‘It’s about a good friend of hers. Claudette Jackson. The girl she rents with. We found her dead this morning and we need to have a chat with Rachel.’
‘Oh goodness. I know Claudette. She came here a couple of months ago, asking if she could do her teacher training with us, but we already had a couple in. I’m really sorry to hear that. I know Claudette and Rachel are really good friends.’ Pausing she said, ‘Do you mind me asking, was it an accident, or something more serious?’
Scarlett shook her head, ‘It looks like she took her own life. We just want to ask Rachel a few questions about how Claudette was when she last saw her.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible news! Of course I’ll send for Rachel. She works in our reception class. We can wait in my study. It would be a better to talk to her in there. More private.’
The head asked the receptionist to go and fetch Rachel, and then led Scarlett and Tarn back down the corridor to her office.
Mrs Harris’s room was a good size and bright. A bank of windows at the far wall let in strong afternoon sunshine. Her large desk was overflowing with paperwork, an open laptop sat in the middle of it. Cupboards crammed with books ran along the right-hand wall. There were three comfortable chairs in front of her desk and she offered them to Scarlett and Tarn and took up her own seat.
‘Can I offer you a drink? Tea? Coffee?’
Scarlett declined, ‘We only want to have a quick chat with Rachel. We shouldn’t keep her too long.’ She was about to ask how long Rachel had worked at the school when there was a soft tap at the door. Scarlett turned as a petite, dark haired girl, dressed in a loose-fitting blue tunic and matching blue trousers, entered the room. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, exposing a heavily freckled face.
‘This is Rachel,’ announced the head.
Scarlett knew from her chats with Claudette that Rachel was a couple of years older than Claudette – but this girl looked a lot younger. She could imagine her being regularly asked for ID when she visited a bar.
The head said, ‘Rachel these people are detectives, they want to speak with you about Claudette.’
‘Claudette?’ Her face creased into a puzzled frown.
Scarlett stood up and pointed to the spare seat, ‘Hi Rachel, I’m Detective Sergeant Macey. Would you like to sit down?’
Rachel said, ‘You’re Scarlett.’
‘Yes I am.’
‘Claudette’s talked about you. You’re dealing with her case. Is that what this is about?’
‘Yes I have been dealing with her case, but this is not what it’s about.’
Rachel’s face screwed up even more. ‘What is it?’
‘Rachel, please take a seat. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.’
Rachel’s face paled. She grabbed hold of the chair back. ‘I know what you’re going to tell me. Claudette’s dead, isn’t she? I can tell by your face.’
Scarlett nodded. ‘We found her this morning.’
‘Where?’
‘At your house. We had to break in. We found her in bed.’
Her hand shot to her mouth and she slumped into the chair. ‘Oh my God, no!’
‘I’m sorry to break this news to you Rachel.’
‘How?’
‘It looks like an overdose. We’ve found a few pills prescribed to her and an almost empty pill bottle on the bedside cabinet.’
‘The ones she got from the doctors – to help her sleep?’
Scarlett nodded.
‘I can’t believe it. I know how badly she’s been affected by all this but I thought she’d turned the corner. She seemed fine last night. We even talked about the case.’
‘I know this has come as a shock, but I need to ask you some questions. Are you okay with that?’
Rachel gave a brief nod. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘The fact that you know about what happened to her makes my questioning easier. She told me that you’ve been supporting her and I know from speaking with her regularly that she valued that support.’
‘I could see when it was getting her down and so I’d sit down with her and we’d talk things through.’
‘That was helpful, believe me. How did she seem last night? You said she appeared fine.’
