Cold Kill

by Rennie Airth

  ‘You’re talking to the wrong canary. Facebook is just a word to me and I tweet not.’

  His laugh was unaffected this time.

  ‘Have the press tracked you down yet?’ he asked.

  ‘Not so far. Molly had a couple of calls yesterday. They must have found out she knew Rose. She told them she thought I was staying with friends in London, but wasn’t sure where or with who.’

  ‘Have you thought about the funeral?’

  ‘Jesus! First Molly, now you – can’t you guys give me a break?’

  He chuckled. ‘Are you always this combative?’

  ‘Combative! That’s a big word for a homicide dick.’ But she laughed. ‘I guess I am. I’m told I scare people off.’ She meant men, and she was testing him, but he didn’t bite.

  ‘I thought I’d better tell you, we haven’t released your aunt’s body yet. The post-mortem won’t be done till later today. There are usually delays around this time of year. I’m afraid the funeral will have to wait till after Christmas.’

  ‘That’s OK, but I want to go to Rose’s house and start clearing up. Are you done with it?’

  ‘As of yesterday,’ he said. ‘But we’ve told one of our mobile units to keep an eye on the place. If they think anyone’s there, they might knock on the door. I’ll make sure they’re alerted. Just tell them who you are.’

  Actually clearing up wasn’t what Addy had in mind, not yet. She would do that later, after the funeral, which right now she didn’t want to think about. She just wanted to be on her own in the house, to feel Rose’s presence in some way, and not have Molly there with her, because if she mentioned it, Molly was sure to want to come along.

  Molly. Addy knew she meant well and wanted to help, but the truth was they’d never really hit it off. Even now, with Rose’s friend doing her mother hen bit, making out that nothing was too much trouble and if there was anything Addy wanted she had only to ask, Addy still couldn’t warm to her. It was hard to put her finger on exactly why, but there was one thing she had no doubt about: Molly didn’t care for her either and never had. It was one of those things, oil and water, and it was like that with some people and the opposite with others; DS Malek, for example. She’d felt easy with him from the start, they’d connected, and you couldn’t explain it any more than you could explain why Molly Kingsmill had always set her teeth on edge. At first Addy thought it might be a simple case of jealousy. She’d been too possessive of Rose, she knew that. But there were other currents at work between them, and Addy wondered if Molly felt the same. Maybe they had both sensed a quality in the other they couldn’t relate to.

  It was something to ponder, and as she took an Uber ride up to Knightsbridge Addy turned the question over in her mind. Maybe it was just one of those things, and she should let it go. There was the funeral to be got through, and Molly would want to be part of that. Difficult days lay ahead and Addy knew she would have to behave like a grown-up, accept all the help that was offered and keep her feelings to herself.

  Did she have to go on staying with her though? What would Molly say if she moved out? The truth was she wanted to be in Rose’s house, to spend these last days with the ghost of the person she had loved most and was now gone from her life for ever. Would Molly understand that?

  It was a question she couldn’t answer and one that took on a new and disturbing aspect when she reached her destination. The mews was deserted – a lucky break, the last thing Addy wanted that morning was have Rose’s neighbours telling her how shocked they were by what had happened, how fond they had been of Rose, how much they would miss her, all of which Addy would have believed, Rose having been the person she was – but as she walked down the cobbled way she noticed where the snow had been cleared around the places where the bodies had lain and wondered if she wasn’t making a mistake returning to the scene.

  The feeling only gained strength when she entered the house, which was like an ice-box – the cops must have turned off the heating when they left – and though she got it going again she had to keep her coat on as she wandered through the rooms that now seemed so empty, stripped of the life that Rose must have breathed into them and that she had imagined the evening she’d arrived. And although the police had treated the place with care – they had left nothing lying around – the signs of their search were there to see: two of the drawers in Rose’s small writing-desk in the corner of the sitting room had been left half open, and the books they must have pulled out from the shelves hadn’t been pushed back properly. Rose’s clothes, too, had been searched, as she discovered when she went upstairs to the bedrooms. Although they were still on their hangers some of them were askew and Addy found part of the lining in one of Rose’s jackets torn and hanging loose. It was obvious they’d been searching for the memory stick.

