by Sabina Manea
‘Yes, Rosie Venter introduced us. She and Genevieve worked together. I noticed Genevieve straightaway. She was fairly easy on the eye, as I’m sure you’ll agree.’
Lucia thought this last comment a little inappropriate, given that the only times a police officer would have seen Genevieve Taylor would have been in a bath full of water and on the slab. Both circumstances would have put a dampener on noticing someone’s attractiveness.
‘Where were you on the Thursday evening, Mr da Carrara?’ asked Lucia.
Edoardo da Carrara had already been furnished with the date of Genevieve Taylor’s death, so it didn’t take him long to answer. ‘Home, here in Hertford Street. I have a flat just around the corner from the office.’
‘Can anyone confirm your movements?’
‘I left the office at five and got home a few minutes later. My housekeeper was just leaving as I arrived, so she saw me come in. I had a drink, read a book, and later ordered myself a takeaway. I then watched a film and went to bed. It’s just me in the flat, so no, there isn’t anyone I can think of that can confirm my movements.’ Edoardo frowned and leaned back in the chair with a tinge of an uneasy look on his face. ‘What have my whereabouts got to do with Genevieve’s death? You said she drowned in the bath.’
‘Just routine questions, Mr da Carrara, please don’t take them personally. I have to ask everyone who knew the deceased the same things,’ replied Carliss. ‘How was Genevieve in herself? Any worries that you knew about? Anything she said to you?’
‘No. I don’t really know what you mean. She was fine. It must have been an unfortunate accident. She slipped or something, or she fell asleep. She was working long hours, I know that. She was exhausted. Everyone at that firm is, pretty much all the time. They work them like dogs.’
‘Mr da Carrara, it turns out that Genevieve had a severe allergy to water. Did you know about this?’ said Lucia abruptly, in an attempt to elicit some sort of human reaction out of their interlocutor.
The statement had more of an effect that she had expected. Edoardo’s eyes widened considerably. ‘You’re having me on? Allergic to water? Surely that’s not possible!’
‘It turns out that it is. Rare, but nonetheless possible. I take it that it’s news to you then?’
‘I had no idea. She never said anything to me about it. Do you mean, she can’t wash her hands, or shower? That can’t be true. I’ve been to her house a few times, and I’m sure I’ve heard her run the water in the bathroom.’
‘No, it wasn’t that severe. She could have short bursts of exposure to water, so long as she was taking her antihistamines,’ replied Lucia.
‘What was Genevieve’s relationship with the other members of the salon? Were you all good friends?’ asked DCI Carliss.
‘She and Rosie were. Don’t think any of us knew Miles too well; he joined a few days after I did, about three months ago, but he was quite quiet. He has some sort of boring job that escapes me,’ replied Edoardo.
‘Office caretaker,’ clarified Carliss.
‘That’s it. Marie was sweet – a nice girl. She and Genevieve didn’t have much in common though.’
To Lucia it seemed that Edoardo had a bit more to say on the subject of Marie Cassel, but she opted to bite her tongue and let Carliss do the talking.
‘And Darius Major?’ continued the inspector.
Edoardo’s lip curled in a contemptuous snarl. ‘Darius is a handful.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘He was after Genevieve. Hell, you’d have to be dead or blind not to notice her. He went out of his way to pay her attention, not that she particularly welcomed it. She was too polite to tell him to sod off, so he persisted.’
‘Did it ever go any further than unsolicited attention?’ asked Carliss.
‘He wanted to spend more time with her, I know that. She told me he kept asking her out – coffee, dinner, anything to get her in his clutches. She always refused, as far as I know.’
‘Do you think she was scared of him?’ asked Carliss.
‘Perhaps. She might have been a little intimidated. He was so full on, despite being told to back off, though in not so many words.’
‘And Marie? Wasn’t she jealous of Genevieve having caught Darius’s eye?’ asked Carliss.
‘She can’t have been best pleased. Probably why she and Genevieve didn’t really click. I heard Darius and Marie have a row one time, just as I rocked up for the salon. I didn’t know what it was about, but maybe she was jealous of Genevieve, yeah.’
