‘Someone will be along to see you in a moment,’ he told her, before closing the door.
There were two letter-box windows set high in one wall, too small for anyone to squeeze through. She sat on her own, staring at the battered old table, its corners worn smooth, wondering what sort of people had sat there before her. Cold fluorescent light glared back up at her from the scratched Formica surface, and she began to shift uncomfortably on her chair, but stopped as the door handle clicked and a broad man in a jacket entered the room, followed by a uniformed officer.
‘Kim Nichols?’
‘Yes.’ She stood up, flinching at the sound as her chair scraped on the floor.
‘Good afternoon,’ the broad man said, extending a large hand. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Mendel and this is PC Jamieson. I understand you have some information for us?’
He sat down and indicated she should do the same.
‘I’m not really sure where to begin …’ Kim said, dropping back into her seat.
‘You told the duty officer that you might have information about a death?’
Kim met his gaze for a moment, then looked down at the table.
‘Yes,’ she said, steeling herself. ‘I don’t have many details, but I think my partner may have …’
This was it – she had to say it, however difficult it felt. The silence swelled, dragging the words from her.
‘… may have killed someone,’ she managed, taking a breath. ‘Here. Or near here.’
She glanced up and found Mendel gazing at her. His expression hadn’t changed.
‘Can you tell me your partner’s name?’ he asked.
‘It’s Rob.’ Kim swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. ‘Robert Naysmith.’
‘And he lives at the same address as you?’
Kim trembled.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I live with him.’
Mendel leaned back in his chair and considered her for a moment.
‘OK,’ he said slowly. ‘And what do you think your partner may have done?’
Kim took a deep breath. She couldn’t stop now.
‘He told me he’d killed someone,’ she said, then added, ‘and I think it was deliberate.’
‘Did he say who he’d killed?’ Mendel asked.
Kim looked away.
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘A woman … He never told me who it was, just that he had … you know.’
Mendel scratched his chin thoughtfully.
‘Can you remember his exact words?’ he asked.
Kim thought back to their recent walk on the beach, and further back to that moment at the cottage.
‘It was a while ago. I knew he was keeping something from me and I ended up asking him what it was.’ She frowned, trying to recall everything he’d said to her. ‘He told me …’
She hesitated, caught in the big detective’s unyielding stare.
He had never actually said it!
‘Yes?’ Mendel prompted her.
Kim looked at him helplessly.
‘He didn’t put it into words, but I asked him if he was in trouble, if he’d done something bad … when I asked about killing someone, he sort of … nodded.’
The two policemen stared at her.
‘Look, I realise how that sounds, but it was absolutely clear to me.’ Her voice was becoming shrill and she found she was gripping the edge of the table.
They didn’t believe her.
Mendel shifted in his chair.
‘It’s OK,’ he said quietly, ‘just tell us what was said. Whatever you can remember.’
Kim glared at him for a moment, then lowered her eyes again.
‘A while later, he took me to Severn Beach. While we were there, we started talking about it again, and I got the impression that this was where it had happened …’
‘What did he say?’
‘It’s not so much what he said.’ Kim sagged in her chair. ‘It was just like he was … reliving something. You know, like retracing his steps or something?’
Mendel watched her, his face unreadable.
‘Did he say anything about who he’d killed? Or when it was supposed to have happened?’
Kim leaned forward.
‘Look,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve told you who he is, and what he said. Aren’t you going to do anything about it? Arrest him? Question him?’
Her voice sounded loud, urgent.
Mendel gave her a long, level gaze, then scraped back his chair and got to his feet.
‘Excuse me for a moment,’ he said calmly. ‘I just want to go and check on something.’
Turning away from her, he moved towards the door. The uniformed officer nodded to him but remained in the seat opposite, watching her. The door closed with a loud click.
Kim slumped back against her chair in frustration.
They didn’t believe her. They were sitting here, listening to her, but they weren’t going to do anything. She scowled at the uniformed officer. He looked disinterested, as though he were going through the motions.
And then her frustration melted away as a terrible dread crept over her.
What if they did question Rob, then let him go?
He’d know it was her, know that she’d betrayed him. What was she thinking of, coming here?
‘Are you all right?’
The uniformed officer was looking at her, his face now showing concern.
Her eyes filled with tears and she shrank back from him, hiding her face with her hand as she started to sob uncontrollably.
Shit. Shit! What the hell had she done?
16
Harland stirred his coffee and dropped the teaspoon into the sink. Lifting his mug, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, back towards his office. Mendel passed him in the corridor, wearing a thoughtful expression.
‘Kettle’s just boiled.’ Harland gestured back towards the kitchen.
‘I’m in the middle of something just now,’ Mendel frowned. ‘Some woman just walked in off the street saying she thought her boyfriend might have killed someone, but she’s not sure who it was or when it was.’
Harland looked at him.
‘That’s it?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Not exactly conclusive.’ Harland grinned.
Mendel rubbed the back of his broad neck with a large hand.
