Looking for Trouble by Cath Staincliffe

Hobbs’ distress had disturbed me, awakening memories of my own pain in the months after the stabbing.
    Maddie moved towards the phone.
    ‘No, I’ll get it.’
    ‘Aww.’
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘Sal? Harry.’
    Phew.
    ‘How you doing?’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘Do you want to come over? Bev’s gone off with the car but the rest of us are here.’
    ‘Yeah, we’d love to. I’ve just got Maddie today.’
    ‘Okay. See you soon.’
     
    It was a relief to get out of the house and away from the phone. I cycled over to Harry and Bev’s terraced house in Levenshulme. Their two boys were playing some version of goodies and baddies in the street, when we arrived. Maddie begged for my bicycle pump and ran to join them. The front door was open and I found Harry in the yard out at the back. He and Bev had transformed the small brick box into a riot of greenery, with climbers in pots, hanging baskets, even a tiny pergola complete with vine.
    ‘Lager?’ offered Harry. The deckchair creaked as he heaved himself out of it. Harry’s built like a rugby player and looks like a farmhand; thatched hair and hands like hams.
    ‘Mmm.’ He fetched me a cold can and opened a sun lounger for me. Bliss.
    Harry was eager to hear how I’d got on at the clubs. I described my sorties into Manchester night-life and sketched in the unpleasant facts I’d heard from Martin.
    ‘I felt so stupid.’
    ‘I can imagine. So it’s over?’
    ‘Well...’ I told him about the phone call from Mrs Hobbs.
    ‘In the end I agreed to take the letter. I had to stop her barging in. She needs help.’ I sighed.
    ‘You never met the father?’
    ‘No, thank God. So instead of it all being done and dusted, now I’ve got to play postman.’
    ‘Woman.’
    ‘Okay,’ I pretended to kick him. ‘Plus, there’s the funeral.’
    ‘The guy you found?’
    I told Harry all about JB, confessing my doubts about the official version of his death. He heard me out. Harry’s a good listener, he’s not averse to using a little imagination and I can trust him to keep confidences. When I’d finished, he sat quietly for a moment, chewing his lip. ‘Who’d want to get rid of him?’
    ‘I dunno. It’s full of holes, I know. Everyone else thinks it’s cut and dried.’ I drained my can. ‘You couldn’t really attack someone with a loaded syringe, could you?’
    ‘Not easy to find a vein. No, it’s pretty unlikely. But just suppose someone did want him out the way, why choose to do it like that? There are simpler ways of killing someone.’
    ‘That’s obvious,’ I replied. ‘No-one would suspect foul play. Once a junkie, always a junkie. They wouldn’t expect a murder enquiry; no questions, no trouble. They were right about that.’
    Harry chewed his lip again.
    ‘You think I’m wrong, don’t you?’
    He grimaced. ‘It’s a bit thin.’
    I sighed. Crumpled the empty can.
    I loved Harry. It wasn’t physical; he was too big and beefy for my liking. But I was drawn to him and sometimes wondered what it would be like to sleep with him; whether we might have an affair if anything happened to end his relationship with Bev. Strictly fantasy. They were a happy pair. Still...
    ‘I’m all for hunches, Sal. But that’s all you’ve got. No motive, no evidence, nothing. You’re going to have to fill in the picture a bit more to convince anyone.’
    ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘I’ve no intention of reopening the case or whatever they call it. I guess all I need is to hear from someone who knew JB well that he really was clean, that he didn’t lie to me, or...’
    ‘And if your hunch is right, if it looks less and less like an overdose, you’re just going to leave it at that?’ Harry was sceptical.
    ‘What else can I do? I’ve no illusions about the British system of justice. Yes, if I got names and numbers, witnesses, whatever – I’d feel bound to pass that on, but it’s pretty bloody unlikely.’
    Harry didn’t reply. Silence is consent.
    I got up and shifted my