Die of Shame

by Mark Billingham

  She imagined what her mother would have said: That woman’s had no uphill…

  Tanner sat back and opened her notebook. Knowing why Knight was here, what her connection to the victim was, she guessed that, at some point, there had been plenty.

  ‘Thanks again for coming in,’ Chall said.

  ‘Not a problem.’ The voice was not overtly posh, but there was no discernible accent either. ‘I got here early as it happens. Did a bit of shopping.’

  Tanner nodded down at the two smart-looking shopping bags next to the woman’s chair. ‘Anything nice?’

  ‘Oh, you know.’ That slightly nervous smile again. ‘Actually, I would have been happy to have come in first thing, but I was working, so this was the soonest I could do it, I’m afraid.’

  Tanner did not remember anything about a job on the printout. ‘What kind of work?’

  ‘Just a local charity shop. A couple of mornings a week.’

  ‘Good of you,’ Chall said.

  ‘Not really. There’s precious little else to do. Plus, I get first crack at the bargains.’

  Tanner said, ‘A perk’s a perk,’ though she could not imagine that Knight did a great deal of shopping at Scope or the British Heart Foundation. She leaned forward a little. ‘Now, you know we’re investigating the sudden death of Heather Finlay.’

  ‘Sudden death?’

  ‘Murder,’ Chall said. ‘Police speak.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ She tugged gently at her necklace. ‘So, how’s it going?’

  ‘I’ll be honest with you,’ Tanner said. ‘Right now, we need all the help we can get.’

  ‘Oh.’ It was said as though she had been expecting more; better. ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘I’ll try, but the truth is I barely knew her. Only as one of the group, really.’

  ‘What did you make of her?’

  The woman thought for a few seconds. ‘Well… she was a very… positive person, most of the time. Probably the most upbeat of any of us, when I think about it. There aren’t too many glass-half-full types in these sorts of groups.’

  ‘Most of the time, you said.’

  ‘Yes, well, there were times she was down, too, but that’s perfectly normal, isn’t it? Recovery was very hard for her, I think.’

  ‘She suffered from depression, is that right?’

  ‘I’d rather not… it’s tricky because…’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Tanner said. ‘I know there’s an issue with discussing what was talked about during your meetings, but the medication was found during the post-mortem.’

  ‘So you already know.’

  Tanner nodded.

  ‘Why did you ask me, then?’

  Tanner was aware of Chall, smiling next to her. ‘Without going into details, unless you’d like to, how did Heather get on with the other members of the group?’

  There was more thinking. ‘She got on very well with everyone most of the time. She was closest to Chris, probably. I think they’d had similar issues with their addictions and they were a bit closer in age. She bonded very early on with Caroline… she was friendly enough with Robin. And I don’t remember her and me ever exchanging a cross word.’

  ‘What about Tony?’

  She looked at Tanner.

  ‘How did she get on with him?’

  ‘Well… look, she probably had a bit of a crush on him at some point. I mean so did I, when I first started going. So did Chris, for all I know. If they don’t look like the back of a bus it’s hard not to find yourself drawn to someone who’s helping you so much.’

  ‘I get it all the time,’ Chall said. ‘Nightmare.’

  The woman smiled and looked down at the table, her fingers pulling at the necklace again.

  Tanner wrote something down, then sat back. She said, ‘Heather died just a few hours after the last session she attended with you all. You should know that, so you’ll understand why I’m going to ask you about it.’

  ‘Yes, but —’

  Tanner held up a hand. ‘Like I said, I’m not expecting details. Having spoken to Chris and Robin, I fully appreciate how important confidentiality is to you all. But it’s my job to find out who killed Heather and there’s a chance that whatever went on in that meeting had some bearing on what happened to her.’

  Knight shook her head and laughed. ‘No, that’s ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.’

