After the Fire (Maeve Kerrigan)

by Casey, Jane

  ‘Police.’ Derwent held up his ID as I did the same. ‘Mrs Armstrong?’

  ‘She’s not seeing anyone.’

  Which meant that the woman in front of us was not Mrs Armstrong. ‘We need to interview her, I’m afraid.’ I kept my tone polite, but firm. ‘We did try to ring to let you know we were on our way.’

  ‘Oh, how irritating.’ The woman looked back over her shoulder as a young man strode down the hall towards us, taking over the conversation without reference to her, or us, or anything else. He was thin, tall, nervy and very slightly camp. ‘We’ve had to take the phone off the hook. It was absolutely unbearable to have it ringing all the time. So many journalists, and Geoff’s friends. What they think we can tell them, I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you Mr Armstrong’s secretary?’ Derwent asked.

  ‘I’m his assistant,’ the young man said. ‘John Grey. I should say I was his assistant, shouldn’t I? I handled Geoff’s political and media strategy. Elaine was his secretary.’

  The grey-haired woman nodded. ‘Elaine Lister.’

  ‘Did you keep track of Mr Armstrong’s schedule?’

  ‘Yes. He was useless at being organised.’ She bit her lip. ‘I probably shouldn’t criticise him now that he’s gone.’

  ‘We’ll need to speak to you as well.’

  ‘Of course. What do you want to know?’

  ‘We need to get a picture of his usual routine, Mrs Lister,’ I said. ‘We’d appreciate any help you can give us at all.’

  ‘I’ll tell you whatever I can.’

  ‘Do you need to speak to me?’ John Grey demanded.

  ‘That depends,’ Derwent said. ‘Do you know anything that you think we should know?’

  ‘About Geoff? I can’t think of anything.’ Grey leaned against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers. His shirt was so fitted I could see the outline of his pectoral muscles, and his tie looked expensive. Everything about him was immaculate. ‘We had a good working relationship but he didn’t confide in me or anything. I just want to make sure none of this damages the message that Geoff was trying to communicate. He may be gone but someone will come after him and build on what he started. So protecting his reputation matters.’

  ‘That sounds cold.’ I couldn’t help saying it.

  ‘All political careers end in failure.’ He shrugged. ‘Some of them end more spectacularly than others.’

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ Elaine Lister was pale.

  Derwent was through the door before she’d finished asking. He wiped his feet very thoroughly on the doormat. Look how house-trained I am. You can trust me to behave myself.

  ‘Where’s Mrs Armstrong?’

  John Grey laughed. ‘As if she’ll be able to tell you anything useful.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I’ve never seen her sober, put it that way.’ Grey was showing off, I thought, and disliked him for it. ‘Most of the time she doesn’t know what’s going on.’

  ‘Are we talking alcohol or drugs?’ Derwent checked.

  ‘Both?’ Grey shrugged. ‘I don’t really know, to be honest with you.’

  ‘But that hasn’t stopped you from throwing accusations around,’ Elaine Lister said tightly, and I tried not to smirk as John Grey looked uncomfortable. He muttered something and went away, taking the stairs two at a time. Elaine waited until he was out of sight. ‘Cressida is in the drawing room. Perhaps I could just go and let her know you’re here …’

  ‘In here?’ Derwent was opening the door already. ‘Mrs Armstrong? Could we have a word?’

  She was standing by the fireplace, small and fine-boned in a grey dress that clung to her body. Her hair was honey-coloured, swept back from a high forehead. She must have been stunning when she was young, with high cheekbones and a wide mouth, but the overall effect now was of tremendous fragility. At least one facelift, I judged, and a serious Botox habit that left her forehead as smooth as an egg. The skin on her neck and hands gave away her age, but her eyes were bright under arched eyebrows. Her mouth parted in surprise and, I thought, anger.

  ‘What is it? Elaine?’

