by Lodge, Gytha
“Do a good job, Constable. And make sure your chief does, too.” As Hanson nodded, he said, “I mean, the best job you’ve ever done. Zoe deserves it.”
June—seventeen months before
“Will you do my eyes for me, too?” Angeline asked from the bedroom doorway. “If you have time?”
Zoe smiled at her in the mirror, wetting the tiny paintbrush she was using to apply gleaming gold to her lids. “Of course I have time. Give me five minutes.” She leaned forward to paint a tiny flower on the outside of her left eye, and then picked up a freshly glued rhinestone with a pair of tweezers and placed it in the very center of the petals.
She loved the gleam of it all. The way it took attention away from everything else, including the slight crookedness of her teeth, her round face, and what she had always thought an ugly nose. It made people look at her eyes instead. The important part of her.
She glanced at Angeline. “Your dress is gorgeous,” she said.
Angeline beamed at her and stretched the pale-gray velvet to one side. There wasn’t a lot of spare material, even on Angeline’s tiny frame. “It was one of the ones from the Clothes Show last year. Fifteen quid.”
“Oh my God,” Zoe said, adding a gleam of bronze just at the base of her eyelid. “How do you do that? I spent two days there and only came back with overpriced skin products that some horribly beautiful woman intimidated me into buying.”
“I’ll take you this year, if you like,” Angeline said.
“Definitely,” Zoe said, and then she rose. “Right. Your turn.”
Angeline took her place on the padded seat in front of the vanity table, and Zoe opened up one of the drawers. “What would you like? I think maybe silver colors to match the dress.” She cast her eyes over Angeline’s face and figure. “With some blue in, I think?”
“Whatever you think!” Angeline said with a shrug.
Zoe smiled, glad that things between them seemed to be back to normal. Angeline hadn’t wanted to see her for most of the last month. She’d been hurt when Zoe had lectured her on her drinking and putting herself at the mercy of strangers. She’d told her that Zoe wasn’t her bloody mother, and she’d left Zoe’s flat in tears.
Zoe had felt a strange terror that she’d driven Angeline to be stupid again. She imagined her calling Richie, or some other strange man with nasty things on his mind. She’d tried calling her, but Angeline had rejected her calls repeatedly and hadn’t even read her messages.
Zoe had had to rely on Maeve and Victor to watch out for her, and it had been an anxious few weeks. But in the end, Angeline had capitulated and called to ask, in a small voice, if she could come and meet Aidan, too.
Zoe cast her eyes over her friend again, taking in the darkness of the smudges under Angeline’s eyes. She wondered how much sleep she’d had during this past month, and how much she’d drunk. Well, however much it was, Zoe could at least help her cover up some of the effects.
She drew out her full set of metallics, all of which had been ordered from a specialist online store. It generally catered to burlesque dancers and circus performers. Just looking at the shimmering silvers, golds, bold pinks, blues, and greens made Zoe smile.
“These ones,” she said, pulling out a silver, an ice blue, and a blue the color of the evening sky. “We’ll do the eyeliner first, though.”
Her eye pencil and liquid liner were already out. Zoe never did a look without them. The dark liner turned her eyes from ordinary to stunning, and the few times she’d met her friends without applying it, they’d asked her if she was feeling unwell. She had sighed, and then gone home and put some on, not wanting to destroy the illusion that the huge eyes everyone commented on were natural.
Angeline, on the other hand, had enormous eyes as a result of barely eating. Her delicate face was dominated by them, making her look like a china doll, or—as she’d told Aidan—like Bambi, depending on whether she was wearing makeup.
“Look up at me,” Zoe said, and leaned in to add eyeliner.
Angeline closed her eyes and smiled. “It’s so nice having someone put makeup on for you,” she said. “It feels like being looked after. It’s like when my mum used to look for head lice in my hair.”
Zoe gave a slight laugh. “Do you need me to do that, too?”
“Hope not,” Angeline said.
“Are you going to stay here tonight?” she asked as she worked. “You can sleep in my bed if you like.”
