‘His brother killed himself. So did his mother.’

‘And?’

Farmer shrugged. ‘The depressive trait sometimes runs in families. Maybe something happened in Maguire’s life – maybe even someone on the force was getting a bit too close to something he wanted kept hidden – and he thought he’d take the easy way out. Maybe he killed himself. Maybe he’s not abroad with some tart, living the high life.’

‘It’s possible.’

‘Pads, I want you to do a few things for me. Off the record, you got that?’

‘Sure.’ Paddy whipped out his notebook and pen. ‘Fire away.’

Farmer told him what he wanted done.

132

After being released from hospital next day, Cory Farmer didn’t go straight home; instead he went over to Fiona Maguire’s house. When she finally opened the door she stood there staring at his bruised and cut face.

‘Mrs Maguire, can I come in please?’ he asked.

She opened the door wider. He went in and through to the lounge. In surprise he saw that someone had been tidying things up in here. The pile of old newspapers was gone. There was a vacuum cleaner standing over in the corner by the television. He wondered if social services had been in, sorting her out a bit of help around the house. He knew Paddy had notified them.

He sat down on the sofa; she took the armchair.

There was a change in her too, he noticed. Her hair was combed. Her cardigan wasn’t stained. She still looked a bit of a mess with her bandaged hands, but there was a definite improvement.

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What did you want to speak to me about?’

Farmer cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Maguire, did you and your husband ever own another property? A flat in the Clacton area?’

She frowned at him. ‘No. Why?’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Of course I am. We didn’t. Donny didn’t. Not ever.’ She chewed her lip and stared at him. ‘I knew there were other women of course. I’m not a fool.’

‘No one’s suggesting you are. Someone has passed certain information to me about parties. Wild parties. And apparently these took place at a flat owned by your husband.’

She shook her head firmly. ‘That’s nonsense. I don’t understand that. This house was all Donny ever had. I know about the women, though. I told you. A couple of them came to my door.’

Farmer flipped open his notebook. ‘Could you describe them? Those women you saw? They came separately I suppose? Not together?’

‘They came years apart. The first one was a brunette. Common looking. Horrible. Foul-mouthed. The second one was different. This happened about ten years ago, I suppose, but I can’t really be sure. She was much younger. Very pretty. Blonde. Enormous blue eyes. She had a dark-haired boy with her.’

‘A boy? What, was he a schoolboy? In uniform?’

‘I can’t remember. Sorry.’

‘So you knew your husband had other women. But you know nothing about another property owned by him.’