by Jane Casey
‘Vanessa, this is a hard question to ask, but did you ever have any suspicions your father was in a relationship with someone else?’
Amy Maynard’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that really an appropriate question?’
‘It’s one I have to ask,’ I said. ‘Vanessa?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. I don’t think he was getting much at home.’
‘How old are you?’ Derwent asked.
‘Fifteen, nearly.’ She looked at him, defiant. ‘Old enough to know about that sort of thing.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Vanessa, did you ever see your dad with anyone? Or hear him talking on his phone, maybe?’
‘He used to go out to the car to make phone calls. He said the house was too noisy. Ben likes to listen to music in his room but he turns it up really loud. I usually have the TV on when I’m at home, too. I could kind of see his point.’
I imagined Terence Hammond sitting in his car in the driveway of his house, planning his next meeting with his lover, while his children occupied themselves inside. I didn’t feel all that sympathetic to him, on the whole.
‘Did anyone ever threaten him? Was he scared of anyone?’
‘He wasn’t scared of anyone. He was really tough.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Actually, that’s not true. He was scared of Mum.’
‘Would you say it was a happy home?’
‘No.’ She glanced at the guidance counsellor, who smiled at her. ‘Pretty miserable.’
‘I’m sorry, I have to ask this too. Was your father abusive to you or anyone else?’
‘What do you mean by abusive?’
‘Verbal abuse, physical violence, sexual abuse.’
‘No way.’ Her face was red. ‘He was normal. He shouted at us sometimes. At me. He thought I needed to work harder at school. And he didn’t like me having a boyfriend.’
‘Did he stop you from seeing him?’ Derwent asked, brushing imaginary dust off his knee as if he wasn’t really all that interested in the answer.
‘During the week. And I wasn’t allowed to go to his house. Dad was okay with him coming to our place. He liked to keep an eye on us.’
‘What’s your boyfriend’s name?’ Derwent asked.
‘We broke up.’
‘I still need his name.’
‘Jamie Driffield.’
‘Is he a student at this school?’ I asked.
‘He was. He’s left. He’s nineteen,’ she added, unable to keep the pride out of her voice.
‘I can see why your dad wanted to keep an eye on you.’
I shot Derwent a warning look, but it was too late. Vanessa was instantly livid. ‘Age doesn’t mean anything. Maturity is different. I’m very mature for my age.’
‘I’m sure.’ Derwent didn’t sound convinced.
I took over again. ‘So your father shouted at you. What about your mum?’
Her retreat was immediate. She sat back in her chair, slouching down, her hair falling forward over her face. ‘I don’t want to talk about her. I don’t see why you want to know about her.’
‘They’re just all details of your father’s life. We don’t know if any of them are significant yet. They might be. They might lead us directly to his killer. At the moment we’re just asking lots of nosy questions to try to get to know him and his world a bit better. And that means talking to you and asking you to answer questions that aren’t necessarily very nice.’
She nodded.
‘What happened to your face, Vanessa?’
A hand went up to her hair. She looked up at me, wary. ‘How did you …’
‘We saw it at your house on Sunday when you fainted.’
‘Oh.’ The sound was a breath. ‘Yeah. It was an accident.’
‘What kind of accident?’
‘I was standing in the living room doorway and I didn’t move in time. I wanted to talk … to Dad … and he was in a hurry, you see. I should have moved.’
‘Your father did it?’
‘He didn’t mean to. He just wanted to get out. He pushed me out of his way and—’ she gestured at her head and shrugged.
‘What were you trying to talk to him about?’ Derwent asked.
‘I wanted to know if he could come to the science fair at school next month. I’ve got a project for it. I really wanted him to see it.’
‘But he said no.’
‘He said he’d think about it.’ The corner of her mouth lifted, a movement too slight to be a smile. ‘He always said he’d think about it. He never came.’
‘It can be hard to manage that kind of thing, with shift work,’ I began, trying to find a way to blot the hurt out of her voice.
‘That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that they didn’t have time for me. Ben takes up all their time and energy.’
‘From what your mum said about him, he needs a lot of care.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Derwent got two disapproving looks for that, one from me, one from Amy Maynard. Vanessa answered him though, her tone dispassionate.
‘He was injured in a car accident when he was three. They thought he’d die. The surgeons had to dig bits of his skull out of his brain. He can’t talk now. He walks with a limp.’
‘And mentally, is he … you know, all there?’
‘No. Of course not.’ She was looking at Derwent as if he was distinctly lacking himself. ‘He does a lot of drawing and he likes listening to music but otherwise he doesn’t do anything. And I get the pressure to be twice as good at everything because he isn’t. I have to be twice as perfect. They don’t know how lucky they are, you know. I could be really fucked up, with everything I’ve had to deal with. They don’t appreciate me.’
‘I’m sure they do,’ I said.
‘No. They only notice me when I’m doing something they don’t approve of. But I’m not going to wreck my whole life just because they don’t care about me. I don’t need their attention anyway. I get to university and I’m gone. That’s it.’ She stood up. ‘Are you finished?’
