by Jane Casey
‘Don’t say I don’t find interesting murders for you to investigate.’ Una Burt nodded to me. ‘Get on with it.’
Which left me trying not to mind that Georgia was walking right behind me, leaning to read the notes I’d scrawled on my clipboard.
‘Are you going to ask her why she walked all over the footprints in the hall?’
‘I don’t expect to.’
‘Why not?’
I stopped and faced her. ‘Because I want to get to know her first. I want to get her to trust us. If I need to ask some hard questions, I will, but that’s not why we’re here. She’s the one person who can tell us what happened in that house before she left it last Wednesday, but she’ll only do that if she wants to help us.’
‘What if she did it?’
‘Did what? We don’t even know what happened.’ I turned away. ‘If she doesn’t want to help us find out where her mother is, that tells us something too. But I don’t want to give her a reason not to talk to us. That’s why DCI Burt found something else for DI Derwent to do.’
‘He seems fairly aggressive.’
‘Mm,’ I said, and Georgia could make of it what she liked. Derwent would either piss Chloe Emery off until a day after the end of time or win her heart forever. Extreme reactions were his speciality, and too high-risk for this particular situation.
‘Whose house is this?’ Georgia had dropped her voice to a whisper now that we were right outside the address, which was already a lot more subtle than Derwent would have been.
‘The neighbour who gave her a lift from the station and called 999.’ I checked my notes again. ‘Oliver Norris.’
‘Shouldn’t she have been kept away from him? Until we’ve spoken to them, I mean? In case they’re getting their stories straight.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Don’t you trust anyone? Ring the bell.’
She did as I asked. ‘But—’
‘They were kept separate. There’s an FLO with the girl. Burt said the officer was a dragon and she wouldn’t let Norris near Chloe.’ I grinned. ‘Burt doesn’t trust anyone either.’
The green-painted door swung open to reveal a slim woman with light brown hair and a worried expression, which was fair enough when there were two police detectives standing on her doorstep. She was wearing a long-sleeved white blouse buttoned up to the neck and an ankle-length skirt. I glanced down at her feet to see flat, round-toed shoes in soft blue leather, and buff-coloured tights. I was wearing my lightest trouser suit over a sleeveless top and I was melting. I would have collapsed from heat exhaustion after five minutes in that outfit.
‘Mrs Norris?’
‘Yes, I’m Eleanor Norris.’
‘We’re here to interview Chloe, Mrs Norris.’
‘She’s upstairs in my daughter’s bedroom.’ She looked back as if she was expecting to see the girl standing behind her. The house was a mirror image of the one I’d just visited and I studied it with interest, trying to imagine what the Emery house had been like before most of the contents of a human being had been emptied out all over it. It was hard to see through the clutter of family life – the coats slung over the end of the bannisters, the keys and post on the table by the door. The house I’d left behind me was immaculately tidy, apart from the blood. Here the wallpaper was dated and rubbed, the carpets old-fashioned, the house badly in need of a makeover.
‘Have you spoken with Chloe?’ I asked.
‘No. I mean, I asked if she wanted anything to eat or drink.’ Eleanor Norris squeezed her thin hands together as if they were cold. ‘My husband told me about the house. About what they saw.’
‘Very unpleasant,’ I said blandly.
‘Do you think you’re going to be finished across the road soon?’ Eleanor’s voice dropped so it was whispery low. ‘Only, I think it would be good for Chloe to know when she can go home.’
‘Not soon,’ I said.
‘Even if she wanted to,’ Georgia added. ‘I wouldn’t want to, would you?’
‘She can stay here for a few days, but …’ Eleanor shrugged helplessly. But I can’t accommodate a neighbour in my house indefinitely. Her cheeks were flushed.
‘We’ll know a lot more in the morning,’ I said soothingly. It was true, but probably not relevant to Chloe’s plans. Eleanor Norris didn’t need to know that though. ‘Has Chloe spoken to her father?’
‘No. She won’t call him.’
He’d been informed, I knew. Una Burt had asked Thames Valley Police to speak to him, to get the measure of the man at the same time as breaking the bad news. I hoped for his sake he’d reacted with the requisite shock and horror, and for our sake that he hadn’t, that he had no alibi, that he had been nursing a grievance, that there was a murder weapon conveniently located in his car along with a few telling bloodstains … Ex-husbands made good suspects in murder investigations.
‘Do they get on? Chloe was visiting him, wasn’t she?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’ Eleanor looked past us to where the police helicopter was hovering. It was shining its searchlight into the garden behind number 27, the beam piercing the unnatural gloom. ‘What are they looking for?’
‘It’s just part of the investigation,’ I said quickly, before Georgia could say anything about the body, or rather the lack of one. ‘When was the last time you saw Kate Emery, Mrs Norris?’
‘Oh – I don’t know.’ She bit her lip. ‘Wednesday night, I think. We were putting out the bins at the same time.’
I made a note. ‘Did you speak?’
‘No. I waved at her. I had no idea – I mean, I couldn’t know.’
‘Of course. Do you know her well?’