  ‘People get murdered for the most ridiculous reasons,’ Tanner said. She let it hang for a few moments. She looked down at her notebook, then back to Knight. ‘As I said, I’m not expecting chapter and verse.’

  The woman was fidgety while she considered her response. She fingered her necklace, straightened the shopping bags at her feet. ‘There was some… shouting, I think, that evening. A few arguments.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘There are always arguments and sometimes people lose their tempers. We talk about a lot of serious things.’

  ‘Who was doing the shouting that night?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Heather? You?’

  ‘I can’t…’

  ‘Was anyone particularly angry with Heather about something?’

  ‘You don’t have to tell us what it was,’ Chall said.

  ‘I can’t.’ She looked at Tanner, then Chall, and the nervousness was suddenly replaced by determination. ‘The group is hugely important to me, you need to understand that. To all of us. Hopefully we’ll be starting up again soon and I simply can’t risk being excluded from it. That’s what would happen if I let outsiders into our confidences.’

  ‘We’re hardly outsiders,’ Tanner said. ‘It’s not like you’d be blabbing to someone at a bus stop, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know how I’d get through the week if I didn’t have the sessions to hold on to.’

  ‘Right, and I’m guessing Heather Finlay felt very much the same.’

  The woman looked pained suddenly and it took a few seconds before she began to shake her head again. ‘It’s too much to ask, I’m sorry.’

  Tanner nodded as though resigned, but she was every bit as determined as Diana Knight. She began to fire questions across the table a little faster. ‘You all went to the pub afterwards, right? Same as usual.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And all of you were there for a while?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you all leave together?’

  ‘No. I think… Chris left first. Yes, that’s right, then Heather. The rest of us stayed another half an hour or so.’

  ‘And you went home?’

  She nodded. ‘The dogs would have been on their own for a good few hours by then. I needed to let them out.’

  ‘Anyone at home with you?’

  ‘I live alone,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’ Tanner tried to look pleased, as though they were making excellent progress and what she was about to ask was of no great importance; trivial, almost. ‘Can you tell us what you talked about when you were all in the pub?’

  ‘It’s the same thing.’

  ‘I mean, did the arguments carry on?’

  ‘I thought I’d explained —’

  ‘It’s the pub.’ Chall’s voice was raised. He looked at Tanner and puffed out his cheeks in exasperation. Tanner looked at her notebook, tapping her pen against a page that had no more than a few words scribbled on it.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Knight spoke slowly, a hint of condescension creeping in. ‘Whether it’s in Tony’s conservatory or round a table in the Red Lion, what’s said among the group can’t go any further. It’s the cardinal rule. People in the group need to feel safe.’

  At least she had the decency to look momentarily embarrassed, so Tanner did not feel the need to point out the horrible irony in what she had just said. ‘What if I told you that by not telling us, you’re actively hindering the investigation into Heather Finlay’s murder?’

  ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

  Tanner waited.<
br />
  ‘Well, I’ve said already that I think it’s ridiculous to suggest there’s any connection with Tony’s group.’

  ‘But if there was?’

  ‘If you could show me a single piece of evidence to suggest that telling you these things would genuinely help catch Heather’s killer, I’d tell you everything you wanted to know in a heartbeat. Of course I would. I’m absolutely certain that Tony would tell you himself.’

  ‘But what I’m asking you to tell us could be the evidence. I’m really sorry if I haven’t made that clear.’ Tanner was not the least bit sorry and was feeling a powerful urge to lean across and grab hold of the woman by her fancy necklace.

  ‘And I’m sorry, too,’ Knight said. ‘But, there it is.’

  ‘Catch 22,’ Chall said.

  Tanner nodded, nowhere else to go, but she struggled to keep the irritation from her face. She had heard much the same things from Robin Joffe and Christopher Clemence. There was every chance she would hear them again. It was starting to wear very thin. ‘Well, I’d like to say you’ve been a great help, but…’

  The woman reached down for her shopping bags.

