by Helen Cox
Kitt smiled at the receptionist, giving thanks for her help, and strode towards the fire exit doors. It was at once evident that the librarian had entered a staff area as back here there was no sign of the lavish red carpet that adorned the floors in the foyer. The lighting was dim too, in a way that cast her shadow rather spookily on the opposite wall.
Kitt’s stomach clenched as she navigated the bare brick corridors and tried not to think about how quiet it was back here. How isolated. She distracted herself by totting up how many lies and half-truths she’d dispensed in the last week, concerning herself with the question of whether she was accidentally becoming a mistress of deception.
Earlier this week, she had lied about her connection to Beth Myers. Today, she’d lied to the theatre receptionist about interviewing Zoe Gray, and, since this whole nightmare had begun, she had lied to herself about how much the threat of losing her best friend was getting to her. She had to put a brave face on it in front of Evie, but now that she wasn’t here to see her crumbling, Kitt wondered what on earth she would do if she couldn’t find some information that would clear Evie’s name. Iago and her books were company enough, but nobody could replace her quirky, cheeky and rather sweet best friend.
That wasn’t the only thing she was deceiving herself about either. There was also the question of Halloran. The discomfort she felt around him, and the way she had to divert herself from thinking things she shouldn’t about him.
Reluctant to dwell too long on that last point, Kitt’s thoughts turned to the text messages she had received back from Rebecca on the topic of poisoning. She had explained that deliberate poisoning was very rare. Thanks to the popularity of TV murder mysteries, most people understood that poisons were now much more traceable and identifiable than they had been a hundred years ago when women were using them to off husbands they would rather not put up with. But poison was still, she said, more likely to be used by a woman. It was a murder method that didn’t require physical force. Kitt couldn’t say yet whether Adam Kaminksi had suffered precisely the same fate as Owen, even if the manner in which he was found made it quite likely. Even if the murders weren’t identical in every respect, however, the fact that the killer had drugged Owen with diazepam before ending his life suggested they were more manipulative than muscular.
Within a couple of minutes, Kitt located a door that had a laminated A4 sheet stuck to it. The text on the paper simply read: ‘Zoe Gray’.
Taking a deep breath and straightening her posture, Kitt knocked on the door.
‘Whoever you are, I’m preparing to go onstage and I do not wish to be disturbed,’ came a muffled voice from the other side.
‘Ms Gray, please open the door . . . I’m here about Adam Kaminski.’
There was a pause. A shuffling sound. And then a low swoosh as the heavy door was pulled open just enough to reveal a single brown eye, dusted in silver eyeshadow, which glittered like stars against black skin.
‘Who are you? What about Adam?’ said the voice on the other side, questions accompanied by the slow batting of a neat row of fake eyelashes.
Kitt’s face drained of colour. She hadn’t counted on this. She had assumed everyone would have seen the news this morning. Her eyes widened as she realized she was going to have to break the news about Adam’s death to someone who had known him and cared for him. So this was how Halloran felt whenever this task fell to him . . .
‘My name is Kitt Hartley, I work locally at the university. I need to come in to tell you why I’m here,’ said Kitt, swallowing hard. ‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid.’
The actress swung the door wide open, revealing the fact that she was wearing only a silk dressing gown the colour of whipped cream. The garment looked far too big on her, but Kitt thought that was probably because, like a lot of the actresses Kitt saw on TV, Zoe Gray could do with a decent home-cooked meal or two. ‘Whatever that idiot has got himself into now, that’s his problem.’
‘Ms Gray—’ Kitt tried, knowing Zoe would soon regret those words.
‘No.’ The actress held up her hand, palm flat. ‘I’m sorry. But I have excommunicated that man from my life.’
‘That’s—’ Kitt tried again.
‘Do you know what it’s like to be made a fool of? To be completely humiliated by the person who told you they loved you?’
Kitt looked down at the bare wooden floorboards just over the threshold of Zoe’s dressing room.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, but the actress didn’t hear her.
‘To have all of the people who call themselves your friends sniggering about you behind your back for months afterwards?’
Kitt looked at the woman before her. A frown, deep as a fault line, cut through her forehead, and her lips were pulled thin in anger.
‘He treated you poorly, then?’ asked Kitt.
‘You’ve got that right. I only went out with him in the first place because I felt sorry for him,’ she said, her mouth twitching at the corners. Because she was lying, Kitt guessed. ‘Six months of my life I gave him. You wouldn’t believe the promises that fell out of his mouth.’
‘But he didn’t keep them,’ said Kitt, taking a deep breath, trying to focus on Zoe’s words rather than the image of Theo’s face, half-bathed in the early light of dawn. Half-asleep and whispering the word ‘always’. Why was it that the most unwelcome thoughts always came in the least convenient moments? Right now she had to focus on Ms Gray and her catastrophic love affair.
‘No . . .’ For the first time since opening the dressing-room door, Zoe Gray’s expression betrayed something other than general irritation. Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head.
‘Zoe, listen,’ said Kitt. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
‘What?’