  The bag her aunt had had with her when Addy last saw her – the one she had carried Grumble in – was lying on the bed, open. She had brought the bear with her and now she put him back where he belonged, on the throne of pillows at the head of Rose’s bed. She had as good as made up her mind that she would move out of Molly’s house and come back here. Returning Grumble to his proper place was like putting down a marker to that effect.

  Before quitting the bedroom Addy looked inside Rose’s bag and found that apart from a few clothes and toilet articles there was only her aunt’s MacBook, which she knew the cops must have checked for any clues it might contain and found nothing, otherwise Malek would have told her; at least she hoped he would.

  She opened the small computer, and after giving it a minute to boot up, she checked it herself. Her guess had been right: there was nothing, just a list of bills paid and other household stuff and a file dealing with tax records. Nor was there anything of note in Rose’s emails, which seemed mainly from friends, some of them familiar to Addy, some not. The name Philip Moreau didn’t appear anywhere, and though it might have been found in Rose’s phone, it wouldn’t be the one she had had with her when she died, the one the police had checked. It would have been in the one they had not been able to trace: the one Rose had lost or perhaps dumped when she was on the run.

  She switched the computer off and was just putting it back in the bag – she would deal with it later – when her own phone rang. It was Molly calling.

  ‘I was expecting to find you home when I got back, Addy. Where are you?’

  ‘At Rose’s house. I thought I’d start sorting things out.’

  Aware that she wasn’t being entirely truthful, Addy scowled at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. She was sitting on Rose’s bed.

  ‘Do you want some help?’

  ‘Not at the moment, thanks. I’m not going to be here long. I thought I’d leave most of it until after Christmas.’

  Shit! She shouldn’t have mentioned Christmas. It was only two days away and, just as she’d feared, Molly came in on cue.

  ‘I meant to say, I thought we’d just have a quiet meal on Christmas Day. What do you think? Neither of us is exactly in a festive mood.’

  ‘That’s sounds fine, Molly.’ Her and her big mouth – she’d been hoping simply to ignore the occasion this year, pretend it wasn’t happening.

  ‘And there’s something else. I’ve just had a call from a friend of Rose’s. I wonder if she ever mentioned him to you. His name’s Peter Flynn. He’s an actor, an Irishman, a good bit older than Rose, but a very nice man. They met at a dinner party somewhere and Rose took to him. Oh, not in the romantic line, that’s not what I mean.’ Molly giggled. ‘As I say, he was a good bit older than she, but he was very agreeable company. The three of us used to have lunch together now and again. Anyway, he read about poor Rose in the newspaper and called up to say how shocked he was and also that he’d noticed your name in the report and wondered how he could get in touch with you. There’s something he wants to tell you.’

  ‘Like what?’ Addy was intrigued.

  ‘I don’t know. He was rather mysterious about it. Apparently he saw Rose not long ago and t
hey had a drink together, which was news to me – I had the impression she’d been avoiding her friends. I tried delicately to find out what it was she had said to him, but all he would say is that he has something to tell you. It sounds strange, I know, but I assure you he’s perfectly respectable. Would you like his number?’

  ‘Please.’

  Addy grabbed a pad and pencil from the bedside table and wrote down the number Molly gave her.

  ‘He said you could call him any time this afternoon, but not this evening as he’d be working. He’s appearing in a play in London.’

  Thinking about what she had just been told, Addy felt a stab of guilt. Molly kept trying to help, and she knew she ought to feel more grateful. The very fact that they didn’t really get on was a point in her favour, Addy thought, a sign of good character. It was how adults behaved, or ought to behave, and maybe she should take a lesson from Rose’s friend and make a little more effort herself, offer to help with their Christmas dinner, for example, at the very least buy her hostess a present as a way of saying thank you for all she had done.

  She called the number Molly had given her. It was answered on the second ring.

  ‘Peter Flynn speaking, who’s that?’