  ‘The police. I did try to say you weren’t seeing anyone, but—’

  ‘I’m sure you appreciate that we need to speak with you sooner rather than later,’ Derwent said to Mrs Armstrong. He crossed the room and took her hand, his voice low as he said, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. And I’m sorry to impose on your privacy at this time. I wouldn’t if there was any other way.’

  ‘Oh – well, of course.’ She looked past him to Elaine, who was still standing in the doorway. ‘I certainly didn’t mean I wouldn’t speak to the police, Elaine. You should have known that.’

  Elaine’s head went up. I saw her fighting the impulse to snap, but she didn’t give in to it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, Elaine.’ It was a dismissal. I half-expected to be sent packing too, but I got a flick of a glance through narrow eyes before she returned to Derwent.

  ‘Please, sit down.’

  He folded himself onto the sofa she had indicated, as she perched beside him. Her back was towards me, so I crossed the room and sat where I could see her.

  Derwent introduced us both, emphasising his rank. I thought she probably didn’t have a very good grasp of police hierarchy but she could tell he was a senior officer. She could also tell he was a reasonably well-made specimen, I thought, from the look on her face as she stared at his thigh, so close to hers.

  ‘I’ll try not to take up too much of your time,’ Derwent said.

  ‘Thank you. It’s just been a tremendous shock.’

  ‘I can imagine. Did you know your husband was planning to visit the Maudling Estate yesterday?’

  ‘No.’ She smoothed her skirt over her lap. ‘We led very separate lives, Geoff and I. It was impossible for me to keep track of where he was and when. He was always at the House when he was in London, or on television. Sometimes I only knew where he was when I switched on Newsnight, and there he was.’

  ‘He was a very high-profile man.’

  ‘He was unusual for a politician because he was willing to say what he thought. Straight talking got him plenty of loyalty. There are so many people who think the way Geoff did, but they get shouted down all the time. The left just bullies and harangues anyone who disagrees with them.’

  Yes, it was tough being privileged, I thought. Derwent was nodding, very serious, not catching my eye.

  ‘He had a lot of supporters but he had enemies too, didn’t he?’

  ‘Of course. Anyone who takes a stand is going to attract attention from the wrong sort of person.’

  ‘Did he get death threats?’

  ‘I believe so.’ She waved a hand. ‘He didn’t share them with me. He protected me from that sort of thing. But he did warn me now and then to take care when I was driving, in case someone followed me. And he told me to check under the car for anything suspicious if I’d left it parked on the street or in a car park.’ She laughed. ‘I can’t say I did it every time. Grovelling on the ground is not my style.’

  ‘Was this recent?’ Derwent asked.

  She shrugged. ‘It was fairly constant. I think he said something about it when we were on our way back from Paris the last time. That was three weeks ago. No – four.’

  ‘But you weren’t particularly scared.’

  ‘Nor was he.’ She smiled. ‘It made him feel important, I think.’

  ‘Are you aware of any specific threats that were made to him? Was there anyone who scared him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know what he was doing on the Maudling Estate?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘It’s not exactly his constituency, is it?’

  ‘Geoff was always involving himself in other people’s problems. Some people are like that. They have a vocation to help others.’ She shot Derwent a languorous glance. ‘Like the police. I must say, I’ve always been drawn to selflessness.’

 
; ‘It’s a good quality.’ Derwent’s voice came out about an octave lower than usual. I was trying very hard not to laugh. ‘Mrs Armstrong—’

  ‘Cressida,’ she said quickly.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Um – Cressida. It’s never pleasant to ask these questions and you’ll have to forgive me for bringing it up, but you said you and your husband led separate lives. Did that apply to your private lives as well?’

  She blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Did you have an open marriage?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that.’

  ‘As far as you know, he was faithful to you.’

  ‘Of course he was.’ A pink patch had formed high on each of her cheeks. ‘He wouldn’t have been anything else. Partly because our marriage was very strong – very strong, Inspector. But also because he’d never have taken the risk of being found out.’ She leaned forward. ‘Most of the MPs Geoff’s age have pretty young secretaries, unless their wives are prepared to do the donkey work. They’re all having affairs, all the time. Geoff was different. He was focused on his job.’