“Oh…No, I don’t think so.” Zoe could see the way Angeline’s brow drew into a frown. “I’ll go home.” There was a pause, and she added, “I’d probably better do some laundry and then…work.”
“Sure.” Zoe was unable to fight off the anxiety that arose in her stomach. It wasn’t hard to tell that Angeline was lying. And she had a suspicion that she’d been hiding another liaison that would make Zoe’s skin crawl.
* * *
—
ZOE DIDN’T LIKE the way Maeve was looking at Aidan. It was a cold look, appraising and analytical. She found herself squeezing his hand under the table repeatedly, and ordering drink after drink.
She wasn’t sure how Aidan could seem so unfazed. Zoe felt like she’d done everything wrong. She shouldn’t have had both girls there, so he was left having to compliment Angeline and debate with Maeve all at once. She shouldn’t have booked a popular restaurant, either. It was overrun with people and the staff had the constant air of wishing they’d hurry up and leave.
They needed quiet. They needed the chance for Maeve to talk to Aidan and understand what he was like, and for Angeline to relax and stop flinching. Perhaps even to eat something. And for Zoe to stop feeling like her attention was being torn in multiple directions.
But Aidan just went with it all, seeming not to notice any difficulties. He smoothly mopped up Angeline’s drink when she spilled it, and didn’t seem to mind that some of the red wine had spattered his expensive blue sleeve. He smiled in appreciation as Maeve argued with almost everything he said, treating her as a valued opponent instead of getting angry with her.
To Zoe, he was wonderful. His arm slid round her from time to time, and he drew her gently into the conversation frequently, referring everything to her without pressure. She felt at the center of everything, even through the haze of worry.
Zoe felt immeasurably proud of him. Proud of owning him, in a sense. The thought was tinged with its own worry, because Aidan wasn’t really hers. Not yet. He belonged to Greta still, and the two of them were enjoying a stolen season. There would be divorce paperwork and house sales all too soon.
“Bloody good food,” Aidan said after the main courses had been finished. Angeline, of course, had pushed most of hers onto Maeve’s plate, and then Aidan’s, but she’d managed a few mouthfuls. “Drink, anyone? I’ll go to the bar. Zoe’s not allowed. She’ll only end up ordering Jäger Bombs.”
Zoe looked at him gratefully. Her glass of Rioja had been emptied for the fourth time some time ago, and the longer she’d sat waiting for another refill, the edgier she’d become. She didn’t want to be overthinking the complex dynamics. She wanted a warm glow that made everyone seem like firm friends.
“Another gin and tonic, Maeve?” Aidan asked as he made his way round the table.
“Thank you,” Maeve replied, and actually smiled a little this time. “I tell you what, I’ll come and help you carry them.”
Aidan agreed with a grin, and Zoe felt wrong-footed, as though Maeve had taken her place somehow.
Angeline seemed glad that Aidan had shifted, though. She came to scrunch in next to Zoe, tucking an arm round her waist and leaning her head on Zoe’s shoulder.
“He’s good fun,” she said quietly. “I like him. And you’re happy with him, aren’t you?”
Zoe kissed her on the top of the head, feeling a flood of gratitude toward tiny, porcelain-fragile Angeline.
“Yes, I am,” she said, not even feeling much of a pang when she went on to think about Greta. “I just hope he can sort out the divorce soon.”
“He will,” Angeline answered confidently. “You’re wonderful. He’ll want to spend all of his days with you.”
Zoe laughed, her eyes drifting over to the light-strewn bar. “I think you might be biased, my darling. But I hope so.” And she gave Angeline a squeeze. “You doing OK?”
She felt Angeline nod against her shoulder. It was a sleepy nod, closely followed by a huff of air. It reminded Zoe of her parents’ King Charles spaniel cuddling up to her, and she grinned. A little of the worry was seeping away, though she wished she knew what Maeve was talking to Aidan about. She could see her mouse-brown curls almost touching his dark waves as she leaned over to talk to him. Two lots of hair looking like they might merge.
