A Clear Conscience Read Online Free PDF Page A

on a broken window pane or the defective lift in Bevan House. She realised as she saw her own reflection, distorted in the driver’s door, that she had slightly overdone the disguise. Officials from the council’s repair department might have been in proud possession of identity cards pinned to the lapel, but they did not generally look quite as tidy. Mary had a weakness for handbags, too; and suspected that the average council official might not possess the same good, worn leather. It was big enough to hide a radio, the only weapon in her armoury which did not depend on common sense.
    The radio was heavy, not intended as a weapon although sometimes used as such when it was quicker than calling for help. Bevan House stretched above like a sheer cliff; her mission would take her no further than the third floor.
    She ran her fingers (bitten nails, indicative of something, she was not quite sure what) through her short hair to make it appear less groomed, and walked briskly along the walkway to flat fifteen, steeling herself to be both brisk and reassuring against the possible hysteria of the inmate. Shirley Rix might be as brave and resolute this morning as she had sounded on the phone yesterday, but she might not. The two of them had spoken almost every day for the last six weeks and if it was not quite friendship, it passed as such. All Mary had to do was get Shirley to the door, and she’d be fine. Once she had introduced her to Miss West, who was good at her job, then, hey presto, the bastard husband would be committed for trial.
    The one thing which bothered her, less obscurely than the nagging doubt which made her nervous, was the hope she carried like a torch for women like Shirley Rix. Plus the fact that when she, a police constable specialising in domestic violence, was finished with the case, Shirley Rix would realise that despite all the support, she was still on her own after all. Having a husband who tried to murder you with the regularity of Mr Rix did not exactly enhance your prospects, either, even if he remained, as Constable Secura hoped he would, in prison on his wife’s evidence for a long time. Poor Shirley: she did not have much of a curriculum vitae.
    Maryknocked at the door, amazed, as she always was, at how Shirley managed to keep this little flat as free from squalor as it was, not exactly clean but far from filthy. Once upon a time, using the standards of her own parents, Mary would have regarded the semi-cleanliness of the Rix household as intolerable. Now she saw it as the triumph of motherhood, which also saved the lives of half her witnesses since it was usually the kids who made the mothers either leave or give evidence, in the end. The day this violent daddy forced his three-year-old son to drink beer, made him sick, shoved him into bed and then beat his wife for remonstrating, was the day Shirley Rix decided to give evidence. Good girl, Shirl.
    Mary knocked again, this time louder, the feeling of dread beginning to take hold. She checked the time: nine twenty, forty minutes before they were expected at court. Miss West would be early, she always was; there were still minutes to spare. The third knock was louder still; she had the absurd desire to use the radio in her bag to shatter the wired glass which took up a quarter of the door. Through the glass an electric light glowed in the hall. Mary had been cheered by the sight of that, now she knew it was ominous.
    When the door to flat sixteen opened Mary supposed she was halfway to acceptance, as close as cool Helen West always seemed to be with her bloody good manners. On the doorstep was a woman of indeterminate years, somewhere between thirty and fifty, short on speech and square against the kind of ill wind which blew no good.
    â€˜If you want Shirl, she’s gone. Kid and all. ’Bout an hour ago. Not coming back.’
    Thedoor slammed. There was the sound of two bolts sliding into place.
    Mary Secura looked at her