  ‘So he wouldn’t have been on the Maudling Estate for personal reasons.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re implying.’ Her voice was flat. ‘He didn’t want to mess around with anyone. Why would he?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ Derwent said weakly. He looked in my general direction, not meeting my eyes – which was wise, because I wasn’t sure either of us could have kept our composure. ‘Was there anything else we wanted to ask?’

  ‘I think that covers it,’ I said, closing my notebook. ‘Thank you, Mrs Armstrong.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she said without looking at me, the response automatic. She reached out and put a hand on Derwent’s arm, pushing his sleeve back and turning his wrist towards her, which meant she was stronger than she looked. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Coming up on one o’clock.’

  ‘I must watch the lunchtime news. There should be a lot about Geoff. I’d like to see it.’

  ‘Stop smirking.’ Derwent’s shoulders were hunched. He leaned back against the wall, shaking his head.

  ‘I’m sure I will. Not immediately, obviously.’

  ‘It was necessary.’

  ‘I’m not saying it wasn’t.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  ‘You can’t expect me not to rip the piss.’ I put a hand on his arm and purred, ‘I’ve always been drawn to selflessness, Inspector.’

  Before he could reply, a door at the end of the hallway opened and a face poked around it.

  ‘I thought I heard voices.’

  Derwent straightened up. ‘Mrs Lister. Just the person we wanted to see.’

  ‘Are you finished with Cressida?’

  ‘For now. Can we speak with you?’

  ‘Of course.’ She stood back and the two of us filed into a big, warm kitchen. John Grey sat at the table, sipping coffee from a bone china mug. There was no sign of his earlier loss of composure. He raised his eyebrows at me, which I was free to interpret as hello, or isn’t this strange, or what are you looking at. A uniformed housekeeper was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup. That brought back unpleasant memories of Dr Early, which I forced to the back of my mind. Throwing up all over Geoff Armstrong’s kitchen would be a quick way to lose my advantage over Derwent.

  ‘Would it be possible to speak with you two alone?’ Derwent asked, glancing at the housekeeper’s broad back.

  ‘Hanna is completely discreet,’ Grey said, not even bothering to lower his voice.

  Derwent wasn’t happy, I could tell, but I sat down at the table and Elaine took a seat opposite me, beside Grey. Tension was pulling at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and two deep wrinkles cut into the skin between her eyes.

  ‘Are you all right? Can I get you a glass of water?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘It must have been a dreadful shock when you heard the news about Mr Armstrong.’

  ‘It was, for both of us.’ John Grey glanced at Elaine. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Cressida called me. She was in hysterics – I couldn’t even understand what she was saying at first. Then I thought she must have made a mistake, or someone else had.’

  ‘I couldn’t believe it either,’ Elaine said quietly. ‘I’d known him for such a long time. We were at Cambridge together. I can’t imagine life without him.’ She fumbled for a tissue in her sleeve and dabbed her nose for a second, buying time. I could tell she didn’t want to cry in front of Grey.

  ‘It’s natural to hope the bad news isn’t true,’ I said. ‘Especially in the circumstances. Mrs Armstrong didn’t even know her husband was visiting the Maudling Estate yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, well, she doesn’t pay much attention to his diary.’ Elaine balled the tissue up in her hand absent-mindedly.

  ‘Did you know he was planning to be there?’ Derwent asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  Elaine opened her mouth to answer but John Grey got there first. ‘He was attending a meeting of Justice for Levon. You know, the group set up by Claudine Cole. Levon Cole’s mother.’

  Levon Cole was the teenager shot dead by armed Metropolitan police a few months earlier. The last time I’d been on the Maudling Estate, Armstrong had been giving interviews about how Cole had deserved what happened to him, apparently because he was poor and black and unlucky.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought he’d be exactly welcome at that sort of meeting,’ I said.

  ‘No, no. He was very involved. He went every week.’

  ‘When did he start going?’