Lucia pondered a while and wondered what it was about Edoardo that she wasn’t quite buying. He was a looker, there was no doubt about it, and if they’d met in different circumstances their interaction would have been along quite different lines. But there was an assuredness to him that went further than confidence. It reeked of smarminess and entitlement. She had no time at all for people like that.
‘OK, Mr da Carrara, I think we’ve got everything we need for now,’ said the inspector with a tinge of weariness in his usually firm interviewing voice. ‘We’ll be in touch if anything else comes up.’
‘Of course. Feel free to make an appointment if you want to speak to me again,’ said Edoardo solicitously, while at the same time looking like he was pleased to see the back of them.
As the detectives walked out of the lift on the ground floor, the DCI’s phone rang angrily in his pocket.
‘DS Trinh.’ His brow furrowed, the way it did when he was hearing important information. ‘OK, good work. Bye for now.’
Carliss turned to Lucia. ‘Well, I think you’ll agree this is interesting. Cam’s just had a phone call from the States. She’d been chasing up Darius Major’s background to see if he’s got a criminal record, just in case. A man like that can’t possibly be squeaky clean, however much Daddy fixes his mess. And guess what. He’s got previous for assault. Punching the crap out of a guy in a bar who he thought was eyeing up his then girlfriend. Only just dodged doing time for it, for the same reason that he didn’t get done for the drugs and whores on base. Daddy came to the rescue. So, our Darius has got form, and a pretty filthy temper.’
‘That is very interesting,’ said Lucia.
So Edoardo hadn’t been making it up, she thought to herself; Darius Major really was a bad egg. But bad enough to let Genevieve Taylor die in the bath? Of that they couldn’t yet be sure.
Chapter 12
‘Lucia, what are you up to after work?’
Coming from Trinh, the question was unexpected. Lucia knew her colleague stayed at the station as late as her tasks required, then made a mad dash for home, where her two small children waited eagerly to be read a story and get tucked into bed. That Trinh would have initiated an after-work jolly seemed very implausible.
‘Not much. What did you have in mind?’
‘I could do with picking your brains about something, and I don’t fancy doing it here,’ Trinh replied mysteriously.
‘Sure. We could get a drink around the corner.’
‘No, not the Nag’s Head, please. I don’t want to bump into anyone from work,’ said Trinh guardedly.
‘OK. Let’s head further afield, in that case,’ replied Lucia. By now her curiosity really had been piqued.
Later that day, once everything had been wrapped up at the station, the two women strolled purposefully out of the building. Lucia breathed in the early evening air, still too cold to be pleasant.
‘So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?’ Lucia asked.
‘Let’s settle down with a drink first,’ replied Trinh.
They walked in silence the rest of the way as they headed towards Kentish Town West. Lucia was conscious that the obvious route would have taken them very close or even past Genevieve Taylor’s house, and so she suggested a small diversion to her colleague. They quickly agreed that they didn’t particularly want to remind themselves of the death scene, not when they had left work behind for the day. The redrawn route took them past neat
rows of little pastel Victorian boxes, some gentrified, some less so, and finally onto the built-up mess of the Prince of Wales Road. The nearest and best drinking hole was the Archer. Despite having been gutted out and reimagined as a trendy gin palace, it had managed to retain a certain dingy charm that it wore well. It helped that it was populated by a healthy mix of hipsters, students and local pissheads, which made for a colourful, if rather loud clientele.
Trinh and Lucia sat down at one end of the bar, perched on stools and away from the general commotion.
‘Come on, spit it out. I can tell there’s something wrong,’ blurted Lucia, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
Trinh sighed and took a thirsty sip out of her pint of locally brewed lager. She wasn’t much of a drinker, so this really must have been serious. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I might be making a big deal out of nothing.’
‘Knowing you, Cam, that’s unlikely to be the case.’
‘Alright. I’m not sure it’ll make sense though.’
‘Try me.’
‘You know I told you my mum’s been acting funny lately? Long calls with her old mate from the nail salon and all that?’
‘Yes, I remember. What of it?’
