Skin by Mo Hayder

his thin hands and massaged his temples. The veins were blue through his skin.
    ‘The first thing we’ve got to do is return the body.’
    ‘God, please, no. Not that.’
    ‘We return it to the place the accident happened. Then we leave it for a couple of days so the wildlife can get at it. We need to destroy some bits of evidence and create others. In the meantime you go off and get yourself sectioned.’
    ‘Sectioned?’
    ‘We’re going to build a psychiatric case. We’ll do some research on the best way to go about it. But first we get the body back.’ She stood. ‘Now. We’ll take your car. You’ve got to show me where.’
    He didn’t move.
    ‘She has to go back to the same place, Thom. There’ll be forensics at the scene proving it was an accident.’
    He shook his head and looked at his hands, as if he’d find an answer in the soft skin on the back. She ran her fingers tiredly down her face. ‘Now, listen to me. And you’d better listen really well. I’d do anything for you because you’re my little brother. But I can’t take away what you’re going to have to do.’ She leant forward. ‘You’re going to take me there now. Did you hear me? Do you understand?’
    He didn’t answer. In the hallway someone was unlocking the front door.
    ‘Mandy,’ he hissed. ‘Quick.’
    Flea sighed. She stood up, arms still folded, while in the hallway Mandy moved around, putting down keys, flicking through the mail on the side table. After a moment or two she came into the living room, stopping when she saw Flea and the pinched look on her face.
    Mandy was older than Thom by several years: a short, square woman who dressed in sludge-coloured linen with lots of Indian jewellery. Today she was wearing an olive green jacket and white trousers. She’d had her short hair styled and coloured: a deep dark red, almost purple, cut in a bob against her round face. In one hand she was carrying a half-open rucksack with papers and files peeping out of it. Now she set it on the floor and began slowly to unbutton her jacket, her eyes going carefully from Flea to Thom.
    ‘OK,’ she said, at last. ‘I’ve come in at a bad time.’
    There was a moment’s silence. Thom licked his lips. In spite of his reserve, he’d never been brave – he was terrified of Mandy. And she knew it. She dominated him, never letting him out of her sight, expecting him to cook and clean. She’d spent a lot of the inheritance money too, on supporting a fringe theatre group from Easton. Ordinarily she and Flea didn’t have much to say to each other.
    ‘Mandy, I was just leaving. Thom, you give me a call when you’ve had a think, will you?’
    He stared at her, the skin around his mouth faintly blue.
    ‘Thom?’ she said, meaningfully.
    His trance broke. ‘Yes,’ he muttered hurriedly. ‘I’ll call you. Later. I swear.’
    12
    A man sat near the door in the waiting room outside the mortuary. He raised his hand as Caffery came through. ‘Hi.’
    ‘Evening.’ Caffery kept walking, pulling out his phone. He wanted to see if Powers had been on with another nag about the Kitson case, but he also wanted to see if Flea had answered the call he’d made earlier. He’d liked the way she’d looked at him earlier. It had made something in him give a little. It was a good feeling – a clean, loose feeling, the same sensation he sometimes got with the first drink of the day.
    ‘Excuse me. I need to talk to you.’
    Caffery stopped, turned back. The man was on his feet. He was tall, with big hands, polished shoes and neat brown hair. Too brown. A bit of dye helping him out there.
    ‘Is there any news?’
    ‘Any news?’
    ‘On Lucy. You were in there just now, weren’t you?’
    ‘Who are you?’
    ‘Colin Mahoney. That’s my wife in there. My ex-wife, but she kept my name. They’re saying she killed herself. Is that right? Is that what the doctor thinks?’
    ‘Your FLO will talk you through it. I think she’s on her way.’
    ‘My