End in Tears by Ruth Rendell Page A

showed the time as eleven-fifteen and the temperature at thirty-three degrees Celsius.
    â€œThat’s ninety degreees to you,” said Burden kindly.
    â€œAll right, I can work it out. I taught my daughters how to do it. It’s just that the mental arithmetic takes time.”
    A good-looking young man with longish fair hair was leaning against the boot of a car in the police station parking area. He had positioned his Audi in the bay marked RESERVED FOR THE CHIEF CONSTABLE. Wexford went over to him and, meeting his eyes, dark blue with very clear whites, said sharply, “What can I do for you?”
    â€œIt’s really what I can do for you. Or can’t do, come to that.” A long brown hand was extended. “Daniel Hilland. How do you do?”
    There is really no answer to this and Wexford made none. Nor did he shake hands. “You can’t leave your car there. Whatever they do out there, in here we clamp.”
    â€œI thought you wanted to see me. Can’t we go inside?”
    â€œNot leaving your car there, we can’t. It won’t take long and then you can remove it. You’re aware of what has happened to your former girlfriend?”
    Hilland nodded. “Of course.”
    â€œI believe you’ve been on holiday in Finland?”
    Another nod.
    â€œI’d like to see your passport, Mr. Hilland, and any other documentation you may have to prove you were there at the relevant time.”
    Hilland stared. “What do you mean by documentation?”
    â€œYou might, for instance, have the receipt for your air fare, the bit that looks almost identical to your ticket but isn’t valid for transport.”
    Feeling the heat, Hilland looked peevishly at him and then at Burden. “No one keeps those things.”
    â€œIt’s unwise not to. Perhaps you’ve kept your receipted hotel bill?”
    â€œI might have done if I’d stayed in a hotel. We were camping. Look, you can’t seriously think I had anything to do with Amber’s murder. That’s surreal. I mean, why would I?”
    â€œIt’s not the business of the law to look for motives, Mr. Hilland. But at the moment we are just trying to eliminate people from our inquiries. It’s not possible for me to exclude you if you can’t show me any evidence that you were where you say you were. No doubt one of the friends you were with can tell me.”
    â€œI suppose I’ll have to ask them.” Hilland spoke in an even more ungracious tone than he had up till then. “It’s a bore, but I suppose they will. They don’t like this sort of thing.”
    â€œWhat sort of thing would that be?”
    â€œOh, well, the police and murder and suspects and all that sort of thing, especially when everyone knows it’s some psychopath who’s addicted to porn on the Web that goes for these girls.”
    Wexford didn’t have to remind himself that among “these girls” was the mother of Hilland’s child. He had seldom if ever met a more objectionable young man. A yob from one of the estates, until now categorized at Kingsmarkham police station as “lowlife,” was preferable. “Right,” he said. “I’d like the name and home address of one of these friends of yours and I’d like it now.”
    Surprised by Wexford’s change of tone, Hilland looked sulky, but he gave the Chief Inspector two names, one with an address in Wales, the other nearer home in Lewes.
    â€œWhen her body was found, a thousand pounds was in her jacket pocket. Have you any idea how she came by such a large sum?”
    Hilland managed to look as if it wasn’t a large sum to him by raising his eyebrows and setting his head on one side. “No idea. I never saw her, you know. We split up before the child was born. Not that there was ever much to split.”
    Reminding himself to keep his temper at all costs, Wexford tried asking why she needed