‘Well, it turns out Trish – you know, the owner of the place – is really worried. The girls she employs are Vietnamese. Not dodgy or illegal like most of these places. She goes to a lot of trouble to keep it legit, helps them with their visas and all that. But lately, Mum said, girls have been going missing.’
‘What do you mean, going missing?’ asked Lucia, intrigued.
‘They would just not turn up to work one day, and from then on, there would be no sign of them anywhere. Phones going to voicemail, not at their known addresses. Trish even went round to check on them herself, but they all live in shared accommodation, where people are constantly coming and going. It doesn’t make sense, does it?’ said Trinh with a preoccupied look on her face.
‘Do any of the other girls know anything about it?’ asked Lucia.
‘No. Either that, or they do and they’re keeping schtum. Why they’d do that is anyone’s guess.’
‘People don’t just disappear, Cam. Maybe they didn’t fancy the job anymore and couldn’t be bothered to give proper notice. These things happen,’ ventured Lucia, though she knew full well she was sounding unconvinced even to herself.
‘Yes, maybe as a one-off, but five girls in a month? That doesn’t sound right to me,’ Trinh replied, crossing her legs and tapping a finger on her knee.
‘You’ve got a point, it doesn’t. But what are you expected to do about it?’
‘Trish is Mum’s best mate, and Mum’s really worried about her. Trish is running herself ragged trying to work out what’s going on. Mum asked me if I could look into it, you know, on the quiet, as a favour for an old friend. Problem is, I’ve got no clue where to start, not that I’ve even got the time, what with this dead woman in the bath business that we’ve got bogged down in.’
‘And you want me to help?’ said Lucia. Trinh’s supplicant expression strongly suggested that was the case.
‘I would really appreciate a hand. I can’t really leave Trish in the lurch, and if there’s anyone who can untangle a mystery, it’s you, Lucia.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, my friend.’ Lucia laughed and raised a finger to the bartender for another round. She never could resist a challenge, and the more on the go she had, the better, as far as she was concerned.
Chapter 13
Evenings at Lygon Place were never quiet, even on weekdays. Nina Chanler loved entertaining any time she fancied it, and her husband Walter was happy to indulge his beloved wife any way she wished.
Tonight, the theme was 1980s chic. Nina loved her dress-up parties and took great pleasure in bossing her guests around until she was sure they would turn up in exquisite outfits, not just some half-baked attempt at a costume. As far as hairstyles went, Nina herself didn’t need to go to too much additional trouble. She already looked the part. Her natural hair was a mass of unruly curls that were decidedly unfashionable in the twenty-first century. She was wearing a low-cut, improbably short red dress and black suspenders. Nina assessed her handiwork in the tall mirror in the hallway, where the artfully dimmed lights glimmered invitingly. The effect was part upmarket cocktail bar, part demi-monde lair: precisely the kind of place the hostess loved to frequent.
Since marrying Walter ‘Charming’ Chanler, a South Carolina tinned fish magnate who lived up to his nickname by being what Nina’s mother termed ‘a thoroughly good egg’, Nina hadn’t lifted a finger other than to throw parties and work her way through the London and European social circuits. Despite this outwardly charmed existence, Lucia knew that her friend was bored. Not bored enough to go back to the corporate grindstone, but certainly bored enough to jump at the prospect of lending a hand with Lucia’s police investigations in whatever shape possible. Luckily for DCI Carliss – or regrettably, as he often liked to joke – Nina brought with her a wealth of generally dubious methods that never failed to yield results. Her mother, Dame Virginia Lexington, DCMG, former ambassador to Oman, was more than happy to assist by tapping into her old Foreign Office connections. Together, Lucia and Nina made a formidable pair. ‘So long as the Super doesn’t catch wind of your shenanigans,’ the inspector repeatedly warned them, ‘or we’ll be on the dole. We can come and be your servants, Nina, but I daresay we’re not particularly well qualified to pour champagne at parties.’
