Shooting in the Dark

his money. But he had a smile on his face as wide as a bay window, something his former self would never’ve managed.
    ‘Come in, come in,’ he shouted, his voice rising and falling a full octave within the span of the two syllables. 'Have a seat. Sit down.’ The arm waving around, seemingly unable to remain motionless. ‘Thanks for coming. Beautiful day. How did you get up the...?’ Sam waited, watching the man struggling for the word. But it wouldn’t come.
    ‘How did you get up the... up there -’ He pointed out of the window. ‘Thing that goes up and down?’
    ‘Hill,’ said Sam.
    Reeves laughed. ‘Hill, yes. Can’t always find the words I That’s why I’ve got a nurse.’
    ‘You’re doing fine, Mr Reeves,’ said Rosemary. She moved forward quickly and plumped the cushion on his I chair before he sat in it.
    ‘Thanks to you, my dear.’ Rosemary side-stepped briskly as his wild hand came close to her behind. Sam wasn’t sure if he’d consciously intended to slap her bottom or if the hand had a mind of its own. Reeves turned back to Sam. ‘How did you manage the hill?’ .j ‘It was touch and go,’ Sam told him. He glanced at Rosemary, but she was concentrating on keeping her distance.
    ‘You asked me to come out here,’ Sam said. ‘How can I help you?’ He noticed that Reeves had been freshly shaved but several clumps of beard had been missed. He had a single-sided wispy moustache and a small red patch of whiskers on his lower cheek.
    Reeves looked at him. He’d brought his arm under control and was holding it down on his lap. ‘I want you to find who killed my wife, Mr Turner.’
    ‘I’m already retained by your sister-in-law,’ Sam reminded him.
    ‘That’s all right. There’s no law says you can’t work for me as well. On the same...’
    ‘Case?’ said Rosemary.
    ‘Dammit, yes. The same case.’
    Sam shook his head.
    ‘What’re you worried about? There’s no conflict of interest. I’m offering cash up front.’
    ‘I don’t understand your motives,’ Sam told him. ‘I’m already working on the case for Angeles. I have to find Isabel’s killer, get him off the street so Angeles is safe.’ j
    ‘I want to help,’ Reeves said. ‘The police are so damn slow. They never tell me anything. I thought if you had more money, resources; well, it’s not going to work against you, is it? I’m stuck in the house here, I want to be more... more...’
    ‘Useful?’ Sam said.
    Reeves exhaled. ‘Yes, I want to be useful.’
    He was wearing a tie, of course, striped in blue and gold, and the yolk of an egg had dribbled down it for five centimetres before solidifying. The zip at the front of his trousers had stuck half-way and he gave it a polite tug from time to time but it didn’t move.
    Sam said, ‘I’ve got everyone I know involved on the case. Even part-timers. Doesn’t really matter how much you pay me, I’m still gonna have the same number of people.’
    ‘I want to help, Turner. There must be some way.’
    ‘How about you solve a little problem for me?’ Sam said. ‘You know anything about ice skating? Something connected with Angeles?’
    Reeves looked blank. ‘Ice skating. It’s one thing I’ve never done.’
    ‘What about Isabel?’
    ‘Isabel? Oh, no. Isabel had a thing about ice altogether. Avoided it like the plague. She’d never’ve gone skating.’
    ‘A thing about ice?’ Sam said. ‘What does that mean? She had a phobia about ice?’
    I wouldn’t put it that strongly,’ said Reeves. ‘She was frightened of it. Irrational, really. Something happened when she was a child. Some kind of accident.’
    ‘You don’t know exactly?’
    ‘Can’t say I do,’ said Reeves. ‘She mentioned it a couple °f times. The village pond, I think it was. All fall down.’
    ‘Angeles as well?’
    Quintin Reeves sat shaking his head. He didn’t know any more. ‘I think so, yes. Childhood trauma. What about it, Turner? Are you going to let me help? I’ve got money.’
    All answers, if they were answers worth having, were vague. The answers that weren’t vague were the ones to worry about. When you asked a question and the answer came back with no margin of doubt, then it was time to start worrying. Maybe this ice-skating thing would lead nowhere. Even if there was someone who was there at the time, could explain Angeles’ reticence and Isabel’s phobia, it still might not be relevant to the case. Difficult to see how it could be, really. Ice skating,