  ‘I’m Addy – Adelaide Banks. Molly said you wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘Addy! I’m so pleased you called. My dear, I can’t tell you how distressed I was to hear what happened to poor Rose.’ The voice was soft and musical, the Irish accent unmistakable. ‘I can only imagine how terrible you must be feeling. I know how much Rose loved you, how close you were. Truly, I can’t find the words …’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Flynn …’

  ‘Peter, please …’

  ‘Had you known her long?’

  ‘For about a year. We met last winter at a dinner party and we saw quite a bit of each other for a while. I’ll make no bones about it – I thought she was enchanting. We used to go to the theatre, sometimes Molly would come with us. I have such warm memories of them both.’

  Addy hesitated. ‘Memories … you mean all that stopped?’

  It was his turn to pause. ‘I don’t know how to say this, Addy, but suddenly Rose seemed to change. She wasn’t around any more for one thing. Mind you, she was travelling a lot then, which may have had something to do with it, but even when she was here I didn’t see that much of her and when I did she seemed reserved … withdrawn … not like the Rose I’d known. It’s hard to explain.’

  Addy waited. She wanted him to go on, but he stayed silent.

  ‘There was something you wanted to tell me?’

  ‘It’s what Rose said to me the last time we met. I’m not sure I understood her—’ He broke off. Addy could hear noise in the background, what sounded like other voices. ‘Addy, I’m sorry, but we’re in the middle of rehearsals here. Can we speak again later?’

  ‘Rehearsals? Yes, of course.’

  ‘I’ve just had an idea. You’re an actress, aren’t you?’

  ‘We say actor these days, Peter.’

  ‘I stand corrected.’ He laughed richly. ‘Look, I’m appearing in a production of Twelfth Night at present. It’s playing at the Globe Theatre on the South Bank. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.’

  ‘You bet.’

  ‘How would you like to see this evening’s performance? I can get you a ticket. Then when it’s over, we could talk, and if you like I could also show you the theatre proper – I mean the Globe itself. It’s not used in winter, because it’s open to the elements and too cold. We’re performing in the smaller closed theatre, but I thought you might like to see the main one as well. It’s a reproduction of Shakespeare’s Globe. You won’t have seen anything like it before.’

  He paused, awaiting a response.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ He sounded anxious.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Addy was searching for the right word. ‘I’m just … overwhelmed.’

  ‘We’ll meet this evening then. I’ll leave a ticket for you at the box office. There’s a pub called the Anchor a few steps down the river. You could have a drink there or a cup of coffee after the performance and when everyone’s gone home I’ll give you a call and you can come and join me. The theatre’s locked up at night, but you’ll see there’s a courtyard beside it behind some locked gates with the stage door beyond that. I’ll leave the smaller gate open so you can come in. I’ll tell you then what Rose said. I’m not sure I really grasped what she meant, but you may have a better idea.’

  ‘Can you give me a hint?’ Addy said.

  ‘Well, let me see … it was so odd, I didn’t know what to make of it—’ He broke off. Addy heard more noises. ‘Yes, yes, I’m coming.’ He wasn’t talking to her. ‘Look, Addy, I’m sorry, I can’t talk now.’

  ‘No, that’s OK, Peter.’ Addy swallowed her disappointment. ‘You can tell me this evening. I’ll see you then.’

  She went downstairs. The house was starting to warm up and she took off her coat. Before coming down she had fished Rose’s MacBook out of the bag again and googled Peter Flynn. Wikipedia had a piece on him – he was in his early sixties and a well-known character actor, on this side of the pond anyway. They also had a photo of him – several, in fact. Rosy-cheeked, with a full head of grey wavy hair and a wide smile, he looked like what Molly had said he was – a nice guy. Although her thoughts were elsewhere, she busied herself for a few minutes straightening the books in the bookshelves. Looking around, she saw that the note Molly had left for Rose was still standing on the mantelpiece. Addy took it down.

  Rose, I’ve got Addy staying with me. Please get in touch with us as soon as you can.

