by John Harvey
'And you liked that?' Elder said.
Kennet grinned. 'S'pose I did. What bloke wouldn't? End of the evening I got both their numbers, but it was Maddy I called. She seemed surprised, I remember that. Thought I'd made a mistake, got the numbers mixed up.'
'And you went out with her for how long?'
'Few months. Three. Couldn't've been more.' He clicked his lighter again with no response. 'Haven't got a light, have you?'
"Fraid not.'
Kennet crossed the pavement to the car parked at the kerb, unlocked it and reached inside the dash for a box of matches.
'You didn't get on as well as you'd thought,' Elder said.
Kennet dropped the spent match towards the gutter and drew deep on his cigarette. 'No, it wasn't that. We got on fine. Least I thought we did. It was just — oh, I don't know, what would you call it? — circumstances, I suppose. And, to be honest, I think she lost interest. We were supposed to meet a few times and she called up, more or less last-minute, and cancelled. Got so every time the phone rang I knew that's what it was going to be.'
He looked at Elder and then off down the street.
'So you broke it off?' Elder said.
'Yes.'
'You did?'
'Yes.' More emphatically this time.
'Not Maddy?'
'No. Look —'
'It's okay. I'm just trying to get a clear picture of what happened.'
'Why?'
'What do you mean?'
'Why is it so important? Why d'you need to know? I've been through all this before, you know.'
'I know. It's just right now I don't know what's important and what's not.'
'And you think this might be?'
'It's possible, like I say.'
Kennet shook his head in disbelief. 'Glenn Close, right?'
'I'm sorry?'
'Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. Can't stand being dumped. Attacks Michael Douglas with a knife. You think that's me.'
'Michael Douglas?'
'Glenn Close.'
'Is it?'
'Did I go after Maddy with a knife?'
'Did you?'
'No, I did not.'
'Of course not.'
Kennet's roll-up had gone out and he lit it again at the second attempt.
'Do you know if Maddy was seeing anyone else?' Elder asked.
'While she was seeing me, you mean?'
'Then or later.'
'Then I don't think so, later I wouldn't know.'
'You didn't keep in touch?'
Kennet shook his head. 'Clean break. Besides, once I'd said, you know, I thought we should stop seeing one another, she agreed it was for the best. I certainly didn't want to mess her around.'
He got to his feet and glanced towards the roof.
'I really should be getting back to work.'
Elder held out a hand. 'Thanks for your time.'
Kennet's grasp was firm. 'Catch him, right?'
'Right.'
'And hey!'
'Yes?'
'Happy New Year.'
Elder watched as Kennet climbed back up the scaffolding without putting a foot wrong, without missing a beat.
20
The first Friday of the new year, a grey cold day, the sky the colour of ageing slate, ice slick on the surface of untreated roads. Maddy Birch's funeral: Hendon Crematorium, eleven thirty sharp. The flower-beds a picture of turned earth and once-green leaves blackened by frost, spindly rose bushes cut back almost to the root. Maddy's mother sat hunched in the long black car as it followed the coffin around the slow curves of Nether Street and Dollis Road, her sister, whom she'd scarcely seen in twenty years, sitting pinch-faced by her side. Crowded in the car behind, disparate uncles and cousins sat with their hands clenched in their laps. Those who'd thought her mother would want the funeral near the family home in Lincolnshire had been swiftly disabused. 'She'd turned her back on all that,' Mrs Birch had said, 'on us, a long time since.' Blame, at that moment, easier than regret.
Elder had arrived early and stood a little to one side. As befitted the last rites of a fellow officer killed on duty, the police presence was sombre, manifest. Near the entrance, a surveillance team, unobtrusively as possible, videoed the assembled company, in case the hoary myth that murderers were drawn to the last rites of their victims bore any truth. Lawns, sparse and dry, stretched away towards a high boundary hedge and the municipal golf course beyond.
Alighting from the car, Mrs Birch lost her footing and only the outstretched hand of Detective Superintendent Mallory, ever alert, preventing her falling to the ground.
