The Lying Room

by Nicci French

  Hitching remained close to Neve, as if he were protecting her.

  ‘Is there a bathroom here?’

  She was about to point it out and then stopped herself. The story was that she had only ever come here to make a delivery.

  ‘There must be,’ she said.

  Hitching pointed to a young woman in uniform standing beside him.

  ‘My colleague is going to accompany you to the bathroom. You’re going to take off your . . .’ He waved his hands vaguely. ‘Outer garments. We have clothes for you to wear.’

  ‘My clothes?’ said Neve. ‘Why?’

  ‘Someone has died,’ said Hitching. ‘You say you were here at the time and that he attacked you. One thing more. Do not wash your hands.’ He looked at the officer. ‘Make sure of that.’

  In the bathroom that she knew so well, the bathroom she had cleaned out, in front of the young police officer, Neve took her clothes off and put on instead brown corduroy trousers and a thin sweater that were slightly too large for her and flat shoes that were slightly too small. She didn’t want to think of where the police had got them.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, everything looked different. The paramedics had gone. They had been replaced by white-suited scene-of-crime investigators. One of them took Neve by each hand and scraped under nails. She also dabbed at the blood on Neve’s hand with cotton wool and placed it in a transparent bag.

  All the time, Hitching was watching her with an almost hungry expression. When the investigator was finished, he approached Neve.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Strange. I’m feeling strange.’

  That at least was the truth. And everything could be true except the central thing, she told herself. She must remember when to lie, that was all. Remember the traps.

  ‘Of course, you are. If you need anything—’

  ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘There’s a room along the corridor. It’s quieter. I thought we could go there, get away from everything.’ He paused. ‘Have a preliminary chat.’

  She nodded.

  ‘A colleague will join us.’

  Hitching called across to a woman who was standing in a group. She turned and walked over to them.

  ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Celia Ryman,’ said Hitching.

  Celia Ryman had short hair and a pale angular face and narrow eyes, like the eyes of a cat. She was dressed in an amber shirt and dark trousers. As they shook hands, Neve felt she was the sort of person she could be friends with. She also felt she needed to be careful with her.

  They went into the room that Neve knew as Saul’s office. She sat on the little sofa. She was shivering through her old body as if she was cold. Hitching pushed the office chair into one corner and Ryman sat on it. Hitching stood, half leaning on the desk that was under a window facing the street. He looked at Ryman.

  ‘Let me bring you up to speed,’ he said. ‘Neve Connolly says she was summoned to the flat by text, that she was attacked. She fought back in self-defence. Will Ziegler fell, hit his head and died almost immediately.’ He turned to Neve. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘As I said, this is just a chat to sort things out.’ He gave his familiar smile. ‘You know this as well as I do by now, but you may want to talk to a lawyer. You may want to make this more formal.’

  ‘I don’t need a lawyer. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’

  He turned his head, looking out of the window. Neve could see that the ambulances were gone but the police cars were still there, blocking the street. He turned back to her.

  ‘Doesn’t all this seem a bit ironic?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘It seems ironic to me.’ He looked at Ryman. ‘Over the last few days, I’ve been saying that all roads lead to Neve Connolly and now here we are back at the murder scene, and here she is, where she’s never been before—’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Neve quickly. ‘I was here once before.’

  ‘Sorry, I forgot. Where she’s been once before. Along with the dead body of a man who didn’t know the murder victim but is an old friend of hers. That seems . . . well, maybe ironic isn’t the right word. Peculiar might be a better word.’

  Neve didn’t speak.

  ‘So to begin at the beginning: why were you here?’ Hitching asked.

  ‘I got a text. I showed it to you. It said, “Come to Saul’s flat”.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘It didn’t say.’ Her voice wobbled. But it was all right to seem distressed and scared, she told herself. A man had just died in front of her.

  ‘And you just came here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call the police?’

  ‘I assumed it was from Bernice.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She owns it now. She has the key. I just assumed.’ She rubbed the side of her face, which felt a bit rubbery. ‘I don’t know why,’ she said. ‘I just – just didn’t think.’

  ‘Where were you when you received the text?’

  ‘On my bike.’

  ‘Where?’

  Neve’s mind raced. She was trying to remember where her dash from the flat had taken her.

  ‘Holborn. Towards Farringdon,’ she said.

  ‘So you got the text and biked to the flat.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘It was a blur,’ said Neve. ‘He opened the door—’

  ‘Hang on, you had to get in the main entrance first.’

  ‘Yes. I pressed the buzzer and the door opened for me.’

  ‘No words?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I knocked on the door and he opened it and then shut it behind me. It was Will. I knew it was all wrong. He was holding a hammer in his hand and he was wearing gloves. I tried to get the door open again but he dragged me, he hit me.’ She touched the side of her face delicately.

  ‘Another bruise,’ said Hitching with what was almost a sneer.

