Murder in Kentish Town: an elegant mystery set in Bohemian London

by Sabina Manea

  Lucia had to admit she was impressed at how swiftly Marie Cassel had shed the artistic pretence. Underneath, she was evidently as sharp as a tack. The woman was volatile, that much was true, but she didn’t come across as reckless, according to Lucia’s judgment. In any case, they had got as much as they needed out of her so far, and so there was no point in prolonging the interaction.

  Carliss clearly felt along the same lines. He stood up and gave Marie Cassel a small, amused smile. By now he seemed to have recovered from the double predicament of having to interview a very attractive woman and finding himself bossed around by her. ‘Thank you, Miss Cassel. I’ll be back if I need to speak to you again.’

  Lucia wondered what exactly went on behind those heavily kohled, large hazel eyes that shot out such hatred every time their owner spoke the name of Genevieve Taylor.

  Chapter 16

  Lucia approached the coffee shop with some trepidation. The events of the past few days had served to confuse more than they clarified, and she needed some thinking time on her own away from the station to try to make sense of what was going on.

  The place was decently populated. It was a small independent affair, no more than a single room with a shopfront and a few long tables with benches that invited strangers to huddle together more or less comfortably while sipping on a range of caffeinated delights. Lucia liked it because it didn’t have as many airs and graces as the other, similar establishments at that end of Kentish Town Road. It was just good coffee, promptly delivered, and a few snacks by way of chaser.

  Lucia grabbed her takeaway cup and sat down at the nearest table. Luckily, she didn’t have to share with anyone, since the place wasn’t particularly busy. As she sipped the hot drink, she couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between the two women behind the counter.

  The older woman had been a permanent fixture ever since Lucia started frequenting the place a few months previously, and so it was to be assumed that she ran the roost. She said to the younger one in an unmistakably Kiwi accent, ‘Terrible business. That poor girl they found dead. She used to come here, remember, Jodie?’

  The younger woman tutted sympathetically. ‘Yeah. Awful. Heard it from one of her neighbours. The police were there and everything.’ She leaned over conspiratorially and whispered, ‘Apparently she was found dead in her bath. Her cleaner told a friend of mine. Stone cold. They think she topped herself.’

  Lucia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. If she didn’t butt into their conversation immediately, this was one thread that was in danger of being lost, and any information was better than nothing. She fixed them for a few seconds to get their attention, and they looked back, surprised to see she was so interested in what they had to say.

  Lucia stood up and walked to the counter. ‘Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing what you said. I work for the police, you see. Don’t worry, you haven’t done anything wrong,’ she reassured the two women, who suddenly looked somewhere between sheepish and guilty of having been caught speaking out of turn. ‘I assume you’re talking about Genevieve Taylor. Did you know her at all?’ This she directed at the coffee shop boss.

  The woman shifted from one foot to the other and bit her lower lip, evidently in a state of some discomfort at having been put on the spot. After a few seconds, she recovered and decided to respond. ‘Yes, we knew Genevieve. She was a regular. Here at eight on the dot every day, like clockwork. She liked a flat white. We all do.’

  Lucia took this to refer to the country of origin that Genevieve Taylor and the coffee shop lady shared. She realised that she hadn’t introduced herself and hoped that doing so might alleviate some of the nervousness. ‘I’m Lucia, by the way. I work just up the road, at Kentish Town police station. And you are?’

  ‘Sam,’ said the older woman. ‘I own this place. And this is Jodie.’ She gestured to the younger woman, who was doing her best to disappear into a corner, lest she should be next in line for interrogation.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Sam, and I’m sorry to put you on the spot like this, but it would really help me if you told me a little about Genevieve. She didn’t seem to have many friends, and so we’re trying to speak to as many people as possible that knew her, no matter how little.’

  ‘Genevieve was really sound,’ Sam said. ‘Law, that’s what she said she did for a living. She didn’t talk much about work, but she always had a good word to say about everything. She was from Hamilton, you see, and as it happens, so am I. Been in London twenty odd years now, even though it doesn’t sound like it.’ She smiled with a tinge of nostalgia. ‘It was nice to have someone to chat about home. I do miss it sometimes, you know.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw her, Sam?’ asked Lucia.

