The Trawlerman

had been an investigation but the murderer was never found. This was in Armagh during the Troubles, so there were a million other things going on. The man’s father was caught up in all that business too. People were getting shot all over the place and people weren’t exactly owning up to things. Nobody imagined it was his thirteen-year-old son, so he got away with it. Except . . . I figured it out and I ended up having to arrest him. He went to prison. He was a good man who was only trying to protect his mother, but he’d got away with it. Because of me he lost his job and his pension and everything.
— And?
— That’s it. He’s out now, but I don’t think the same. He used to be a respected man around here.
— You blame yourself?
— I’m not sure what I could have done differently though.
— The first two events were violent. I don’t see where the violence was in that last one. At least, not in relation to you.
— I didn’t say it was violent. You just asked me what were the things that I thought had contributed to my trauma.
— And that story . . .
— It’s just like the others in some ways. Because you’re a police officer you have to do this stuff. And I think it leaves a mark.
Alex pushed her bike across the shingle to the pale-blue cottage with the white windows. It was a sweet-looking place, the sort of building a child might draw: a symmetrical roof with a red terracotta chimney at one end. There was a light on in the main room. Alex knocked on the wooden door. Nobody answered. She stepped to the right and put her face against the glass.

Seven
A crunch of stones underfoot; Stella appeared around the side of the house. ‘Oh. It’s you.’ She stepped forward and threw her arms around a startled Alex, hugging her tightly.
Another voice came from the far side of the shack. ‘Who is it?’
‘That beautiful woman copper who lives in the Coastguard Cottages who saved your bloody life from the madwoman. Come on. We owe you a drink. We’re round the back.’
Tina was sitting on a small, two-seater sofa that sat on the shingle behind the bungalow. She had a glass in her hand and there was a small bamboo table in front of the sofa with an ashtray and a packet of cigarette papers with a tell-tale tear on the cover. ‘Curly said you’re all right for a copper.’
‘I should have that on a T-shirt.’
‘We’re having some cava. Want some?’ asked Stella.
‘Still celebrating?’
‘God, yes. It’s been a bloody long time coming.’
Stella went inside to the kitchen and returned with a wine glass full of pale, bubbling liquid in one hand and a deckchair in the other. She handed Alex the glass and then set about the task of unfolding the chair.
‘Thanks,’ said Tina quietly. ‘For what you did. You were amazing.’
Stella was still struggling with the chair. ‘Hey. That double murder up in Romney? Curly says . . . he says you do that kind of thing. They slit the woman’s throat, I heard.’
‘Who from?’
‘Friend works for Ocado. It was one of them found her . . . So there’s some kind of weirdo loose, then?’
‘I’m not working on that. I’m on sick leave right now. Otherwise I would have been there instead of having a coffee at the station cafe yesterday.’
‘Here’s to sick leave then.’ Stella raised her glass. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Stella! Don’t be rude.’
‘Stress,’ said Alex.
Tina leaned forward, picked up the ashtray and laid it on top of the packet of cigarette papers, probably hoping that Alex hadn’t noticed them. Then she sat back and made room for Alex on the small sofa while Stella arranged herself in the deckchair.
The air was warm and balmy. Around them, hidden in the sea kale and gorse, the crickets had started singing. ‘How long have you been together then?’
Tina and Stella exchanged a glance. ‘Eight years,’ said Tina.
‘Oh.’
Stella chuckled. ‘She was working in the chip shop. Her old man was one of the fishermen supplying the fish there. Awkward.’
‘The one on The Stade?’ The Stade was the town’s old dock, where buildings huddled onto the quay overlooking the harbour.
‘Not the posh one,’ Stella said. ‘The one that does proper fish and chips.’
‘So you were already going out when Tina’s husband disappeared?’
The noise of crickets filled the silence. Stella took a large swig from her glass.
‘We kept it secret,’ said Tina quietly.
‘Back then I was out. Everyone in town knew I was a dyke. But nobody knew Tina was.’ Stella picked up tobacco from the table and started looking for the papers that Tina had hidden. ‘Not even Tina. Came as a bit of a shock to me first time she kissed me.’
‘Shock to me, too,’ said Tina.
‘Her, a married woman.’
‘Don’t,’ said Tina. ‘None of it is funny. I didn’t know I was gay when I married him. I was too young.’
Stella had started looking under the table. Alex leaned forward, lifted the ashtray, picked up the papers and handed them to Stella.
Tina blushed.
‘I’m hardly going to shop you,’ said Alex. ‘I’m all right for a copper, allegedly.’
Somewhere people were having a party. The low repetitive bass from a hip hop record pulsed in the darkness.
‘Stella was really cool. She made her own clothes. I once saw her walking through town in this skirt she’d made from pink and yellow Marigold gloves. I was, like –’ She dropped her jaw wide.
‘Only wore it that time. It was a bit sweaty.’ Stella laughed.
‘I thought you were so cool. Nobody I’d grown up around was like that.’
‘Her ex would have gone ape if he’d ever found out Tina loved me.’
‘Would he?’ asked Alex.
Another nod.
‘Did he ever find out?’
Stella looked at Tina. ‘Nope. Never did.’ Stella lit her cigarette. A bird cried in the night. It was a sad sound; a short, plangent wailing. An owl maybe. Zoë would know.
‘Wouldn’t be the first fisherman’s wife to play for