‘To be honest I was surprised she was like she was. I thought she’d be feeling worried, or down, but she was quite chatty. I asked her how she was feeling about today – about giving evidence. I said I could take the day off to support her if she wanted me to but she said no, she had you to support her. But she did say she would be glad when it was all over. I asked if she was absolutely sure that she didn’t need me there and she said yes, and that I wasn’t to worry. We cracked open a bottle of wine and ordered a pizza from the takeaway. Last night was the best I’ve seen her in a long time. We had a laugh about some of the things we’d got up to at Uni. She seemed totally relaxed by the end of the night. In fact, she opened another bottle and asked me to share it with her. I had a glass from it, but I knew I had to be up for work early, and so I told I didn’t want any more and that I was going to call it a night. She said she’d finish the glass she was drinking and then call it a night herself. I’d been in bed about ten minutes when I heard her switching the lights off downstairs and going to the bathroom. Then I must have dropped off.’
‘So she seemed well?’
‘Absolutely. You say you think she might have taken an overdose. Are you sure? It couldn’t have been an accident? You know with the drink – she took too many tablets by mistake?’
Scarlett shook her head. ‘She left a note. It wasn’t an accident.’
‘Oh my God, I can’t believe it. Poor Claudette. I should have been there for her.’
‘There was nothing you could have done, Rachel. Nothing at all. She’d made her decision.’ Scarlett’s words drifted away and for a few seconds the room fell into silence.
Rachel broke the quiet, ‘Have you told her mum?’
‘She’s next on our list.’
Eight
It was gone seven o’clock by the time they got back to the office, and the place was deserted. Scarlett made them a hot drink, and while Tarn booked in the exhibits, she typed up her preliminary sudden death report for the Detective Inspector, and attached it into an email for him, copying in the Detective Chief Inspector: she didn’t trust DI Hayden Taylor-Butler – she had issues with him – the DCI was her support mechanism to prove it had been sent. She'd tried to ring the DI that afternoon, to fill him in as they had driven over to the school to speak to Rachel Crompton, but he hadn’t picked up and so she had left him a message on his voicemail. He still hadn’t got back to her and she guessed he was playing his games with her as usual rather than being too busy.
The death warnings, as they were called in police speak, had taken longer than anticipated. They had taken a statement from Rachel and then driven over to Claudette’s mother’s. She had taken the news badly. Not only broken down in fits of screaming, but got angry with them too – blaming them for her daughter’s death. ‘If you hadn’t put pressure on her to give evidence, my Claudette would still be alive,’ she’d screamed at them. They had been unable to console her, or calm her down, and when Scarlett had tried to leave a card with her details, with a promise to call her tomorrow, she’d thrown it back at her. They had tactfully taken their leave and driven back to the station, barely a word passing between them.
Scarlett printed off a copy of the memo and the death report and re-read them. She was impressed with the measure of detail she had put into her three-page report, especially given her sombre mood. Although she knew she didn’t directly cause Claudette Jackson to kill herself, she felt some responsibility, given that she had persuaded Claudette to give evidence at James Green’s trial. Within her report she had been careful to include every visit and every telephone call to Claudette. It wasn’t just to cover herself; she knew that tomorrow morning, when they sat around the table to review what happened today, all DI Taylor-Butler would be concerned about w
as what impact the collapse of James Green’s trial would have on his department, and not what effect Claudette’s death meant for her family and close friends.
He’s such a wanker.
Placing the printed copies into her top tray, she turned to Tarn. The bundle of exhibits he had been booking in were piled up on his desk. It looked like he was close to finishing the logging of all the material evidence. She asked, ‘Nearly done?’
He held up a brown paper bag. ‘Just the last of the clothing she was wearing and that’s me done.’
She closed down her computer. ‘Fancy a beer?’
‘I’d like to say yes, but I’ve got something on. I’ve got to get home.’
‘Tarn Scarr refusing a beer?’