‘It is a bit thin,’ he agreed. ‘The only reason I was interested was because she said it had something to do with Severn Beach.’
Harland looked at him intently.
‘The jogger who was strangled? Vicky Sutherland?’
Mendel nodded. ‘Trouble is, the more I asked her, the more vague she’s become. Not sure if her boyfriend was just trying to creep her out, or if she’s paranoid …’
Harland considered this for a moment. A lot of people had read about that case – Peter Baraclough had mentioned it in a recent piece highlighting Avon and Somerset’s failures – and press coverage often brought the crazies out.
‘Did you run their names through the computer?’ he asked.
‘I did a preliminary search – nothing came up on either of them.’
Harland took a sip of coffee.
‘What’s she like?’ he asked.
Mendel shrugged.
‘Nervous, angry. Sit in and see for yourself if you want.’
Harland looked at him.
‘She’s still here?’
The big man smiled.
‘Got her in the interview room now,’ he said.
Harland tapped his colleague on the shoulder as they approached the door.
‘What was her name again?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘Kim Nichols.’
‘OK.’
Mendel opened the door and beckoned Jamieson out of the room, then went inside. Harland followed him, gently pushing the door shut behind him.
‘This is Detective Inspector Harland,’ Mendel said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
Harland stepped forward and exte
nded his hand towards Kim. She was very pretty, with an almost delicate quality, and he saw the hesitation before she leaned forward and shook his hand. Her large eyes looked bright and wet – Mendel hadn’t mentioned that she’d been crying. Had the tears come after he’d left the room, and if so what had upset her?
‘Hello,’ he said, taking a seat. ‘You were telling my colleague about your partner …?’
He glanced at Mendel.
‘Robert Naysmith,’ the big man prompted.
‘… Robert Naysmith.’ Harland gazed across the table at Kim. ‘Can you tell me a bit about him? What he does for a living?’
She stared back, tired but still wary. He knew that look – had seen it many times right here in this room – and he knew that everything depended on getting her talking. The more she said, the easier it would get.
Kim shifted on her chair, then looked down at the table. Her voice, when she finally spoke, sounded soft and sad.
‘He’s a sales director,’ she said quietly. ‘He works for Winterhill – a software company in Woking.’
‘What about yourself?’
‘I work for an accountancy firm in Salisbury.’
‘OK,’ Harland nodded. ‘How long have you known Robert?’
‘Almost three years now.’
Hardly any pause before answering. Good.
‘Do either of you have any connection with this area? Through your work? Or family? Friends?’
Kim was shaking her head. ‘No, nothing.’
‘All right.’ Harland looked at her for a moment. ‘So I understand you have some concerns about something that Robert may have done?’
He left the question open, deliberately vague, to see how she would respond.
‘He told me—’ She broke off, taking a breath, then spoke more slowly. ‘I think he may have killed someone. A woman.’
‘Go on …’ Harland encouraged her.
‘He never gave me specifics,’ she shot a brief, cold look at Mendel, ‘but I think it happened just up the coast from here.’
‘Do you know when this was?’ Harland asked her.
‘No.’
‘Any idea who the woman was?’
‘No, I’m sorry.’
Harland sat back in his chair. If she was one of the crazies, wouldn’t she be better informed? She didn’t seem to know very much about the case, not even the stuff that had made it into the media. He frowned and glanced across at Mendel.
‘You aren’t going to arrest him,’ Kim said, half to herself.
Mendel turned towards her.
‘We’ll make some enquiries and—’
‘No!’ She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table. ‘If you speak to him, he’ll know I came to you. He’ll know!’
‘We need to look into the things you’ve told us,’ Mendel pressed on, adopting a reasonable tone. ‘Make some enquiries, then decide what course of action to follow.’
‘Forget it!’ She was shaking her head now, eyes wide but her gaze avoiding their faces.
‘I understand you’re concerned,’ Mendel sighed, ‘but we have to—’
‘I said forget it!’ she snapped at him. ‘Look, I made a mistake, OK? It was probably just a stupid joke and I’m wasting your time.’
Mendel held up his large hands in a calming gesture.
‘Let’s just slow down a moment and—’
‘No! It’s just a joke, OK? OK?’
Harland watched her, noting the panic in her movements, the urgency in her eyes, the tension in her neck. She really was very attractive. And very scared.
‘Please—’ Mendel began, but she cut him off, scraping her chair back noisily across the floor and rising to her feet.
‘I want to go,’ she said firmly.
Mendel kept his seat and looked up at her.
‘If you’ll just sit down for a minute—’
‘Am I free to go?’
Her voice was louder now – pitched higher – and her eyes moved quickly, looking at them, looking at the door.
‘Am I free to go?’
Mendel started to say something, but Harland raised his hand and gave a slight shake of his head.
‘Kim?’
She looked at him as he stood up and moved past Mendel to rest his hand on the door handle.
‘You’re free to go,’ he told her quietly.