  ‘It’s frustrating,’ Chall said. ‘That’s all. The lot of you are spouting all this secrecy and solidarity stuff, refusing to tell us anything, and at the same time you’re all claiming to be her friends.’

  Diana Knight looked rather shocked. ‘I told you when we started,’ she said. ‘I barely knew her.’

  Walking back up the stairs towards the incident room, Tanner said, ‘Right, one more to go then.’ She looked down at the information provided by Diana Knight before she’d left. A first name and a north London branch of a low-cost supermarket. It was scant, but it would be enough. ‘I’m not putting up with that confidentiality stuff any more, either. We’ll need to go at things a different way next time.’

  Chall took the scrap of paper. ‘I’ll find her.’

  ‘Go and check out this pub as well. If they were all in there every Monday night, someone might remember them. Might at least remember if there was anything interesting going on the night Heather was killed.’

  ‘It’s as good an idea as any,’ Chall said.

  ‘I might go and talk to Heather’s father, see if there’s anything in her past that might help.’

  They walked up another flight. ‘So, what d’you reckon then?’ Chall asked. ‘Mrs Knight’s tipple.’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Booze? Coke? Uppers? She didn’t look much like an ex-smackhead.’

  ‘What does an ex-smackhead look like, Dipak?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Might have been sex, of course. She’s a bit of a MILF…’

  Tanner tried to look cross, but the attempt was unconvincing. ‘I’m not sure that what any of them were into once upon a time is very important,’ she said. ‘I’m starting to think the addiction isn’t the issue, but the group is.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Has to be.’

  ‘Has to be, meaning you’re sure it is? Or meaning if it isn’t we’ve got bugger all else?’

  ‘Both,’ Tanner said.

  … NOW

  Diana had suggested the restaurant without thinking and regretted it almost immediately. A family run Italian place, at the north end of Upper Street in Islington, it was somewhere she had visited many times with her ex-husband and she had not been there since he left. She had driven past it several times, only to find herself wondering if he ever ate there with the new woman, if she was now welcomed as warmly as Diana had once been. She had consoled herself with vodka or red wine and the thought that her replacement probably favoured somewhere with a more relaxed atmosphere and a younger clientele.

  Somewhere she could get a Happy Meal.

  She walked in rather nervously, hoping that she would not be greeted by anyone who might remember her. Who might cheerfully ask where her other half was. To her relief, Robin immediately stood up and waved from a booth in the far corner, allowing her to walk quickly across to the table before encountering any staff she recognised.

  ‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ she said.

  Robin drew her into a somewhat stiff embrace, then sat down quickly. ‘Only just got here myself.’

  ‘Couldn’t find a single yellow.’

  ‘I was lucky,’ Robin said. He nodded at her. ‘You look nice.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Diana tried to sound ever so slightly surprised, like someone who had not spent two hours getting ready; swapping dresses and accessories, digging out bags from their velvet wrappings and shoes that had never been worn. Though this was most certainly not a romantic dinner, she had nevertheless relished the effort involved, the rituals of preparation. It had been far too long since she had needed to dress up for anything. Longer still since she’d been complimented for doing so. ‘It’s lovely to be out.’

  ‘Long overdue,’ Robin said.

  ‘You’ve scrubbed up rather nicely yourself.’ He was wearing a light grey suit and red spotted tie and, for a moment, she was pleased to think that he had made an effort too. Then she remembered that he had come straight from work. On closer inspection, the suit was one he had worn several times on a Monday night, sitting in the conservatory at Tony’s.

  Robin poured sparkling water and for a few minutes they exchanged chit-chat about the difficulties of parking in Islington, of parking almost anywhere, though both agreed that being no more than half an hour’s drive from Barnet or the Royal Free, this was a handy enough location for both of them.

  ‘Looks a nice place,’ he said. ‘Is this somewhere you’ve been before?’

  ‘No.’ Diana looked down at her menu. ‘I heard good things about it, that’s all.’