‘For the moment,’ I said, with a glance in Derwent’s direction. ‘We’ll be in touch if we need to talk to you again. But if you think of anything you think we should know, get in touch.’
She nodded. To Amy Maynard, she said, ‘Thanks, Miss.’
‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah.’ She slipped through the door and closed it behind her.
‘So you see a lot of her,’ I said.
The guidance counsellor blushed. ‘At the moment … it’s a safe place for her to come.’
‘Since her father died?’
‘Mm. A little bit before that. I can’t say any more, though. I’m sorry.’
Derwent stood up, looking especially tall in the small office. ‘How do you get a job like this, anyway?’
‘In this case I wrote to the school and offered my services. I’m the first person they’ve ever employed specifically for student welfare but it makes sense. It takes a burden off the teachers. You know, they get stuck with a lot of the pastoral stuff and they’re not trained for it. I did a psychology degree, then I trained as a counsellor. I’ve only been here since last year but I expect to be made a permanent member of staff soon.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought they needed a permanent counsellor on the staff,’ Derwent said.
‘I help out in all sorts of areas. I have a special interest in helping children cope with family problems – deaths, divorce, siblings going through rebellious phases. It’s not always the obvious kids who need support – the troublemakers. Sometimes it’s the ones trying to hold everything together. I mean, Vanessa is a case in point.’
‘Because of her brother,’ I said.
‘Yes. And—’ She flushed and bit her lip. ‘I really don’t want to say any more.’
‘Don’t worry. We can fill in the blanks.’
‘I’m worried that you’ll be wrong though.’ She crossed her legs, looking up at Derwent who was towering over her. ‘That wasn’t the
girl I usually see. She’s very angry. She’s lashing out. I’d never heard her say anything about her father having an affair or hitting her, and that’s in the context of some very frank and open discussions. Don’t you think she’s making it up to demonise him?’
‘Why would she do that?’ I asked.
‘So she doesn’t have to mourn him. She’s pretending she didn’t care and his death means nothing to her. It’s a coping strategy.’
‘Or she was afraid to say what he was really like before,’ Derwent suggested. ‘Now he’s dead, she’s safe. She can say what she likes.’
‘Yes, even if it’s a lie.’ Amy’s neck was blotched with pink patches, I noticed. Temper. But she was standing up to Derwent, which I wouldn’t have expected.
‘Does Vanessa lie?’ I asked her.
‘When it suits her, probably.’
‘But you don’t know that she lies.’
‘I know that I’ve heard two different versions of what her home life was like. And I know which one rang true to me. It wasn’t the one you just heard.’
When we got to the car, Derwent stretched. ‘What do you think she would have said if we’d told her we were sure Terence Hammond was having an affair?’
‘She’d probably have told us we were lying too.’ I flipped to a new page in my notebook. ‘Mrs Hammond next?’
‘Mrs Hammond next. And let me tell you, I cannot wait to hear her version.’
Chapter 10
There was still a police constable posted outside the Hammonds’ house. He looked as if he was bored rigid. He had to be straight out of Hendon: his uniform was immaculate, his face still babyish.
‘Were we ever that young?’ I asked Derwent as he stopped the car in front of the driveway. He ducked his head to look.
‘Makes you feel every year, doesn’t it? Jesus, at least I needed to shave before I joined up. He looks as if he’s still waiting for puberty to hit.’
The constable had noticed us and stood up a little straighter as we approached. ‘Can I help you?’
‘It’s all right. Police.’ Derwent held up his warrant card. ‘Is the lady of the house in?’
‘I believe so, sir.’
‘Anything going on?’
‘Nothing much, sir. Couple of reporters – I turned them away – and a few flower deliveries.’
‘Visitors?’
‘Not since I’ve been here. That’s getting on for six hours.’
‘Good lad.’ Derwent thumped him on the arm. ‘You’re doing a great job.’
He gave a nervous laugh. ‘I’m just standing here, mainly.’
‘That’s your job. Work hard at it and next week you might graduate to sitting.’
The constable looked at him, trying to gauge whether or not Derwent was taking the piss. I took pity on him and rang the doorbell to remind Derwent why we were there in the first place.
As before, it took a couple of minutes for Mrs Hammond to come to the door, though today she was dressed in a long grey cardigan cinched at the waist with a heavy black leather belt. She had a fitted black knee-length dress on underneath the cardigan. I noticed she was wearing subtle make-up – pale pink lipstick, and muted eye shadow. Her short fair hair was neatly brushed and the whole look was set off with pearl earrings. Not the disarray of grief, I thought, and tried not to judge her for it. Everyone had their own way of coping with loss. Looking as if she was in command of the situation was probably important to Julie Hammond.
‘Yes?’
I introduced Derwent and reminded her who I was and that we had met before. ‘Is now a good time to speak with you?’
‘Not really.’ She pushed her sleeve back to look at a narrow gold watch. ‘I’ve got a conference call in twenty minutes.’
‘Twenty minutes should do us nicely.’ Derwent would have said anything to get his foot through the door. I knew he had no intention of finishing up in twenty minutes if he was getting somewhere with her.