  ‘Two months ago? After those police shootings on the estate. He became interested in the group and their work. He invited Mrs Cole and her friends to the House of Commons last month, but they turned him down. He found them inspirational, he told me. Their willingness to change their community from within was very much in line with what he believed was important. They didn’t want help from him but he persuaded them he could spread their message more widely than they ever could.’

  ‘How was he spreading their message? No one had any idea he was involved with them,’ Derwent said. ‘Even his wife didn’t know.’

  ‘Geoff was working up to an announcement about it,’ Grey said, his tone condescending. Of course we couldn’t be expected to understand how politics worked. We were only simple police officers. ‘These things have to be choreographed. He had to work with the party to decide on how to present it to the public, and when. He was an important figure, so what he did mattered.’

  ‘He was just a backbencher.’ Derwent didn’t quite manage to keep the scorn out of his voice.

  John Grey bristled. ‘He was far more than that.’

  ‘Mrs Armstrong tells us her husband warned her to take security precautions,’ I said, changing tack as I willed Derwent to shut up. ‘Were you aware of any threats he’d received?’

  ‘I didn’t keep track of them.’ Grey turned. ‘Elaine?’

  ‘I opened his post,’ she said quietly. ‘I read his emails. I knew about all the threats.’

  ‘Were there many?’

  A nod.

  ‘Did you ever mention them to the police?’

  ‘No. Geoff thought it was a waste of time. He told me to throw them away. He didn’t think the people who made the threats were the type to attack him. It was all bluster, he said.’

  ‘So who did he think might attack him?’ Derwent asked.

  ‘Extremists.’ John Grey saw the look on our faces. ‘I can’t be more specific, I’m afraid. People from very different walks of life objected to Geoff’s stance on politics and the economy.’

  ‘Because he wanted everyone who wasn’t rich and English to disappear,’ Derwent said.

  ‘Because he wanted the government to stay out of people’s lives, and stop interfering with doing business. He wanted us to leave Europe. He wanted to call a halt to immigration. He wanted everyone in the UK to wake up. He wanted us t
o grow up and stop expecting hand-outs.’

  ‘He wanted to dismantle the NHS and the welfare state, the two greatest post-war achievements of any government,’ Derwent said.

  ‘He wanted to take away the safety net for people who used it as a trampoline. He hated anyone who worked the system to their advantage.’ John Grey spun Armstrong’s line effortlessly; it was like hearing him talk again. He smiled. ‘I gave quotes on his behalf when he was too busy. I used to think I shared his brain.’

  ‘Did you believe in his policies too?’ I couldn’t help asking. ‘Or was it just work?’

  ‘I believed his policies could have led him to electoral success.’ Grey held my gaze for a second. ‘It’s all about winning, you see. There’s no point in being worthy and politically correct if the voters don’t want that. Geoff knew it and I knew it. It was my job to get him to the top of his profession, not to worry about how he’d done it.’

  ‘Was he really going to get to the top, though? People hated him,’ Derwent point out.

  ‘More people voted for Geoff than would ever admit it. The figures didn’t lie, even if the voters did.’

  ‘Did either of you ever think that Mr Armstrong was having an extra-marital affair?’

  Grey’s response was immediate. ‘No. He wasn’t like that.’

  ‘It’s just a theory at the moment.’

  ‘It’s impossible,’ Elaine said. ‘He was devoted to Cressida. His career mattered very much to him, as did his marriage.’

  ‘When did they meet?’

  ‘When we were at Cambridge. She wasn’t an undergraduate. She just came to a ball. They’d been together ever since. Hardly a day apart.’

  ‘And you were there too.’

  ‘I was there too.’

  ‘Were you ever romantically involved with Geoff Armstrong?’ Derwent said, jumping in feet first.

  ‘No. It was never like that.’ Elaine Lister frowned. ‘Geoff and I were friends and colleagues. Nothing more. Please tell me you’re not so unimaginative that you believe a man and woman working together must be romantically or sexually involved with one another.’

  ‘If it helps, I can imagine that quite well,’ I said. Derwent’s expression didn’t change but he shot me a look out of the corner of his eye: touché.