.
Had
it
really
been
a
river,
or
was
that
a
child's
memory
making
everything
larger
than
it
had
been;
perhaps
it
had
been
nothing
wider
than
a
burn,
and
the
bridge
made
of
wood
with
a
low
handrail
on
either
side?
She
had
put
back
her
head
and
laughed
at
something
he
had
said;
and
looking
up
at
her
he
had
felt
not
thought,
how
young
she
is,
how
clever
she
is,
how
beautiful
my
mother
is.
He
had
been
no
more
than
seven
or
eight,
but
of
the
truth
of
that
part
of
the
memory
he
had
no
doubt.

The
moment
held
him,
wrapped
and
helpless,
so
that
he
had
no
energy
to
intervene.
He
listened
as
Irene
spoke.

'Oh,
Mum
Wilson,
someone
who
is
mad
has
to
do
it
all
alone.
First,
Polly
Nicholls
at
the
end
of
August,
and
then
Annie
Chapman
on
the
eighth
of
September.
That's
what
Jack
the
Ripper
did
–
Billy
Shanks
wrote
about
it.
And
then
at
the
end
of
September
he
killed
another
two
women,
I
can't
remember
their
names,
but
he
killed
them
both
in
the
one
night.
He
just
walked
from
one
street
to
the
other
and
did
it
again.
Billy
Shanks
says
that
poor
man
they
found
dead
in
Deacon
Street
was
like
Polly
Nicholls,
and
then
there
was
John
Merchant.
So,
you
see,
we
only
have
to
wait
..
.
If
it
happened
again,
and
if
two
men
died
in
the
one
night,
then
we
would
know.
It
would
have
to
be
someone
who
was
mad
then,
wouldn't
it?'

It
was
a
diversion
and
Murray
was
grateful
for
that.

As
they
walked
along
the
lobby,
Peerse
smiled
above
him.
'Odd
marriage
your
brother
has.'

Murray
opened
the
door
and
waited.
He
could
not
afford
the
luxury
of
anger.

'We
know
he
was
there
at
the
woman
Fernie's
flat,'
Peerse
said.
'I
believe
that
bit
.
The
taxi
drivers
confirm
the
times
for
the
evening
and
the
morning.'

'Taxi?'
Murray
asked,
taken
by
surprise.

'He
had
a
car
in
the
garage,
that's
right,
and
he
phoned
instead
for
a
taxi.
And
another
in
the
morning
–
no
buses
for
your brother.'
Peerse
sniffed.
'He
offers
reasons,
of
course,
but
I
find
it
odd.
It's
almost
as
if
someone
wanted
to
make
sure
he
could
prove
he
was
there.'