  Sam racked her brains for a moment or two. ‘Must have been on a Thursday. I know that because that’s when our new coffee machine got delivered. I can check the calendar and tell you the exact date.’ She scrolled through her phone. ‘Here, 18th of March. She came in for her morning coffee as usual.’

  ‘And what mood was she in? Normal, would you say?’ asked Lucia.

  ‘Now you mention it, she was a bit out of sorts. Not in a big way, you know. She wasn’t one for showing her emotions. But I could see there was something playing on her mind. She wasn’t her usual cheery self. She also looked very tired – darkened eyes and all that – like she hadn’t been sleeping well. I can’t believe she’s gone, you know.’ Sam’s eyes widened. ‘I can’t believe she killed herself, why would she? But isn’t that what dying in the bath means?’

  ‘I can’t really discuss an ongoing investigation,’ replied Lucia tactfully. ‘But you’ve been a great help, Sam. Thank you for being so honest.’

  Chapter 17

  The entire Unusual Deaths Team, small as it was, had been looking forward to a bit of a knees-up down the pub. The Nag’s Head was just around the corner from Kentish Town station and was their local of choice. To make up the numbers, DCI Carliss had decided to invite a couple of the PCs. DS Cam Trinh was secretly grateful for this intervention, as it kept DC George Harding out of her hair. She wasn’t particularly offended by his numerous but reliably clumsy romantic overtures, but they did tend to become a little repetitive after he’d sunk a few pints.

  Lucia was the last of the team to leave the station. She had imparted the information gleaned from Sam, the Kiwi coffee shop owner, to Carliss, but he didn’t seem to think it was very relevant. ‘So what?’ he had shrugged. ‘The woman was a bit off. Aren’t we all, after a long day’s work? I don’t see what it’s got to do with anything, frankly. It may even sway the conclusion on the side of suicide if we’re being logical here.’

  The dismissal of the information and the DCI’s willingness to jump to what she regarded as a rash conclusion infuriated Lucia. Genevieve had been upset, or at least preoccupied before her death, that much was clear. It didn’t really fit in with the description the other members of Aurora Borealis had given of an easy-going, albeit private person. Something wasn’t right, and Lucia could feel it in the pit of her stomach. She trusted that her instincts were not often wrong.

  When Lucia arrived at the Nag’s Head, the place was typically busy for a Friday. The group of police officers had taken over the largest table in the establishment and were clearly on the second or third drink already, judging by the general merriment and loud volume of their voices. DC Harding was doing his best to hold court in a corner in the company of a rather attractive new PC that was evidently not seasoned in his game. The other PC, a man in his forties whose name escaped Lucia but whom she knew to be an old hand at the station, looked on the tableau with amusement. Harding’s dubious charms were clearly wasted on him.

  DCI Carliss turned around as soon as Lucia walked through the pub door, as if he’d sensed her movements before she was even there. He often did this, and she found it disconcerting, as if she were permanently under scrutiny. She liked his company more than she wanted to admit to herself, both at the station and ou
tside work, but she couldn’t quite get her head around the way he looked at her. It was flattering how his usually neutral, professional gaze totally transformed when he was in her presence, but at the same time it made her panic a little. What was it that he wanted from her, she often wondered. The flipside was, she didn’t really know what she wanted from him, and even if she fessed up that she wanted them to be more than friends, she had no clue how to go about it.

  ‘Drink? I’m about to get a round,’ said the inspector, his mouth stretching into a cat-like smile and his eyes crinkling at the corners. The alcohol had loosened his demeanour and had the effect of making his intense gaze even more arresting.

  ‘Sure. You know what my tipple is,’ joked Lucia in an attempt not to reveal what she’d been thinking. It was work drinks, and she didn’t want to look at him in any other way than professionally tonight. It kept things easier and cleaner that way.

  ‘Coming right up.’ Carliss winked and headed off to the bar.