Inside the chapel a CD of uplifting music played, courtesy of Classic FM. Karen Shields, wearing a black trouser suit, hair pulled sternly back, slid, long-legged, into a pew across the aisle from Elder and began leafing through the small hymn book resting behind the seat in front.
The coffin stood in full view: solid, real.
The minister cleared his throat.
Elder was remembering standing at the foot of the cobbled street leading down from Lincoln Cathedral, watching Maddy as she walked away. 'Goodnight, Frank. Take care.' Waiting for her to turn and smile. She never did.
The hymn was mumbled tunelessly, voices falling silent till only the echo of the pre-recorded organ wheezed out the last few lines.
'Let us pray.'
Clad in a black corduroy coat, black skirt, black boots, Vanessa Taylor began to cry and, turning, Karen pushed a tissue into her hand.
Given the occasion, the assistant commissioner was in full dress uniform. He spoke of Maddy as a model officer, a dedicated servant of the public, a brave young woman whose life had cruelly been snuffed out. George Mallory, a pale carnation somewhat incongruous in the buttonhole of his grey wool suit, testified to the honour it had been to have such a resourceful officer as Maddy under his command, if only for so sadly short a time. Referring back to the operation to arrest James Grant, he recalled with pride the moments of extreme danger when she had stood, unflinching, at his side.
Maddy's mother sat, bent forward, at the front, head down.
Vanessa Taylor continued to cry.
The congregation stood reluctantly and laboured through another hymn.
With a slight jerk, the mechanism that would carry the coffin forward clanked to life.
As the coffin passed through the heavy curtains and disappeared from sight, Elder felt Maddy's breath pass, cold, across his face.
* * *
Desperate for a cigarette, Karen Shields stepped between the wreaths and floral tributes which had been spread out on display at the rear of the building. Feeling for the roll of mints at the bottom of her bag, she pulled out with it an old shopping list and two ragged tissues. New Year's Eve just gone. Drink don't drive. She had spent the evening with three old school friends, a tradition stretching back more years than any of them liked to remember. Two of them were married now with growing kids; one, finally out, was living with her female partner in leafy Letchworth Garden City and enjoying the frisson they caused whenever they elected to walk the length of the main street, hand in hand. Karen had got used to turning up and leaving alone.
Seeing Elder standing alone, she walked across to join him.
'I used to think I preferred this to burial,' Karen said. 'Now I'm not so sure.'
'When it comes down to it, I doubt there's much to choose.'
'Soulless though, isn't it?'
Elder didn't see how it could be anything else.
'You went to see Kennet,' Karen said, changing tack.
'That's right.'
'What did you think?'
'Seemed straightforward enough.'
'That's pretty much what Mike said. Besides, his alibi seems to hold up. On holiday in Spain with his girlfriend. Didn't get back till the day Maddy's body was found.' Despite her best efforts, the mint had fragmented between her teeth. 'Sherry said something about a watch?'
Elder nodded. 'Maddy's watch. Yes. Seems to be missin
g.'
Over Karen's shoulder he could see Mallory and a shorter, sharp-faced man in earnest conversation.
'Who's that? With Mallory?'
'Maurice Repton, his DCI.'
As if realising they were being watched, both men turned their heads and Mallory, smiling, raised a hand in cheery greeting.
'This Grant business Mallory mentioned,' Elder said. 'No mileage in it for us?'
'I don't think so.'
'Might be worth taking another look, just the same. In the absence of anything else.' Seeing Maddy's mother leaning on her sister's arm as she bent towards one of the wreaths, Elder excused himself and walked over to express his regrets.
* * *
Vanessa stubbed out her cigarette beneath the low heel of her shoe and began to walk towards the main gate.. She hadn't reckoned on the service affecting her so badly, embarrassed almost by the fuss she'd made, the way she'd drawn attention to herself. But all the way through she'd been unable to suppress the images of Maddy that had played out across her mind: Maddy laughing, listening, pretending to be shocked by Vanessa's ribaldry, her good humour laced, towards the end, with traces of fear Vanessa had failed to take seriously. You're not getting weird on me, are you? Freaking out? Hearing the car approaching behind her, Vanessa moved closer to the side.