‘Adam . . .’ Kitt’s lips clamped together, unwilling to release the next sentence, but she steeled herself and pushed the words out anyway. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Dead?’ the actress echoed, and then, pressing her right hand to her temple in a fashion only a lady who had spent time on the stage could, added, ‘God, no.’
‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,’ said Kitt.
‘I— I need to sit down,’ Ms Gray said, shaking her head.
The actress left the door open. Taking this as an invitation, Kitt followed her into the dressing room. It was a small nook of a room. There was space enough for the two of them, but no more. To her left, Kitt noticed a costume hanging on the door of a carved mahogany wardrobe: a dress sewn from neckline to hem with silver sequins paired with a white fur tippet. Perfect for the role of Lina Lamont. Along the back wall were a row of mannequin heads housing a variety of wigs. One made of platinum blonde curls. One of long red hair. One of silky ebony waves.
‘How did it happen?’ asked Ms Gray, as she slumped into a chair in front of a dressing table filled with uncountable pots of powders and potions.
‘You heard about the murder that happened in the city last weekend?’ Kitt said.
Zoe nodded.
‘It looks as though he was murdered by the same person. He was found by a dog walker at the old chocolate factory late last night,’ Kitt said.
‘God,’ Zoe repeated. Her eyes wandered towards the dressing table. ‘Do you mind if I . . .’ she said, pointing at a large bottle of gin and a small tumbler standing to the right of the mirror.
‘I’d never stand in the way of a woman and her gin,’ said Kitt.
Zoe’s hands shook as she poured the gin neat into the tumbler. ‘And you’re sure – you’re sure it’s a murder, not some terrible accident?’
‘There is, I’m sorry to say, no doubt of the fact given the nature of the crime scene,’ said Kitt.
‘Are you the police or a reporter or something?’ Zoe asked.
‘No. Like I said, I work at the university. I’m . . . investigating this privately. You
see, my best friend Evie, she was an ex-girlfriend of the man who was murdered last weekend. Perhaps you heard about that?’
Zoe nodded. ‘On the news.’
‘Up until now the police have been under the impression my friend was the culprit and have had her in custody for the last day or so. But the way in which Adam was found suggested he had been killed in the same manner as her ex-boyfriend was, so—’
‘If last night’s murder was committed by the same person and she was in custody when it happened . . .’ Zoe began to reason.
‘I know, that should be enough to have her released, but the police are obsessed with the idea that she might have an accomplice, so I’m not sure it’s enough,’ said Kitt.
‘Do you think that’s true? Do you think she murdered Adam?’ said Zoe, her shoulders tightening.
‘No,’ said Kitt. ‘Evie would never hurt anyone.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
Kitt pursed her lips. Why was everyone so quick to point the finger before they had any real facts? Kitt cleared her throat, trying to control her temper, reminding herself how overprotective she could be when it came to her best friend. ‘I’ve known Evie many years. She wouldn’t hurt anyone, and the police have no evidence that says she did.’
The actress was about to say something else, but Kitt cut her off, keen to regain control of this conversation.
‘There’s something else you should be more worried about,’ said the librarian.
Zoe looked at Kitt sidelong. ‘What?’
‘Despite no physical proof, the police were quick to decide that Owen’s ex-girlfriend was the killer. The same could happen to you.’
Zoe’s eyes widened for a split second and then narrowed. ‘If there was no physical proof, there must have been something else that pointed to your friend.’
‘Yes,’ said Kitt. ‘There were things at the crime scene that related to Owen and Evie’s break-up. The murder was . . . odd, and, as I say, so was Adam’s. He was found at the chocolate factory. A fountain pen was . . . lodged in his chest, with a note that said “Eat your heart out”. Does any of this mean anything to you?’
Zoe’s hand shook even harder than before as she took a large gulp of gin. ‘Oh God,’ she whimpered. ‘They’re going to get me. They’re going to come after me.’ She pulled a black holdall bag from under her dressing table and began throwing pots of creams and potions into it at a frantic rate.
‘Zoe, stop,’ said Kitt, placing a hand on the bag. ‘What’s going on?’
Tears started to stream down the actress’s cheeks and she slumped back into the chair. ‘I can’t bear to talk about it.’
‘You’d better tell me what’s going on here.’
The actress swiped tears from her cheeks with both hands and looked up at Kitt. Kitt wondered whether she was staring into the eyes of a murderer.
Twenty
‘It all changed so quickly, between me and Adam.’ Zoe seemed to slip into a sort of trance as she spoke. ‘For a long time everything was perfect to the point that on our first Valentine’s Day together, he brought up the topic of marriage. Told me he couldn’t imagine a life without me. Wanted to know if I felt the same . . .’
‘Did you?’ asked Kitt.
‘Yes. It had been a whirlwind romance. The kind of love you read about in books and plays. So, of course, I was swept along with the idea that it would last for the rest of my life.’
Kitt had felt that once. So long ago now, but she remembered the urgency of it and how delicious it was to surrender to the idea you’d found what everyone else was looking for.
‘What happened next?’
‘I got a bit ahead of myself. I told all my friends what he’d said. They bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate the engagement. Between us girls, we almost had the wedding planned out.’
‘You must have been so happy,’ said Kitt.