  ‘And he shouted at me, horrible stuff, then he—’ Neve stopped.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He lifted the hammer. I thought I was going to die.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I picked up this stone thing that was on the windowsill and I swung it at him. He made a lunge, a kind of running lurch. Then he tripped and fell.’

  ‘That was when you didn’t call the ambulance?’

  ‘I just saw his open eyes staring up. There was blood everywhere. I pumped on his chest, but he was obviously dead. I called you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You said he shouted at you. What did he say?’

  ‘He was shouting about Renata. He said he had punished Saul because of Renata.’

  Hitching looked at Ryman and then back at Neve.

  ‘Hang on. You’re saying that Saul Stevenson was killed by your friend, William Ziegler?’

  ‘He wasn’t really my friend.’

  ‘For someone who wasn’t your friend, he seems to have spent a lot of time in your house.’

  ‘I can’t always choose who’s in my house.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hitching. ‘I know the feeling. So you’re saying that all this was done because he was fixated on your friend, Renata.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying. It’s what he was saying.’

  ‘Is there anyone else who can corroborate this?’

  ‘Will’s ex-wife. She told me.’

  ‘Did she now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This morning; that’s where I was biking back from. I went to see her. She was in hospital. She’s just had a baby.’

  Hot tears suddenly filled Neve’s eyes and coursed down her face. She was thinking of that helpless little creature with her pink face and tiny fingers; she was thinking of Mabel and Rory and Connor when they were little.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Take your time.�
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  ‘She told me about Will. What he was like.’

  ‘There’s something that puzzles me. He’s fixated on Renata, so he kills Saul. All right, they had an affair. That makes a bizarre kind of sense. But why attack you? What are you doing in this story of yours?’

  ‘I’d found out about him, or half found out.’

  ‘Been playing the detective, have you?’

  ‘It was when I saw the wrong address in my file.’

  Hitching leaned forward. ‘Explain.’

  ‘I remembered the first time he came to the house, he and Jackie—’

  ‘Jackie?’

  ‘Another friend from university. They went to the wrong address. They described the man who opened the door. So when I saw the wrong address, I remembered that, and I went to Number Seventy-Five, the address in the folder. And the same man answered. That meant Will must have looked in my file. Do you see?’

  Hitching nodded.

  ‘Then,’ continued Neve, ‘he very clearly said that he had only just arrived in London. But Karen said he’d been here for weeks. I found out about his obsession with Renata.’

  ‘Did he know you’d found out?’

  ‘He must have done.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ It was all right not to know, Neve told herself. ‘My manner, maybe.’

  ‘But you only saw his ex-wife this morning, am I right?’

  ‘I found out about the house number before. And maybe Karen contacted him. I don’t know.’

  He frowned at her and waited but Neve said nothing.

  ‘And you found out all of this as he attacked you?’

  ‘Yes. In a confused way.’

  ‘In a confused way. But the message got across.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It seems like he was shouting quite a lot while he tried to kill you. It sounds like he was delivering quite a lot of information.’

  ‘He was angry,’ said Neve. ‘Hysterical.’

  ‘It sounds like you were lucky.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Against a big strong man like that.’

  ‘I did what I could. If he hadn’t tripped—’

  ‘Celia?’ said Hitching, glancing at his colleague. ‘Anything to add?’

  Neve was panting. She felt like she had been running. She glanced across at Celia Ryman who was looking back at her, entirely impassive. She found it unnerving. The account she had given to Hitching felt like a rickety, jerry-built contraption held together with bits of old string and tape. The slightest tug in the right place would pull the whole thing apart and bring it clattering to the ground.

  When Ryman spoke, Neve suddenly realised she hadn’t heard her voice before. It was unexpectedly low, husky.

  ‘Why here?’ she said.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Why would Ziegler want to meet you at the murder scene? What was the point in taking such a risk?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Neve. It didn’t feel enough. She had to think of something else. ‘Maybe he wanted to get me somewhere isolated.’

  Ryman’s expression was unchanged. Neve had no idea whether she was convinced or unconvinced, whether she might have given herself away.

  ‘You said you talked to Ziegler’s ex-wife. Why did you do that?’

  ‘I became suspicious.’

  ‘If you were suspicious, why didn’t you call the police?’

  ‘I should have done. I see that now. But I didn’t know anything. I was worried and I wanted to find out more before I said anything. When I talked to his ex-wife and found out about him, I was going to call the police. But then I got the text.’

  Ryman gave a smile, a compassionate smile. A part of Neve wanted to rush forward and hug her and get consolation from her. And another part felt wary of her, warier than at any other moment in the previous few days.

  ‘I can barely imagine what you must be going through,’ said Ryman. ‘But can you help me out?’

  ‘I’m trying.’

  ‘Yes, of course, but bear with me. Correct me if I’m wrong, but what you’re suggesting is the following. William Ziegler believes you’re on his trail and decides the only solution is to kill you. He sends you a text. His phone was found on his body and no texts have been sent from it today. So it must have been another phone, which he then disposes of. He decides not only to kill you but to kill you at the scene of his previous murder. And then what?’

