The Coldest Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

sister?’ Marcie sat down suddenly, letting the silence say yes. ‘I just wanted to know a bit more about him. I know it’s very soon – too soon – but the health people are keen to flag up the dangers of the cold for the elderly… the vulnerable. It’s a terrible accident. What do you think happened?’
    Marcie fingered something at her throat. A crucifix, Dryden noted.
    ‘Declan wasn’t well,’ she said, sipping the beer. ‘He’d been confused and he drank – drank too much. Sometimes he’d open the windows to ease the anxiety of being inside.’
    Dryden let the silence lengthen, knowing that the less he pushed the more they’d talk.
    ‘What did the police say?’ said Marcie eventually. ‘I rang this morning, when we heard… I’ll have to clear the flat.’ Her voice caught, and her husband refilled glasses to give her time to recover. Then he sat next to her, one of his bony hands gently massaging her neck.
    ‘Not much. They think it’s an accident too. But Declan had a drink with someone last night,’ said Dryden. ‘Perhapsyesterday afternoon. Anyone visit?’ he asked, letting them think the police might have their suspicions too.
    Marcie stood and flipped open the cast-iron door on the stove with a length of kindling. The sudden flare of red flame cast half her face into shadow: ‘I popped in with his lunch, but we didn’t have a drink. Why did they say that?’
    Dryden could sense the atmosphere tipping towards antagonistic, so he ignored the question. ‘How was he?’ he said, sipping the beer and guessing that John Sley’s estimate of the alcoholic content was wrong by a factor of two.
    It was Marcie who answered; all the other heads were down, examining the beer. ‘Declan’s been low, we all knew he had problems. The winters were always worse – nothing to do down here.’
    Dryden nodded. ‘He liked it then – being outside? I saw the flat – there’s no doors…’
    ‘Claustrophobia,’ said Marcie. ‘He wanted to be outside all the time really. But the TB was bad… he’s had it since childhood. We had to make him stay in over the cold snap. I should have popped back…’
    John Sley shook his head. ‘You couldn’t have done anything. If he’d decided –’ He stopped the thought there and the silence was profound, marked by the cooing of a wood pigeon.
    ‘He’d tried to kill himself before, hadn’t he?’ asked Dryden, happier now the subject had been broached. ‘The windows of the flat were thrown open when they found him. Did you, any of you, ever think he’d try to take his own life?’
    Marcie Sley’s hand went to her throat. One man, thin, with a small, silent dog held by a rope lead, lit a roll-up cigarette.
    ‘Like you said, he’d tried before,’ said Marcie. ‘But when I saw him I thought he was well – almost happy. He hadn’t been drinking – I know that.’
    Dryden thought about the electricity meter stuffed with cash, and the malt whisky.
    ‘There was a friend in particular, wasn’t there – Joe, was it?’
    Several heads nodded. ‘I’d really like to talk to him – you know, some more background, Perhaps he visited him?’
    ‘Joe likes his privacy,’ said John Sley. ‘We could pass a message.’
    Dryden jotted his mobile number down on his card. ‘He can ring any time. What did you say his surname was?’
    ‘We didn’t,’ said Sley, seeing them to the door, where he called the dog to heel.
    ‘Thanks for the beers,’ said Dryden as they edged out. ‘Security’s good round here. Kids nick the veg, do they?’
    ‘If they do, they don’t do it twice,’ he said, shutting the door in Dryden’s face. Beyond the frosted glass he saw Sley’s back retreat towards the convivial glow of the fire; but for them the Gardeners’ Arms was closed.

6
    Charlie, The Crow ’s lightly soused news editor, rang Dryden before they’d got off the Jubilee Estate.
    ‘That you?’ Dryden noted the edge of panic and the subtle background noise that