‘I was.’ Zoe’s smile was tight and bitter. ‘But then two days later Adam turned up on my doorstep. Said he’d had a change of heart and that instead of thinking about an engagement we should break up instead.’
Kitt took a deep breath. ‘He got scared?’
‘He wouldn’t say, but probably.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I.’
Kitt stared at the actress. What exactly was she sorry for? The end of the relationship? The shattered dreams? Or something else? Something that had spurred her to start packing a getaway bag the moment Kitt described the murder scene.
‘Zoe.’ Kitt made her voice as gentle as she could. What was coming next couldn’t sound in any way judgemental if she wanted to keep Zoe onside. ‘How upset were you over this?’
‘I was a wreck,’ she said.
‘Were you angry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you want revenge?’
Zoe hesitated before giving her answer. ‘Yes.’
A cold feeling crept over the librarian, as though a winter gust was blowing somewhere inside, under a doorway that didn’t quite fit in its frame. ‘Zoe, did you kill Adam?’
Zoe’s eyes, which had glazed over, seemed to focus again. She frowned.
‘What? No!’
‘OK, OK,’ said Kitt, raising her hands.
‘I was here last night,’ said Zoe.
‘All night?’ said Kitt, and then, when she saw Zoe’s eyes narrow, added, ‘I’m just asking what the police will ask. According to the news, Adam’s body wasn’t found until half past three, but the murder is believed to have happened around midnight. Do you have an alibi for that time?’
Zoe rose from her chair and squared up to Kitt. ‘Yes, I do. I was with the cast, having after-show drinks at the bar. The bartender saw us all, and the cast members can vouch for me.’
‘I believe you,’ said Kitt, ‘I do. It’s just you said you wanted revenge.’
‘I did,’ Zoe said. ‘But I didn’t kill Adam, I would never have . . .’ She trailed off. ‘I wouldn’t hurt him. Even after what he did to me. Even though he never properly explained himself.’
‘Then what’s all this panic about?’
The actress folded her arms loosely across her chest and started stroking the sleeves of her dressing gown. ‘On Valentine’s Day, right before we broke up, Adam gave me a gift. It was a large chocolate heart, and it was inscribed with a quote from Antony and Cleopatra.’
‘Which quote?’ asked Kitt, and then shook her head. Her bookish instincts were always looking for an opportunity to surface, but that was hardly the most pressing detail right now.
‘“Eternity was in our lips and eyes.” He used it as a way of opening up the conversation about our engagement. It seems a bit cheesy in retrospect, but at the time it felt really romantic. Cute. Even a bit whimsical. I was touched that he’d put the thought into creating a gift that meant something just to us two,’ Ms Gray said. ‘You see, Antony and Cleopatra was the play he first saw me in. The first time he noticed me. We started dating soon after.’
A tragedy: how appropriate, given how things turned out. Kitt wanted to pass comment on the symmetry, but decided that would be insensitive. Besides, she needed to bring the focus back to Zoe’s break-up with Adam.
‘So he gave you this gift, the chocolate heart,’ said Kitt.
‘Yes, then two days after that he turned up on my doorstep and broke up with me. Who does a thing like that?’
Kitt offered a flimsy smile. She could think of one other person who had done something like that, and he had suffered the same fate as Adam. She had been right about heartbreak being something of a theme here. ‘So, what did you do when he broke up with you?’
Zoe looked down at her feet. ‘Moped for a while. But then I got angry, really angry. So I sent him a return gift. Another chocolate heart.’
‘I would say that’s at the tame end of the revenge
spectrum,’ said Kitt, her nose crinkling.
‘Well, the chocolate, it was . . .’
‘What?’
‘Designed for dogs.’
‘Dogs?’
‘Yeah, well, he’d behaved like one. Worse than a dog actually. Dogs are loyal. I saw the chocolate heart in a pet shop window – you know, one of those pet pampering shops for pets that live better lives than their owners?’
‘I know the sort,’ Kitt said with a small smile.
‘I bought it, iced it with a message, and posted it to Adam.’
‘What message?’ asked Kitt, fearing she already knew the answer.
Zoe exhaled a long, slow breath. ‘“Eat your heart out.” I was trying to bait him into eating the chocolate.’
‘The same words that were on the note at the crime scene,’ said Kitt.
‘I don’t understand it,’ Zoe said, shaking her head.
Kitt put her hands on Zoe’s arms. An over-familiar move, but Zoe had to understand how important her honesty was right now.
‘Who else did you tell about this?’
‘There are a lot of people who know we were talking about an engagement and then split up soon after. But when it comes to the most intimate details, it’s a short list. I was mortified.’ Zoe broke away from Kitt’s hold and crossed her arms. ‘When something like that happens to you it’s not the kind of thing you go spreading around.’
Unless you’re Evie, Kitt thought. She waited all of ten minutes before posting to her timeline about Owen’s message. Why she would want anyone to know about that kind of life event was beyond Kitt, but people posted all kinds of things to Facebook. Misguided political manifestos. Videos of their shenanigans after one too many beers. The images from their ultrasound scans. Kitt loved her friends, but didn’t need to see pictures of their wombs. That wasn’t her preferred way of knowing them inside and out.