  ‘I don’t understand the question,’ Neve said.

  ‘I don’t understand it either,’ said Hitching.

  Ryman gave him a sharp look. ‘I was just saying that it seems like a perverse plan to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Neve, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘Somebody just tried to kill me. I don’t know why he did everything he did. I don’t know how murderers think.’

  ‘Our problem is that so much of it depends on what he said to you. Or what you say he said to you.’

  With an iciness that almost shocked her, Neve decided it was time to seem angry and upset.

  ‘What does it matter?’ she said in a raised voice. ‘This had nothing to do with me until I walked into this flat. I was just trying to help. I know I was foolish; I know I was reckless.’ Her voice became louder; she wasn’t acting any longer. ‘But he tried to kill me, he was going to kill me, and if he hadn’t fallen and hit his head it’d be my body lying on the floor.’

  She stopped herself. She mustn’t say too much. She would say the wrong thing, give herself away.

  ‘I didn’t mean to shout,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. But you can talk to his ex-wife about his obsession with Renata. You can check on his movements, how he lied about where he was. Check everything I’ve said.’

  ‘Oh, we will,’ said Ryman.

  Neve looked from her to Hitching. He had his arms crossed. He seemed thoughtful and dissatisfied. He was shaking his head slowly and when he spoke, Neve wasn’t clear whether he was asking a question or thinking aloud.

  ‘So it was Ziegler who pushed the file through Bernice Stevenson’s door?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘But why your file? Why not Renata’s?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You say he knew you suspected him. But he took the file when he committed the murder. Why would he do that?’

  Neve stared blankly at the two detectives.

  ‘I really don’t know what to say. I wish I did. I don’t know anything else.’

  ‘Your blood on the file,’ said Hitching. ‘You still can’t enlighten us about that?’

  Neve tried to think clearly, to work out if what she was about to say helped or harmed her. ‘I cut myself when Renata had her accident at our house,’ she said slowly. ‘Someone mopped it with kitchen towel, I can’t remember who. But Will was there then. Maybe that’s when it happened.’

  ‘And your photo,’ said Hitching. ‘The one that was found in the file.’

  ‘He could have taken that at the same time.’

  ‘To incriminate you?’

  ‘I can’t think of another reason.’

  ‘Why you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wish I did. I wish I could give you neat answers. You think it’s strange, but what do you think I feel?’ She stared fiercely at Hitching. ‘I was going to be killed. And I’ve just seen a man die.’

  Hitching eased himself off the desk. Saul’s desk. He sighed. ‘Walk us through it,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘While it’s fresh in your mind.’

  Neve tried to stand up but suddenly her legs wouldn’t hold her and she put a hand out to steady herself.

  ‘Careful,’ said Ryman.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Neve. ‘I just . . . I feel a bit odd.’

  She led them out of the study and into the hall. Lights had been set up and in their brilliance everything looked harsh and unfamiliar. She walked Hitching and Ryman through the story, and it felt even more fragile. ‘This is where he hit me,’ she said.
She could barely hear her own voice over the beating of her heart. ‘This is where I fell.’ She pointed. ‘He dragged me to about here.’ And of course, he had. ‘He was shouting things at me.’

  They reached the living space, garish now under the lights, the lake of blood thick and dark. She blinked and for a moment couldn’t remember what she was supposed to say next.

  ‘I scrambled to my feet here I think, though it’s hard to be sure. I can’t remember clearly.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Hitching. ‘We’ll check everything. Every fingerprint, every drop of blood, every fibre. What do you think they’re doing now?’ and he nodded towards the figures in white, who were moving in eerie silence through the scene. ‘If what you say is accurate, it will be confirmed. If it’s not . . .’ He let the silence grow between them and then said: ‘Go on with your story.’

  Neve didn’t like the way he emphasised the last word.

  ‘I grabbed the stone and swung it and heard it hit him. I’m not sure where. On the side of his head or his shoulder. And he kind of half fell and staggered a few steps forward through the living room and he tripped. And his head hit the table there.’ She pointed. ‘And he fell. And his head banged on the floor.’

  ‘Then you called me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I arrived about a quarter of an hour later.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you do while you waited for me?’

  Neve blinked at him. Her mouth was very dry and her stomach felt loose. ‘I went into the hall,’ she said. ‘Away from the body. And I knelt on the floor and I put my head on my knees and I just – I just stayed like that. I don’t know how much time passed. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

  Hitching stared at her. Neve made herself stare back.

  ‘We’ve put you through enough for the time being,’ he said at last.

  ‘Can I go home now?’

  ‘Home?’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘You’re coming with us to the station. We need to get your formal statement.’

  ‘I’ve told you everything that happened.’

  ‘Yes, and now you’ll tell us again, and this time you’ll be recorded and cautioned, and over the next few days and weeks we’ll go over it many more times. A man has died.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Neve.

  ‘You still don’t want a solicitor?’

  ‘I just want to tell you the truth.’