  ‘All done for today then?’ asked Trinh as she approached her colleague and friend. ‘Thank goodness Stacey’s here tonight to keep Harding off my back, though I don’t envy her. Oh well, I guess she’ll work it out for herself eventually.’

  ‘Poor girl. I can see she’s being as polite as she can be under the circumstances.’ Lucia glanced over in the direction of DC Harding and the unsuspecting rookie PC, who looked bored out of her skull at whatever uninspiring diatribe he was in the middle of.

  ‘I don’t fancy talking shop, but how did you get on with that background check for Genevieve Taylor? It’s just that I spent so long chasing the Kiwis for it, at least I hope it was useful,’ said Trinh, taking a long swig of her pint of lager and leaning against the wall.

  ‘It was useful, so thanks for persevering,’ replied Lucia. ‘Our Genevieve’s been a busy woman back in her home country, by the looks of things. She worked for a law firm in Hamilton and was a jack of all trades: a bit of corporate and commercial, a bit of litigation. That’s not unusual for a small outfit. They just haven’t got the resources to hire a load of specialists for each area that they cover, and so you’ve got to be adaptable. Financial fraud seems to have been her thing. Defending the indefensible,’ added Lucia with a wry smile. ‘I know that line of work only too well from my old lawyering days.’

  ‘Anything juicy that throws light on the case, do you think?’ asked Trinh.

  ‘Hard to say at this stage. With fraud in particular, it looks like she lost about as much as she won. I compiled a list of all her major cases, and I want us to sit down together and go through each one, identify the parties and check them out, see if they still have an axe to grind with her.’

  ‘You seriously think it’s something from her past in New Zealand that’s led to her ending up dead in a bath in Kentish Town?’ asked Trinh incredulously. ‘That sounds a bit fantastical even for you, Lucia. Surely, it’s all water under the bridge by now? And would anyone really kill just for losing a court case?’

  ‘It depends how high the stakes are, I suppose. If you get convicted of fraud, you could end up doing time. And even if it’s a suspended sentence, that’s a criminal record, and you can wave goodbye to your career and future working life. So yes, maybe someone would want revenge,’ replied Lucia.

  ‘OK, sure, if you think it’s worth a shot, then I’m happy to go with your hunch on this. There’s nothing to lose, anyway. We’ll go through these old cases with a fine-tooth comb.’ Trinh sighed, evidently not looking forward to what promised to be a pretty dull task. ‘If there’s anything to be found, I’m sure we’ll flush it out sooner or later.’ She brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and her mouth relaxed into an easy smile. ‘Now, how about another? I’m done talking about work. Let’s loosen up a little.’

  Lucia eyed up DCI Carliss, who was expounding some unlikely-sounding theory on the match strategy of a well-known London football club. DC Harding was listening intently, all pumped to jump in with a clever comment as soon as the occasion materialised. Except the comment wouldn’t be that clever and it would fall a bit flat, as usual, thought Lucia. She shook her head, determined to put her boss out of her mind. She was going to have a good time tonight, and she was damned if she was going to let anyone distract her from it, especially a pair of blue eyes.

  Chapter 18

  The following morning, Lucia woke up with a jolt as a shard of light mercilessly cut its way along the side of her bedroom blind. It took her a good few seconds to gather herself and work out where she was, or what she was doing there. Blinking profusely, she fumbled around on the bedside table and grabbed her phone. The display read 09:07. Panic suddenly washed over her as she thought she was horribly late for work, until she clocked that it was a Saturday.

  She grabbed her sleep mask that had slid off the pillow and lay back in bed, wishing desperately that the dizziness and pounding headache would go away. As her brain started to slowly settle into something resembling consciousness, she recalled the events of the previous night. She’d arrived at the Nag’s Head just before seven, and there had been plenty of drinks. Too many drinks. She remembered snippets of conversation, laughter, pint after pint being downed and bottles of wine being delivered to their table. The only sustenance to soak up the alcoholic excess had been a few packets of crisps and some sorry-looking peanuts. That would explain the dire state she found herself in at the moment. A proper night on the razzle, she thought, wincing at the overwhelming nausea that was starting to wash over her. She hadn’t let her hair down like that in a while, and she had to admit that, despite the unpleasant aftermath, she had really enjoyed herself. Sometimes you just have to get it out of your system, wipe the slate clean, she reasoned.

