The Other Woman by Jill McGown Page A

second cigarette to give himself time.
    â€˜The pub,’ he said, when he removed the cigarette from his mouth, trying to make it look as though speech would have been impossible before doing so.
    â€˜Which pub?’
    â€˜The one in the village. What’s it called – Sneakers?’ Finch nodded. ‘Did you have a drink in the pub?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Would anyone remember seeing you, do you think?’
    McDonald drew deeply on the new cigarette. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I just went in, got cigarettes and came out – there was no one else around. The machine’s in the foyer. Do you think I killed her, or something?’
    â€˜We have to ask questions,’ Finch said. ‘It’s our job, Mr McDonald.’
    McDonald subsided. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
    â€˜How long had you given up smoking?’ Finch asked.
    â€˜Three years,’ said McDonald, looking a little surprised at the question.
    â€˜What made you buy cigarettes tonight?’
    â€˜Look – I’d been lost in the fog for hours, I had been stood up by the lady I was supposed to be taking to this damn opening, and I was feeling sorry for myself. So I bought cigarettes. It’s not a crime yet.’
    â€˜No, sir,’ said Finch. ‘ But I’ll be honest with you. I find it very hard to believe that you were wandering round for four hours. Why didn’t you ask someone where you were?’
    â€˜I just didn’t. And I want a straight answer. Do you think I did that?’ He pointed towards where Freddie worked.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Finch.
    â€˜Why would I phone the police?’
    Finch shrugged. ‘People have been known to,’ he said.
    â€˜Who is she, anyway?’
    â€˜We don’t know that either.’
    â€˜You don’t know much.’
    â€˜No, we don’t. That’s why it helps if people tell us the truth. For all I know she could be your date.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Who were you supposed to take to this do tonight?’
    â€˜A woman called Donna Fairweather – she works as a typist at The Barton Chronicle . She lives on the Mitchell estate – I was trying to find her house when I got lost.’
    Going to cover the opening of the new sports and leisure centre, and he hadn’t worn a tie? Lloyd thought about that as Finch jotted down the name. ‘Thank you,’ said the sergeant.
    McDonald watched Finch write. ‘I tripped over a body, and I went to that phone and rang you. I waited for you, and I’ve been here for hours, and now I find I’m suspect number bloody one!’
    â€˜You’ve been very helpful, sir,’ said Finch. ‘ Thank you for your time. You just stay here – I’ll get someone to drive you home.’
    McDonald gave a short laugh. ‘Someone to make sure I go home and stay there?’ he said.
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ said Finch, with disarming honesty.
    The two men walked away from the car, and Lloyd looked at Finch. ‘Well?’ he said.
    â€˜I’m damn sure he wasn’t walking around for four hours,’ said Finch. ‘But – if you want a personal impression – I don’t think he had anything to do with it. I think he was up to something, but it wasn’t that. And people don’t automatically wear ties when they go out these days.’
    Lloyd smiled at the accurate interpretation of his fleeting thought. ‘Just something he regards as none of our business,’ he mused. ‘Yes. I’m inclined to agree. But once we know who the victim is, we’ll be in a much better position to question Mr McDonald, and that’s just what well do.’
    The floodlights blazed through the night as the police searched for evidence. The body was taken away, and Freddie roared off; SOCOs took away all manner of things for forensic examination. Odd pieces of building materials lying around from the site, the Coke tins and