  Rose had never got to see it. Addy wondered what Peter Flynn was going to tell her. She had liked the sound of his voice with its pleasant Irish lilt. The accent was one she had a particular fondness for. She had even tried it herself once or twice at drama school and found the rhythms weren’t that tough to copy, though you had to be careful not to exaggerate them.

  Quit daydreaming, she scolded herself. She sat down on the sofa. She was here to try and figure out how this whole godawful shitstorm had come about. So Rose had met a man she was attracted to a few months back and somehow he had managed to draw her into his criminal world, and though it seemed improbable on the face of it, Addy knew that if the person who had played such a part in her life, who’d been more like an older sister or even a mother than an aunt, had a weakness, it was rooted in her nature – she was too trusting – though Rose wouldn’t have called it a weakness. For her, love and trust were the same. She made no difference between them.

  She had told Horvath that the man she had met, who called himself Philip Moreau but was also known as Charon, claimed to be working for the CIA, and Addy could understand that if Rose had been strongly drawn to him, she might easily have seen that as a reason to do certain favours for him, perform some seemingly innocent tasks.

  But if she had discovered at some point that what the memory stick held was of no imaginable importance to her country – that it was just a squalid theft she was involved in – she must have had her suspicions already. Otherwise why look at it in the first place? Were there other, worse things she had learned about this ‘Philip Moreau’? Had she come to realize he was a killer, and if so, how had he managed to blind her to his true character? Although Rose’s nature had been open and, yes, trusting, she had not been a fool (except maybe a fool for love). There had to be more to it than that. Addy felt she had all the pieces of the puzzle in front of her, yet somehow couldn’t fit them together. The picture kept eluding her.

  Her phone rang again. This time it was Malek.

  ‘Just checking,’ he said. ‘How are you doing?’

  Another mother hen!

  ‘I meant to call you this morning.’ Addy couldn’t deny she was pleased he’d been thinking about her. ‘Molly says she can’t be sure that was Philip Moreau in the photo you gave me, the one Horvath said was Charon. She said his hair was a different colour and combed some ot
her way. But it could be him.’

  He whistled into his phone. ‘The plot thickens.’

  ‘But I still can’t see Rose falling for this guy the way she did. Why she couldn’t see through him.’

  ‘Didn’t someone once say that love was blind?’

  Addy sighed. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s how she was with Uncle Matt. She fell for him in a big way, and maybe it happened again. Maybe she was waiting for it to happen. Maybe she wanted it to happen.’

  ‘And according to Horvath, this Charon bloke has a way with women.’

  Addy didn’t respond. It was something she didn’t want to think about. ‘Do you know yet whether he was pushed – Horvath, I mean?’

  ‘We know he had a pistol in his pocket. That seems to suggest he wasn’t too sure about his visitor. There’s something else, too, but I’m not sure I should tell you about it. I’ve told you too much already.’ His tone was teasing.

  ‘Oh, come on. Who am I going to spill to? Molly?’

  ‘The river police fished the body of a man out of the Thames an hour ago. He was spotted jumping into the river, an apparent suicide. He had a Belgian passport in his pocket, but what’s interesting is that according to the coppers who pulled the body out he had big bulging eyes, “just like a bat’s”, they said.’

  It was Addy’s turn to whistle. ‘Sounds like him – Klepkin.’

  ‘Could be. But keep it to yourself. Look, I have to go. I’ll leave it to you to figure it all out.’

  ‘I’m looking for an answer I find convincing,’ Addy said.

  ‘Then look at it in a different way.’ He chuckled. ‘That’s what my dad always says. Turn it upside down. Would you believe he’s sometimes right? Bye, Addy.’ He hung up.

  Thanks a lot. Turn it upside down. That was a big help.

  Addy put her phone back in her pocket. She stared at the wall opposite where a framed colour photograph hung. It was a study of a windswept beach – looked like Nantucket – where the spume from breaking waves was flying about in the air like torn lace. Away in the distance a couple were walking hand in hand, a woman and a small girl, and the woman’s hair was blowing in the wind, and although it was too far to see who they were, Addy knew it was Rose and her and that the person taking the snapshot had most likely been Uncle Matt.