  Since the day that she and Trinh had stood over Genevieve Taylor’s cold dead body, Lucia’s mind had been almost exclusively filled with the challenge of getting to the bottom of the strange case. It was giving the whole of the Unusual Deaths Team so much of a headache that they’d nicknamed it ‘the lawyer’s lament’. Once a case acquired a name like that at the station, it was bad news. It meant it wasn’t going away any time soon.

  What Lucia couldn’t recall was what had happened at the end of the evening, and how she got home. At least she’d woken up in her own bed; that was a big relief. It would have been irritating to have something – or someone – to regret. She decided enough was enough and sat up straight. An ibuprofen and a large coffee would sort her out, and she staggered to the kitchen to address the issue without delay. She swallowed a pill out of a packet she kept in the sideboard drawer and switched on the kettle in preparation for a cafetière of strong black stuff. As the gurgle of the boiling water provided a momentary distraction from her malaise, the doorbell rang shrilly. Lucia nearly jumped. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and a surprise Saturday morning visit wasn’t exactly welcome with things being as they were.

  She pressed the intercom button. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Lucia. It’s only me. Sorry to bother you so early on a Saturday. Do you have a minute?’

  She certainly hadn’t expected Carliss’s voice. The buzzer whirred and opened the door downstairs, and Lucia waited.

  ‘Hi. Come in,’ she said.

  DCI Carliss brushed past her and walked in. He took his coat off and sized her up with a sympathetic look. ‘You look the worse for wear.’

  ‘Thanks. That sort of comment really helps,’ Lucia retorted, more sharply than she’d intended.

  She wasn’t in the mood for banter, and it was showing. She had thrown a soft silk dressing gown over her nightdress; at least she didn’t look too bedraggled for her visitor. She’d woken up fully dressed in the clothes from the night before, but she was intending to crawl back into bed as soon as possible, hence the change into nightwear. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her face was bare. She looked tired, that she knew, but she hoped she didn’t look as awful as she felt.

  Carliss put his hands up in defeat. ‘Sorry. I meant you must have a stonk
ing hangover. I know I do. Last night was a pretty big one.’

  The inspector did have dark circles under his eyes, but overall, he seemed in quite good shape. Maybe he didn’t put away as much as I did, reasoned Lucia.

  ‘Coffee? I’m just making some for myself,’ she asked, gesturing to the kitchen counter.

  ‘Sure. Thanks.’ He sat down at the table and fumbled around in the rucksack he had brought with him.

  Lucia knew something serious was up. He never carried that rucksack unless he had important information to impart.

  Sure enough, Carliss pulled out a wad of paper and put it on the table. ‘I’ll get straight to the point. I haven’t just turned up here on a Saturday morning to tease you about being too pissed to get home by yourself. I’ll leave that for later, don’t you worry,’ he added with a mischievous grin.

  Lucia felt herself blushing all the way to crimson. She wasn’t looking forward to hearing about her exploits. ‘OK, whatever. What’s this you’ve brought with you then?’

  ‘Forensics report for Genevieve Taylor’s house. It came through late last night. I only saw the email when I got home. I thought you’d want to have a chat about it as soon as possible, hence the surprise visit.’

  The policeman flipped over a few pages. The document had been thoroughly tabbed and highlighted, so he must have had a busy morning already. ‘I’ll leave this with you to read for yourself, but there are a couple of things I thought I’d point out. See here? They found four sets of prints in the house. One set belongs to Genevieve, as you’d expect. They haven’t identified the others because nobody’s taken prints from our jolly little lot yet.’

  ‘Logically, from what we know of Genevieve Taylor, one set of prints should be Edoardo’s, and the other the cleaner’s,’ said Lucia pensively as she sipped the restorative coffee. The painkiller had just started to kick in, and she felt a whole lot better already.