The change in her was immediate. Her shoulders dropped in relief and she quickly gathered her bag close to her chest as she walked towards him, casting one nervous sidelong glance at Mendel as he stood and allowed her to pass.
Harland reached into his pocket, drew out a small card and offered it to her as he opened the door.
‘My number’s on here,’ he said. ‘Keep it, and call me if you need to. OK?’
Kim looked hesitantly at the card.
‘OK?’ he asked again.
Kim looked up at him, her large eyes anxious.
‘Don’t speak to him,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Please. Not without warning me.’
Harland stared down at her.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said.
They stood for a moment, then Kim looked down and took the card from him.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, and hurried out into the corridor.
Harland walked slowly into his office, yawning as he moved around his desk. Mendel closed the door and leaned back against it, his broad brow furrowed.
‘What do you reckon?’ he asked. ‘Wasting police time?’
Harland glanced back at him and shrugged.
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ He sank down into his chair and rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘No real information, and she wouldn’t be much good as a witness if she keeps changing her mind so quickly.’
He paused, then looked up.
‘She was definitely scared of something though.’
Mendel nodded slowly.
‘So what do you want to do?’ he asked. ‘The Vicky Sutherland case is tied up in the Met’s investigation. Want to pass it over to them?’
Harland leaned back and thought for a moment.
‘Blake was pretty bloody specific,’ Mendel reminded him. ‘We’re not touching that one again.’
Harland tilted his head to one side.
‘Who says this is anything to do with Vicky Sutherland?’ He gave Mendel a half-smile. ‘Just some woman off the street, with a vague – genuinely vague – concern about her boyfriend.’
Mendel regarded him doubtfully.
‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Honestly?’ Harland spread his hands apart and sighed. ‘Not much we can do. Let’s just check her and the boyfriend out. Discreetly. See if either of them has any links with the victim list – you know the drill. I doubt it’ll turn into anything though.’
Mendel gave him a long look.
‘Well, I suppose we have had more than one body turn up along that stretch of coastline,’ he admitted. ‘But first sign of anything linking it to Vicky Sutherland, and I’m dropping it right in the Met’s lap, just like Blake told us.’
‘Of course,’ Harland agreed.
Mendel made his way over to the door, then turned back, his face serious.
‘For your sake, Graham,’ he frowned, ‘just be sure you do the same.’
17
Stepping out of the warm restaurant, Naysmith shivered in the cool evening air and gazed out along the Reeperbahn – a steady flow of people, dark figures silhouetted against the bright windows and neon signs, drifting from one pleasure to another. Laughter and indistinct conversations, stray words in German and other languages, woven through a backdrop of dance music. He smiled and turned to Andreas.
‘That was the best steak I’ve eaten in months,’ he sighed, pulling his jacket closer around him. ‘Do you know what I miss most about English cooking when I’m away?’
The tall German thought for a moment, then shook his head.
‘Nothing at all,’ Naysmith laughed. ‘Come on, let’s go and get a beer.’
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They made their way along the busy pavement, weaving between the slow pedestrians, then crossed the road and turned down a cobbled side street.
‘It was good to see the team again.’ Naysmith raised his voice as a car passed, techno booming out from its lowered windows. ‘And I’m glad I finally got to meet Jurgen.’
‘You did not meet him in January?’
‘He was away last time I came over. Seems to know what he’s doing though.’
‘Ja, he is doing some good work,’ Andreas agreed. He paused, then smiled. ‘Come, I know a great bar for us and I have a little bit of Hamburg to show you on the way.’
They turned aside and walked into a broad alley between the solid, three-storey buildings. Tall barriers overlapped to block their view of the street ahead, and a sign on one read Zutritt für Jugendliche unter 18 und Frauen verboten – ‘No entrance for juveniles under 18 years of age and women’.
‘Ah,’ Naysmith grinned. ‘I think this is the place you keep promising to show me.’
‘You know this place?’ Andreas enquired. ‘It is where you can come for the … sightseeing.’
They passed between the barriers and walked through to the cobbled stretch of Herbertstraße. There were fewer people here, but everyone moved more slowly, their eyes drawn from the illumination of one full-length window to the next. Behind the glass on either side of them, women in their underwear sat on tall chairs or perched on bar stools, their state of undress surreal to those in the chill evening outside. Plastic canopies above the windows advertised different names, but the story was the same all down the street.
‘So?’ Andreas chuckled as they wandered down the alley. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s like being in Amsterdam,’ Naysmith replied thoughtfully with a smile. ‘But without the canals.’
His eye caught a movement across the street, where a slender young woman was drawing open the heavy red curtain that had covered her window. He paused for a moment, watching as she stretched up to pull it all the way back, enjoying the tension in her limbs. Her long dark hair tumbled over her bare shoulders and her skin shone pale against the lacy black bra and thong. Stockings and stilettos completed the look as she turned away to reveal a striking rear profile before easing herself up onto a chrome bar stool.
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