Instead of driving past, the car slowed to a halt.
'Where you heading?' The grey hair on Mallory's head seemed to have been recently brushed or combed.
'Down to the Tube.'
'It's a long walk. Hop in, we'll give you a lift.'
While Vanessa hesitated, the nearside door swung open and Mallory, welcoming, shifted back along the rear seat leaving room.
'All right, thanks.'
'Excellent. Drive on, driver.' Though the carnation had disappeared from his buttonhole, the detective superintendent was still in an expansive mood. More wedding than funeral.
'PC Taylor, isn't it?'
'Yes.'
'Vanessa.'
'Yes.'
'You and Maddy, bosom pals.'
'We were good friends, yes.' Tears pricked again at the backs of her eyes.
'Go ahead,' Mallory said. 'Let it out. Bit of genuine emotion. No need to be ashamed.'
'No, it's all right…'
'Maurice, let the lady have a handkerchief, there's a good chap.'
One of the last men in the twenty-first century to actually carry a handkerchief, washed and ironed, Repton swivelled round in the front passenger seat and passed it to Vanessa with a manicured hand.
'Thank you.' Vanessa sniffed and dabbed her eyes.
'See those women weeping and wailing on the news,' Mallory was saying. 'Iran, Iraq. Can't help but wonder sometimes if they haven't got the right idea. Better than keeping it all bottled up inside like the rest of us. Eh, Maurice, what d'you think? Vanessa, eh?'
Vanessa said she wasn't sure. Maurice Repton didn't seem to care.
They were marooned at a junction between a woman struggling to get an Isuzu Trooper into first gear and an articulated lorry on its way to the nearest Asda.
'You were close, you and Maddy,' Mallory said, moving a little closer himself.
'Yes, I think so.'
'No secrets, that sort of thing.'
'Pretty much.'
'Friendship between two women, it's a wonderful thing. Nothing held back. Open, honest. Not like me and Maurice here, cheek by jowl the best part of twenty years and what gets his withers in a turmoil is still a mystery. And just as well.'
The engine of the SUV was flooded and, with the woman watching, several men were trying to push it out of the way.
'That awful business, Grant going down, the boy Draper being killed, she'll have talked about that, I shouldn't wonder.'
'A little, yes, not much.'
'Confided, though.'
'It upset her, yes. What happened to Paul Draper, especially.'
'And Grant? Did she say much about that? The shooting.' For a moment, Mallory's hand was on her knee.
'No, not that I remember.'
'If there was anything —'
'Really, there's not.'
'Of course.' As if he'd suddenly lost interest, Mallory shunted across to his own side of the car and a few moments later they were pulling in at the kerb.
'Your stop,' Repton said, without turning round. 'Hendon Central.'
'Camden Town and change,' Mallory said. 'It is Kentish Town you're stationed?'
'Yes.'
'Marvellous thing, London Underground. Where would we be without it, that's what I want to know?'
'Thanks for the lift,' Vanessa said, pushing open the door.
'Any time,' Mallory said, with a generous wave of the hand. 'Any time.'
Watching as the car eased out into the traffic, pedestrians spilling round her, Vanessa held her hands fast down by her sides, her legs weak and her guts churning, without quite knowing why.
21
If there was one thing guaranteed to make Elder feel he was getting old, it was a pub in Camden on a Saturday night. The tables, square and heavy, were crowded and crammed with empty bottles and glasses, awash with beer and the language of the brag. Not a spare seat anywhere. A scrum, three deep, at the bar. A large television screen showing continuous music videos, nobody listening, nobody watching. Tobacco smoke laced with the instantly recognisable scent of cannabis. Voices raised, loud, above a mixture of reggae and some kind of stripped-down sledgehammer rock. Age aside, Elder stood out for not having some part of his body studded or pierced, for not wearing black.
'Over here,' Vanessa said, seizing his arm.