He surprised her with a sheepish look and she was about to comment but he turned his head away and she decided to hold her thoughts. Loudly clearing her throat she said, ‘No problem, it’s been a long day anyway. It may be wise avoiding a drink when you’ve just had the shitty day we’ve had.’ Picking up her bag and dragging her jacket off the back of her chair she added, ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
Nine
Sitting alone at a table by one of the large bay windows in the Pitcher & Piano, overlooking the Thames, Scarlett was slowly getting drunk. Evening was fading and the riverside lights at the edge of the towpath had come on, casting a series of shimmers across the pewter coloured water fast-flowing towards nearby Richmond Bridge. Her eyes rested on the two coxless crews dragging a couple of quadruple sculls out of the water. She couldn’t help but notice how toned the mixed crews looked, and the men’s muscular thighs captured her attention. She watched them pick up the two boats with ease and carry them across the towpath until they disappeared from view. Rowing was always something she’d fancied having a go at but had never got around to trying. It would have to wait for another time, she told herself. Just now, with the long hours she kept she had all on maintaining her running, never mind taking on anything else.
She looked down at the almost empty glass on the table. Despite the numbing feeling the wine had given her she still hadn’t managed to shake off the anger, sadness and frustration eating away at her. She hated James Green. She especially hated Thomas Skelton – the man she had once loved. They had shared so much together at university. She’d been with Tom on Valentine’s night in 2002 when the police broke the news her parents had been murdered. He had consoled and supported her all through the police investigation into finding their killer, repeatedly assuring her he would always be there for her – and he had never given her cause to doubt those words. Sadly, they had split up. Mostly it had been her fault. She was too wrapped up in her sorrow, and had slowly pushed him away on the pretence of throwing herself into her law studies – telling him it was what her parents would have wished. They had split up tearfully over a meal, wishing one another the best for the future and Tom had gone on to get his law degree and a placement with a very good law firm in London. She had gained a 2:1, but the need to discover who had killed her parents had driven her to join the Metropolitan Police instead of choosing law. Her younger sister Rose had been a suspect and Scarlett had spent the past ten years trying to find Rose and prove her innocence.
As the thoughts and images tumbled around in Scarlett’s head she couldn’t believe Tom had let her down after all he had promised. Betrayed her! Worse still, he had been responsible for releasing a serial rapist back out onto the streets. Bastard! Right now, all she wanted to do was quit her job, but that wouldn’t resolve her issues with Green. He couldn’t be allowed to get away with this. He had ruined lives and deserved to rot in prison. She wanted vengeance – and the only she could gain that was by staying a detective. She would start planning his downfall tomorrow.
Scarlett picked up her wine glass, downed the remains of her Pinot Grigio and then re-filled it with the last in the bottle. She caught the attention of one of the bar staff and pointing at the empty bottle, ordered another.
Ten
Scarlett awoke to the sound of Amy Winehouse singing Rehab. She slowly opened her eyes and looked around the bedroom, before gazing down at herself. She was wearing just her shirt, bra, and knickers and was lying on top of the duvet. She was confused. How had she got here? She couldn’t even remember getting home. And who had switched the radio on downstairs? The sudden metallic crash of the lid shutting on her kitchen waste bin made her jump. Seconds later, the soft shuffle of footsteps sounded in the hallway. Whoever was there was starting to climb the stairs.
‘Hello’ she called out and then felt foolish. What a stupid thing to say if it was a burglar and yet her mind was telling her it couldn’t be. A burglar wouldn’t have switched on the radio.
Seconds later the bedroom door opened and her ex-boyfriend Alex King stepped into the room. His appearance caught her off guard and caused her even greater confusion, especially as it looked as though he had spent the night; wearing a creased grey T–shirt, he was unshaven, and his short dark brown hair was messy. He was carrying a steaming hot drink in one hand and a plate of toast in the other. In spite of a throbbing head and feeling sick, a buzz of excitement coursed through her.
He set down the cup and plate on her bedside table, went to the window and pulled back a curtain. A stream of bright sunshine lit the bedroom. ‘Come on lazy bones, it’s a lovely day outside.’