  The restaurant was busy, with all but one table occupied: several other couples, a group of middle-aged men near the bar, one large family at a long table in the window. The volume of conversation from fellow diners was politely muted, though; no higher than that of the cod Italian music leaking from a speaker on the corner of the bar. A waiter, who seemed worryingly familiar but barely looked at them, took their order, and after he had deposited bread and olives Robin said, ‘So, how are you doing?’

  Diana let out a long sigh and shook her head.

  ‘You don’t have to…’

  She most definitely did have to. ‘No, it’s fine.’ Painful as it was, she was delighted to have been asked, desperate to share her agonies and to revel just a little in them. The few one-sided phone conversations with friends had proved oddly unsatisfactory and, at home, she had found herself ranting at the dogs. ‘Well, I say fine. Bad to worse, actually.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘They’re getting married.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Bloody hell is right. Unbelievable…’

  Robin picked up an olive, watched the oil drip from it. ‘Is this because of the baby?’

  ‘Oh yes. Whatever else my ex is, he’s stupidly honourable like that. So, the little bitch has got exactly what she wanted, hasn’t she? Got herself pregnant and now she’ll get everything else.’

  ‘What does Phoebe think?’

  Diana laughed. A low, harsh bark. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. One minute she’s screaming at me about this baby, like it’s my fault that she’s going to be replaced in Daddy’s affections, and the next thing I know she’s shopping for a bridesmaid’s dress. Obviously I didn’t hear that from her.’

  ‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’

  The strange glee Diana had felt in venting her rage was gone in an instant as the punch of pain took the breath from her. She tore at the bread and squeezed it. ‘Not since she rang to tell me about the baby. To tell me I’d ruined her life.’ She shook her head and her smile was like a widening crack.

  ‘You’re all right, though?’ Robin’s question was coded, of course. The same simple code that Tony used at the beginning of every session. You’re not reaching for the Smirnoff?

  ‘Yes, I’m all right,’ Diana said. She bi
t into the compacted chunk of bread. ‘Sorry for ranting on.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘I feel terrible, moaning on about the problems I’m having with my daughter. When… you know. Your son.’

  Robin cleared his throat and looked to see if the waiter was anywhere close by.

  ‘I can’t imagine.’ Diana waited, wondering if this might be the moment for Robin to finally reveal what had happened to his son. The incident that had triggered his own descent. She watched him raise a hand to gain the waiter’s attention. ‘It must be with you every day.’

  When Robin turned back to her, he nodded slowly and loosened his tie. He said, ‘I can’t stop thinking about what Heather’s poor father must be going through.’

  ‘Tall skinny latte for Gunther.’

  Chris had forgotten the name he’d given and it took him a few moments before he realised the coffee was for him and sauntered up to collect it. Lying when some spotty girl serving at Starbucks asked for your name was no big deal in anybody’s book, but he couldn’t resist it.

  He’d lied about far more important things.

  If he were being honest, he’d lied a lot before he’d ever taken drugs, and as part and parcel of the lifestyle that went with scoring and using on a daily basis he’d taken to it like a duck to water. Sometimes he thought it was what he was cut out to do, because even though everyone around him had been bullshitting about one thing or another all the time, he was far and away the best at it. The most creative, at any rate.

  He carried his coffee back to the table in the window. From here, he could keep an eye on the entrance to the arcade, watch for the kid arriving.

  He took out his phone, logged into the Wi-Fi and scrolled through his Twitter feed. He struggled to take anything in, one eye on the arcade and busy thinking about the last time he’d been sitting where he was now. The two coppers, opposite.

  Are you clean at the moment?

  At the moment. That was what was important, right? A few weeks before, right before the wheels came off, he’d been as messed up as he had been since he’d started recovery, but now he was back on the right track, so sod that dykey detective and her smartarse sidekick. Still struggling, still trying to get settled, but moving forward, at least.