Not that I thought that was likely. She had given him a cursory glance without seeming to be particularly impressed with what she saw. She had been married to a police officer, after all. She was probably immune to Derwent’s laddish charm. And from the look on her face, she was about to say no to him.
‘We’ve just been speaking to Vanessa,’ I said. ‘At school. It would be very helpful if we could follow up a couple of things with you.’
That got her attention. ‘You didn’t waste any time, did you?’
‘This is an active murder investigation. We are trying to avoid wasting time.’
She stared at me for a moment and I thought she was going to slam the door in our faces. I had gambled that she would recognise I meant what I said, and appreciate the candour. Gambled, and won. The tension in her seemed to ease, just a little. ‘You’d better come in.’
She left us to shut the front door and make our own way to the living room, where we found her hunched over a laptop that was open on the coffee table. She wrote an email quickly and sent it before looking up.
‘Sit down. I’m just trying to make some time. I’ve asked to push the call back ten minutes but that’s all I can manage.’
‘Your work must be very important. I’m surprised you can’t take some time off, given what’s happened in your personal life.’ Derwent sounded as if he was impressed by her, when I knew he wasn’t. I shot him a look and got wide-eyed innocence in return.
‘I work in commercial property development. There’s a lot of money invested in the projects I’m running at the moment. I can’t afford to stop working just because my husband died. There are too many people depending on me.’ Her phone chimed softly and she checked the laptop screen. ‘Okay. I’ve got about twenty-five minutes. Talk fast.’
‘Let’s start with you,’ Derwent said. ‘Have you thought of any reasons why someone would want to kill your husband?’
‘No. Next question.’
‘No enemies you can think of?’
‘Not that I knew of.’
‘Yeah, and that’s another question. Would you have known? You don’t seem to have been very involved in your husband’s life.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Derwent shrugged. ‘Just what I said. You don’t seem to have been very close.’
‘Based on what Vanessa told you?’
‘Based on what I’ve heard about your marriage. He came and went, working his shifts. You didn’t keep track of where he was and when he was supposed to be back. Not very wifely, is it?’
‘Oh please, spare me whatever outdated idea of marriage you’re imagining. He was a grown-up. I didn’t need to be here when he got home from work to cook him a hot meal and tell him he was my hero. I saw him when our schedules allowed it and when we weren’t out doing other things. We both worked. We took it in turns to go to parent–teacher meetings and take Vanessa to her various activities. We took it in turns to look after Ben. When we weren’t working we pursued different interests. We didn’t live in each other’s pockets.’
‘Never sat down and watched the telly together? Or went out on dates?’
‘I don’t watch television. It’s a waste of time.’ She looked at her watch. ‘And speaking of which, you need to move on.’
‘Did you ever think he might be having an affair?’ Derwent asked.
‘I thought it was possible.’ There wasn’t the faintest crack in her composure. ‘Have you found out that he was?’
‘It would seem he wasn’t alone when he died.’
Her knuckles went white as she clenched her hands on her lap, but it was the only outward sign of a reaction. ‘Who was she?’
‘We don’t know that yet.’
‘Did she kill him?’
‘She was in the car. The person who shot him was some distance away.’
‘And what? She ran away? She didn’t try to get help?’
‘He was beyond help,’ Derwent said.
‘She could still have called the police.’
‘C
ould have. Didn’t.’
‘Maybe she’s married too. Maybe she couldn’t risk being found out.’
‘That’s a possibility we’re considering.’ I was careful not to hint that the woman might have been involved in setting up Hammond’s murder. ‘Do you have any idea who she might have been? Anyone your husband saw regularly?’
‘I don’t know. Someone at work?’
‘We don’t think so.’
‘Then I can’t help you.’ She sounded almost relieved.
‘Vanessa mentioned that he spent a lot of time out of the house. She said he went to the pub,’ I said. ‘Is it possible he met someone there?’
‘Anything’s possible. But I doubt it. He drank at the Duke of Gloucester on London Road. It’s about five minutes away on foot. I can give you the details of the friends he usually met there. They might be able to help you. I think he went there to drink and spend time with his friends, not to pick up women – it’s not really that sort of place.’
‘Where else did he spend time?’
‘Driving Vanessa around. Going to things at school. He was always the one who went to the school plays and sports days. I just didn’t have time to spare for it. I don’t know how I’ll manage now.’
‘That’s not what Vanessa said.’ I flicked back through my notes to check. ‘She said the opposite.’
‘I don’t know why she’d have said that.’ Julie’s voice was flat.
I had one of those moments where I turned everything I’d known upside down and rearranged it in my head to make a completely different picture. It made sense in a way that the previous version hadn’t.
Derwent was pursuing a different train of thought. ‘You don’t seem very surprised by the idea that your husband was having an affair.’
She laced her fingers around her knees. ‘You have to understand that Terence was always running away from reality. He always wanted to imagine that everything was going to be all right. He thought he could fix everything that was broken, and if he couldn’t fix it he didn’t want to know. He was like a kid. Impulsive. Emotional.’
‘So?’