That evening, Lucia and Carliss had both been invited to the festivities. Beyond the pleasure of attending a fancy party, Lucia had a plan, and she hoped that the intended target would be amenable to it. She knew how demanding Nina was about costumes and had consequently gone all out. Her inspiration had been Madonna on a 1986 cover of Tatler – the Herb Ritts photo, with just a hint of a white Grecian dress topped with a matching turban. Lucia was very pleased with the result and, judging by the wide-eyed double-take that DCI Carliss did when she arrived, so was the audience.
‘Where do you find these get-ups?’ he asked incredulously, eyeing up a tray of champagne glasses that was waltzing discreetly towards him.
‘Here and there. I have a leer at the vintage section in Liberty for inspiration and then spend a lot of time looking things up on the internet. Do you like it?’
‘It’s mad as a box of frogs, but it’s very you. So yes, I like it. Very much.’ He glanced over Lucia’s shoulder at Nina, who was holding court in the middle of the drawing room. ‘I think she’s gone a bit over the top this time, don’t you think?’
‘I think she looks great. Nobody else could pull that off better,’ replied Lucia admiringly.
Her old friend had always been a creature of the night. When they had been at Cambridge together, Nina barely existed during daylight hours. She only seemed to come alive as the sun set, and the house in Lygon Place reflected her eccentricity: midnight blue and gold chevron wallpaper in the drawing room, as far as the eye could see, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The guests pirouetted around the theatrical set-up, and the low lights of the chandelier bounced off a sea of garishly colourful outfits competing to outdo one another.
‘I know we’re here for pleasure, but I’m not daft. I can plainly see you’re cooking something up,’ said the inspector as he sipped his champagne.
His suit was a genuine 1980s piece, one that he had in his wardrobe anyway. He wasn’t an avid follower of fashion, nor an inveterate shopper. He looked good, with his piercing blue eyes and handsome features, thought Lucia; a touch of Miami Vice, though he had mercifully drawn the line at rolled-up sleeves.
‘You’ve got me. I do have a plan. As soon as I get my claws into Walter, I can hopefully persuade him to play along.’
‘Poor bloke. What have you got in store for him?’ asked Carliss with a pitying look on his face.
‘You’ll just have to wait and see,’ replied Lucia with an enigmatic wink.
Just as she finished her sentence, Nin
a and Walter strolled towards them, arm in arm. They made a fine-looking couple, she in her outlandish outfit, he in a seemingly sober, double-breasted suit that channelled Pierce Brosnan in Remington Steele and made Walter look every inch the Southern gentleman that he was.
‘Walter. Just the man I was after. I have a proposition for you, and you’re not allowed to turn me down,’ declared Lucia with intentional comic suggestiveness.
Walter knew her too well to take the bait, and so he raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Fire away, Lulu. Coming from you, it can only spell trouble.’
‘I need a helping hand on this new case that David and I are handling at the moment,’ continued Lucia, conscious that the DCI was about to butt in and nip the zany idea in the bud. ‘And no, David, you can’t stop me. If we don’t do this, we’ve got no chance in hell of getting any useful intel on any of these people. Hear me out before shutting this down, OK?’
‘Alright, you’ve got the floor,’ muttered the inspector as he drained his champagne glass. ‘I think I’ll need another to steady myself if you’re going to carry on like this.’
‘So, spill the beans, Lulu. What’s it to be?’ asked Walter.
‘I need you to join a literary salon,’ said Lucia earnestly. ‘No, I’m not making it up,’ she added so as to counteract Walter’s disbelieving reaction. ‘I need a reliable pair of eyes to observe the participants and report back. Someone who isn’t in the police force, and someone I can trust implicitly. Plus, you’re American, so you’ll fit right in. They’re a bunch of slightly oddball expats.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ joked Walter. ‘So, what’s the back story? What am I supposed to be looking out for?’
Lucia could see that Carliss had his beady eye on her, lest she inadvertently, or perhaps intentionally, reveal confidential police information to a civilian, and so she decided to tread carefully.
‘We’ve got a dead body on our hands,’ she continued, ‘and she was a member of the salon. Genevieve Taylor, a lawyer and originally hailing from New Zealand. I want everything you can get on how the rest of them are behaving: how they interact with each other, what they say about her, if anything.’