The sunlight hurt Scarlett’s eyes and she covered them with her hand to block out the glare. ‘There’s no need for sarcasm,’ she replied. Then conscious of her semi-undressed state, she grabbed the duvet and tugged it up over her bare legs and midriff. ‘What are you doing here? Come to think of it, how did you get in?’
‘You don’t remember do you?’
As Scarlett searched her memory banks to re-run the previous evening’s events she watched Alex’s face break into his trademark mischievous sexy smile – the one that had captured her attention two years earlier and still had an amazing affect on her. Some days – like today – she could kick herself for making that decision to split from him. She still fancied him like mad. Their coming together – in the words of her dear departed dad – had been fate; they’d first met in the pub where she had drunk last night – Alex had been standing at the bar with some mates, she was celebrating her 29th birthday with friends. He had turned the moment she entered the room and fixed her with a look that made it obvious he was interested. She'd dismissed it with a glance and a pleasant smile but then her friends had commented that he was staring at her and every time she turned around his startlingly blue eyes and wicked smile targeted her. For a good two hours, she had played coy but that had ended after she’d got up from the table to go to the toilet. She’d only gone a few steps when the cocktails kicked in and in her light-headed drunkenness she had stumbled against him, spilling some of his beer. She’d tried to apologise but unusually found a lump emerging in her throat and it had taken her seconds to finally get out that she was sorry.
‘No harm done,’ he’d said, and locked eyes with her. ‘I’m Alex by the way.’
His voice had been so husky and his name had danced around inside her head like a playful elf. After what had seemed like an eternity Scarlett finally told him her name and added with a slur, ‘It’s my birthday.’
‘Well very happy birthday Scarlett. I hope you’re having a good night.’
She didn’t know why she’d said it, because it had been so cheesy, but after slowly casting her gaze over his tanned face – she later learned he had just returned from a fortnight in Ibiza – and well-toned physique, she had replied, ‘I am now,’ and then burst out laughing.
Alex and his mates joined in the laughter and she invited them to join her party. For the remainder of the evening she and Alex had talked and as time came for them to leave Alex had asked her if he could give her a birthday kiss. She had been unable to resist. The kiss had been one of the most lingering and intensely intimate she had ever experienced; she melted in his arms, said her goodbyes to her friends and left
the pub with him almost in a daydream. They had gone on to an Italian restaurant and then taken a cab back to his place where they had ended up in bed. It had been a perfect evening and the start of their year-long, mostly physical, relationship which had ended ten months ago. They hadn’t rowed or fought, quite simply, Scarlett had reacted how she had done with Tom – deliberately putting some space between them – telling Alex she thought things were going a little too fast and she wanted to cool it but remain friends. Alex had a pretty busy career that regularly took him away, and so he agreed, suggesting they keep in touch. Since then they had been in and out of each other’s lives but he had a remarkable habit of turning up just when she needed cheering up and this morning was one of those occasions. She suddenly realised how much she had missed him wrapping his arms around her, especially in bed. With an apologetic smile, she said. ‘I guess you’re going to tell me how much I embarrassed myself, aren’t you?’
‘You didn’t embarrass yourself but you’d had a few too many.’
His words brought her thoughts back. ‘I had a shit of a day. The drink must have gone to my head, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.’
He gave her a scolding look. ‘That’s as may be, but you shouldn’t drown your sorrows in drink. And certainly not alone.’
‘How did you know where I was?’
‘One of the lads who works behind the bar knows me from the gym. He recognised you and gave me a call.’
‘Thanks Alex.’
‘Scarlett you’ve got to stop taking things to heart. We all have shit days but we don’t deal with them by getting drunk.’
‘Okay, okay, I know. Lesson learned.’ She massaged her aching head by way of reinforcing the comment.
He smiled again. ‘Okay, lecture over. Now drink your coffee and take these.’ He fished in his tracksuit bottoms and pulled out two tablets which he put beside her mug. He said ‘Paracetamols. I somehow think you might need them.’
‘You’re having a go at me again.’
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