Read Tastes Like Fear (D.I. Marnie Rome 3) for Free Online

Inspector Rome. She wants to meet you. I told her you’d like to give her a piece of your mind.’
    Open Sesame.

7
    ‘About bloody time. Thought I’d be long dead before you lot got your act together. Burnt to a crisp in my bed most likely.’ Emma Tarvin was a big woman, her broad shoulders making the mean hall look meaner, in a purple dress and tan tights, salt-and-pepper hair cropped close to a square face with indoor skin, no make-up, red threads everywhere. Brown eyes, hard as pellets, fixed on Marnie’s face before shifting to Noah. ‘Who’s the pin-up?’
    Ron said, ‘This is DS Jake. He makes a mean cuppa.’
    ‘ You can make the tea. The pin-up,’ giving Noah a smile tough enough to take the skin off his face, ‘can come with me.’ She jerked her head at Marnie. ‘You too.’
    Noah and Marnie followed her into the sitting room, a box painted the colour of jaundice. Sooty streaks up the walls and around the window filling the south-facing wall. Net curtains that looked like they’d been tie-dyed in strong tea, an aggressively nylon carpet, furniture straight out of the Festival of Britain, everything Formicaed to within an inch of its life. It reminded Noah of his gran’s flat, down to the antimacassars and sunburst mirror. The only things missing were family photos. His gran’s place was full of photos of him and Sol. Emma was seventy-six. Either she didn’t have any grandchildren, or she kept their photos in another room. No ornaments, not even a vase of flowers. Bookcases, mostly filled with video cassettes and DVDs. Widescreen television. Desk by the window, covered in magazines and papers. More like a student’s flat than a pensioner’s home. It smelt like a student’s flat, male and stale.
    ‘You can sit here.’ Emma settled herself on the sofa, nodding at Noah to join her.
    He did as he was told, Marnie taking one of the two armchairs opposite. Ron came back from the kitchen with four mugs of tea on a battered tin tray.
    ‘Who’s paying for those?’ A snort. ‘I’m Tarvin, not bloody Tetley.’
    ‘I’ll bring a box of tea bags next time.’ Ron sat in the other armchair. ‘And biscuits, if you like.’
    ‘If she lets you,’ jerking her head at Marnie. ‘Doesn’t look like she eats biscuits. Me, I’m partial to a chocolate finger.’ Another skin-stripping smile for Noah. ‘Sorry about the fuss with the door, but I get all sorts trying to get in here. Old dear downstairs left hers open for Social Services, can you believe that? Cleaned her out, of course. Round here, if it’s not nailed shut it’s as good as gone.’ She reached for a mug of tea. ‘So you want to hear about my arsonists. Finally taking it seriously after thirteen fires. Unless you’re going to give me a lecture like the last lot they sent round. “Arson is a cry for help.” Too much bloody crying round here. No one gets heard. I don’t. Can’t remember the last time I slept through the night. When they’re not setting fires, they’re making threats, nicking all sorts. Kick and run, isn’t that what you lot call it? What we used to call burglary. Or shouting all hours. I don’t bother going to bed now. Sit up and watch for them.’ She nodded at the window, chewing on her lip. ‘They’re less frightening when you can see them.’
    ‘And you keep notes,’ Marnie said.
    Noah followed her gaze, seeing the notepad on the table next to the window, half tucked under a copy of the Radio Times . He hadn’t noticed it until now.
    Emma reappraised Marnie. ‘I’m thorough. Someone round here’s got to be.’
    ‘Go on, please. You were saying you sit up and watch for them.’
    ‘Every night. They’re bold as bloody brass. The girls are the worst of it.’
    ‘Natalie Filton and Abigail Gull. Those were the names you gave to DS Carling.’ Marnie drank a mouthful of tea. ‘Are there any others?’
    ‘Plenty, but those two are the ringleaders.’ A pause, then, ‘You’re young to be his boss.’ She