And then Aidan turned, his eyes searching for her. The moment he saw her, his expression lit up, and she wasn’t so worried about what Maeve had to say. This was right. The two of them were right.
* * *
—
SHE DIDN’T END up talking to Maeve alone until later on, when Aidan had gone out to hail a cab, which he insisted was better than calling one.
Maeve took a large gulp of her gin and then leaned over to rub Zoe’s forearm.
“All right. He’s not a horrible cheating slime bag,” she said, and her mouth twisted into a smile. “He’s a good person who’s found himself in a difficult situation. And you two are gorgeous together.”
Zoe had a sudden strange urge to cry. It was probably two parts relief to two parts alcohol, but it made her feel a surge of huge affection for her infuriating housemate.
It would all be easier now. Maeve liked Aidan. She approved of Aidan. Who gave a shit if she never listened to a word Zoe said?
“I’m so glad you think so, too,” she said, and momentarily knotted her fingers through Maeve’s.
“Ah, steady on,” Maeve said, pulling her hand away with a laugh. And then she leaned over and gave her a proper hug. “Could you just…make sure you tell Victor, too?” she said.
Zoe’s pleasure dimmed a little, and she withdrew from the hug. “Yes, of course I will,” she said, although the idea made her feel a heavy weight of dread.
“Otherwise, he’s the only one who doesn’t know, isn’t he?” Maeve persisted.
“I know.”
“But it’s all OK,” Maeve added, as if understanding how she felt. “Aidan’s such a charmer, Victor’ll be won round.”
Zoe heard a call from the door and turned to see Aidan triumphantly beckoning her over from where he’d summoned a taxi the old-fashioned way.
“Even if he is a bit of a Luddite,” Maeve added.
Zoe grabbed her coat and bag, and said a hasty goodbye. “See you tomorrow,” she said to Angeline, who was now sitting with her feet tucked up on her chair. In this more optimistic mood, it seemed ridiculous to worry about some stupid guy Angeline had met on Tinder and was probably bored with by now.
She knew the two girls were watching as she went over and kissed Aidan lingeringly on the lips, but she didn’t feel it mattered. He gave her a very young-looking smile, and put his arms around her for just a moment. “Let’s get you home,” he said, and let his hands drift onto her backside.
As he turned and ushered her out, his arm still around her, she felt suddenly like everything was going to be all right now.
“Sir?” Lightman said, tapping on Jonah’s door with a pen.
“Yup.” Jonah drew his gaze away from the middle distance and gave Lightman a nod. “What have you got?”
“Alibis check out for Siku Swardadine and Greta Poole, and for Felix Solomon’s early-evening tea. His friend Esther mentioned that he suffers from some form of PTSD, which I thought was interesting. Apparently he can have bad bouts, and tends to call her in a panic.”
“Hmm. Maybe he’s not quite as together as he seems,” Jonah said. “I wonder if he was in the habit of calling Zoe at the worst moments, too. In Juliette’s initial chat with him, he mentioned calling her, and apparently they chatted quite a bit in general.”
“So he might have become reliant on her,” Lightman said.
“Exactly. I’ll see what her other friends have to say about that when they get here.”
“I looked up Piers Lough, too,” the sergeant went on, “and Felix Solomon has it wrong. There is a Piers Lough in the database, but it’s not that Piers Lough. The convicted pedophile is twenty-one years older. He changed address without notifying the authorities a few months ago, and they’ve listed this address as potentially his. But the Piers who lives next door to Zoe has been there a year and a half and was involved in a local pantomime last Christmas. I’ve checked the pictures, and they look nothing like each other.”
“OK,” Jonah said, and then he laughed. “A groundless smear, then.”
“Yes,” Lightman replied. “Though I wondered about how Felix Solomon found out. I don’t see how many rumors can have come about when the police weren’t sure if he was the right man. They can’t have notified any young families in the area based on that.”
Jonah absorbed this and then said, “Absolutely right. So how the hell did Felix Solomon latch onto it?”