With a fast smile and judicious use of the elbows, she found them a haven of sorts, squashed up against the window which faced out on to the High Street, smoke and condensation blurring the pane.
'Sorry,' she said.
'What for?'
'Bringing you here.'
Elder summoned up a smile. 'I've known worse.' He just couldn't remember when.
'Of course,' she said, 'it might be nothing.' Her words all but lost in an upsurge of sound.
'I'm sorry?'
'I said, it might be nothing.'
'Try me.'
He had to lean forward to catch every word. What Mallory and Repton had been playing at, he wasn't sure, but one thing was certain, they'd got Vanessa truly rattled.
'And you weren't holding anything back from them? Something Maddy might have said?'
'God, no.'
'You said they gave her a pretty tough time at the inquiry.'
'Yes. Said they were likely going to have her back in, but I don't think they ever did.'
Elder had obtained a copy of the Hertfordshire team's report and had still to get around to reading it.
Vanessa's face tilted up towards his, perspiration on her upper lip. 'It did make me think of something Maddy mentioned, about the Grant thing, something I'd more or less forgotten. There was this guy, SO19, Firearms, you know? Coming on to her. Not just the once either. Didn't like no for an answer.'
'You know his name?'
'Don't think she ever said. But ginger, she did say that. Ginger-haired. No wonder she never fancied him.'
'You think he might have persevered? Chanced his arm again?'
'You never know, do you? What some blokes will do.'
A bottle broke near the far end of the bar and Elder slipped down from his seat. 'Let's drink up and get out of here, okay?'
* * *
The street was busy with the slow passage of cars; rain dithered in the air and glossed the headlights. Young men and women trawled the pavement in threes and fours, the occasional couple arm in arm or hand in hand. Oblivious, a girl of no more than sixteen or seventeen sat cross-legged on the ground, tears raking her face. An elderly black man, dreadlocks streaming out from under his beret, pantomimed a sinuous shuffle to a tinny song from a beat box on the ground.
Always the intermittent sound of police sirens, some little distance off.
; 'I'm hungry,' Vanessa said suddenly. 'How about you?'
'I don't think so,' Elder said, realising as he spoke it wasn't true.
They bought falafels from a stall and ate them in pitta bread, leaning up against the wall.
'How's it all going, anyway?' Vanessa said. 'The investigation.'
'Oh, you know.'
'Still stuck?'
'Pretty much. But something will open it, it usually does.'
She smiled. 'I don't think I've exactly been a great help.'
'No. You were right to tell me. Ginger, we'll check him out. Besides, it's a good falafel. Can't get this in Cornwall, you know. Pasties, that's about it.'
'Cream teas.'
'That too.'
A youth wearing an England soccer shirt and little else, despite the cold, lurched against them, apologised, and staggered on his way.
'I'd best be making a move,' Elder said, stepping clear.
'Okay.'
'How d'you get back from here, Tube?'
'Bus.'
They walked together towards the station.
'Take care,' she said at the entrance. 'Good luck.'
'You too.'
The street light shone bright on her face.
When Vanessa sidestepped the usual coterie of druggies and near-drunks on her way to the bus-stop, it's doubtful that she noticed the dark blue saloon illegally parked near the crossroads, the man watching her carefully from behind the wheel.
* * *
Elder slept fitfully, disturbed by dreams in which his daughter, like a dragonfly, sloughed off one skin to reveal another, her face and body becoming those of Maddy Birch, only to be replaced, as easily, by those of someone he didn't recognise, so that, when he woke, his hair was matted to his scalp, the quilt, sticky with sweat, tangled between his legs.
Clambering from the bed, he stood for fully five minutes under the shower, warm water washing over head and shoulders as he soaped himself clean; a final burst of cold, face raised, as if to purge himself before stepping clear.
Coffee, toast, a white shirt more or less uncreased from the hanger, navy blue trousers, the same comfortable, well-worn shoes; yesterday's shirt and boxer shorts he stuffed into the washing machine, along with the quilt cover and pillowcase.
When he dialled Joanne's number, hoping to speak to Katherine, all he got was an automated voice requesting that he leave a message.