“If I had to guess,” Lightman said evenly, “I’d say he’s the sort of man who googles all of his neighbors. There are articles online mentioning this other Piers Lough. And assuming all he’d seen was his neighbor’s name on letters or something, he could easily have jumped to conclusions.”
Jonah brooded on this for a moment. “The nosy retired neighbor,” he said. “Or, just possibly, someone desperate to send us in the wrong direction.”
“Yeah. That’s another possible explanation,” Lightman replied.
Jonah’s phone buzzed. Hanson, presumably with an update. He nodded to Lightman to let him go as he answered.
“I have news for you, before anything else,” Jonah told her. “The Piers Lough in Zoe’s building is not the sex offender. Wrong age, wrong body type.”
“Oh, right. Thanks,” she said, and he wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
“Did you see Felix?”
“I did. Felix got back and went straight up to Zoe’s flat. When I got up there, he was standing outside the door with the key in his hand. He hadn’t gone into his own flat, so he must have had it with him. Exactly as you thought.”
“What did he have to say for himself?”
“He claimed he wanted to go in there to fully understand that it was all real,” she said.
“But you’re not convinced,” Jonah said.
“No, I’m not. And I’m not positive on this, but I wondered if he was trying to solve the crime himself.”
Jonah gave a half laugh. “I guess he isn’t the first would-be Poirot.”
“No, but I’ve been wondering if there’s a reason for him being particularly interested,” she said hesitantly.
“Interested in Zoe?”
“No, in policing,” she said. “Because I know this sounds odd, but several times when he’s spoken, he’s reminded me quite strongly of you. Are you positive he’s not an ex-copper?”
* * *
—
O’MALLEY ROLLED INTO the office at 1:45, and Lightman raised his eyebrows at him.
“You do realize it’s Saturday? If you’re going to stay on the blackmail case, you also have the privilege of keeping hold of your weekend.”
“This is all true,” O’Malley said, nodding, “but if I kept my nose out of the murder inquiry, I wouldn’t be able to tell you how to do your job. Where’s the fun in that?” He sat himself down and swung his chair around to face Lightman. “So, go on. A rundown.”
Lightman gave him a swift summary of where they were as far as he knew.
&nb
sp; “So we’ve realistically got three friends, one of whom has a key, plus a landlord, as likely suspects,” O’Malley summarized once he was done. “And a father who may or may not be exonerated due to being in London, and a boyfriend who was almost definitely back at home in Alton and on Skype to her.”
“That’s about it,” Lightman agreed. “And the CCTV footage from the back of the building and farther up the road has arrived. So if you feel like scrolling through endless hours of that…”
“Sling it over,” O’Malley replied. “And any photos of the friends and family while you’re at it. I’ve only met two of them.”
* * *
—
JONAH HAD TO laugh at himself. It had taken him a mere minute to find Felix Solomon’s police record. Hanson’s feeling that Felix had reminded her of Jonah was a little uncomfortable, but proved to be absolutely on the money. He had been a DCI, too, but based in Brighton. He’d therefore been part of East Sussex Constabulary rather than Hampshire. He’d almost definitely been on some of the same training courses as Jonah without him ever remembering.
Felix had retired early, at the age of fifty-three. Jonah had, sadly, no immediate access to psych reports, but his friend Esther’s comments about PTSD were right. Felix had quit policing after three months of erratic behavior and therapy, both triggered by a particularly awful incident involving a family.
The fact that he’d been a DCI once made perfect sense of several things, including why he had been so comfortable in the interview room and why he’d had a constant aura of knowing what Jonah was about to do. Other things, it shed less light on. It was still unclear whether Felix had been involved in Zoe’s death.
The attempt to get into her flat could indeed have been a desire to investigate for himself. Jonah found it depressingly easy to imagine himself in Felix’s shoes, retired and out of the loop but determined to find out who had killed his friend. But equally, if Felix had for some reason decided to kill Zoe, he could well have wanted to check up on the crime scene. He might even have wanted to alter something to frame someone else.