‘Not really.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘My daughter is friendly with Chloe.’ It came out in a rush, as if she didn’t want to say anything about it but knew we’d find out anyway.
‘What’s your daughter’s name?’
‘Bethany.’
‘How old is she?’
‘She’s fifteen. Just turned fifteen, actually.’
‘Younger than Chloe,’ I observed.
‘Yes, but Bethany’s very mature and Chloe—’ she broke off and gave me an embarrassed smile. ‘You’d probably like to speak to her.’
‘Yes, please.’
‘It’s the door straight ahead of you at the top of the stairs.’
I was aware of her watching us as we went up. I didn’t look back at her, even though I was wondering about a couple of things, like her choice of clothes and whether that was why she had sweated through our conversation, and why she had been so concerned about her daughter’s relationship with Chloe. And yet people did behave weirdly around the police, especially on the periphery of a murder investigation, and parents did worry about protecting their children even if they had nothing to hide, and the shock of being close to a violent crime could send your body’s thermostat out of whack. Trust no one … It was a reasonable enough approach, all things considered.
I knocked on the door at the end of the hall and a suspicious face appeared. ‘Yes?’
I showed her my badge. ‘Can we speak to Chloe?’
She was short and middle-aged with close-cropped hair and kind eyes, and I wouldn’t have dared to try and persuade her to do anything against her orders. She peered at me, and then at Georgia behind me, before she nodded.
‘Come in.’
‘Has she said anything?’ I asked in a whisper as I passed the officer, and got a shake of her head in response.
Chloe Emery was curled up on a chair, staring at the rain that was sluicing down the window. She didn’t look round when we walked in. I took a moment to scan the room, more out of habit than anything else, noting amateurishly painted white walls, a crammed bookcase, a single bed, a bedside table with nothing on it but a lamp. Then I shifted my attention to Chloe. She was tall, with slender limbs and long dark hair.
‘Chloe?’
She turned to look at me. Her face was beautiful but somehow blank, with heavy dark eyebrow
s over blue eyes. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m Maeve Kerrigan. I’m a detective sergeant with the Metropolitan Police. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?’
She shook her head but she drew her legs up to her chest. She looked nothing short of terrified.
I sat down on the bed opposite her. Start with an easy question. ‘How old are you, Chloe?’
‘Eighteen.’
She seemed younger to me, like a child. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed an appropriate adult to be with her.
‘I know you’ve had a difficult day, Chloe, and I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I need to ask you some questions. Is that OK?’
She nodded, but warily.
‘Can you state your address for me?’
‘Twenty-seven Valerian Road, Putney, SW15.’
‘And that’s where you live most of the time, is that right?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was toneless and her eyes wandered around the room as she spoke. I felt she was working hard to stop herself from fidgeting.
‘Who else lives there?’
‘My mum.’
‘And what’s her name?’
She thought for a second. ‘Kate.’
‘Kate Emery.’
‘Yes, Kate Emery.’
‘Do you have the same last name, Chloe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that the same name as your father?’
‘Yes.’
‘But your parents are divorced.’
‘Yes.’ Her answers were getting softer. I felt I was wandering onto dangerous ground without knowing why.
‘You were away for the weekend, is that right?’
Another nod.
‘Where were you?’
‘With my dad.’
‘Were the two of you alone?’
‘No.’
I waited but she didn’t say anything else. ‘Who else was there, Chloe?’
‘My stepmother.’ There was a pause and I was about to ask another question when she added, ‘And Nathan. And N— his brother.’
‘Who’s Nathan?’
‘My stepbrother.’
‘And his brother,’ I said. ‘What’s his name?’
She stared at the corner of the room, pressing her lips together. No answer. It wasn’t a question that was designed to trip her up – quite the opposite. These were the easy, factual questions, the ones that gave people confidence, that settled them into an interview. But I was hitting a wall I hadn’t even known I’d find.
‘Do you have any other brothers and sisters?’
‘No.’
‘So you live with your mum. Does anyone else live in the house?’
‘No.’
‘Can you tell me when you left home for your weekend with your dad?’
‘Wednesday. In the afternoon.’
‘Did you see your mother before you left?’
A nod. ‘She was at home.’
‘Did she say anything unusual? Anything that concerned you?’
Another helpless shake of the girl’s head. ‘I don’t remember anything.’
‘Did she seem worried or preoccupied?’
‘N-no.’ She wasn’t sure, though.
‘What did she say, Chloe?’
‘She was talking about work. She was busy with work and she – she wanted me to go. She was afraid I’d be late. She had lots of work to do, she said.’
‘What work does she do?’
‘She has her own business.’
‘Do you know what kind of business?’
‘It’s something to do with babies.’ Chloe shrugged helplessly. ‘She doesn’t really talk to me about it. She doesn’t think I’ll understand. She’s probably right.’
‘What time did you come back, Chloe?’
‘I got off the train at three twenty-one.’ It was an oddly precise answer, as if she’d made a special note of it.
‘Were you expecting anyone to meet you off the train?’
‘No. You see, no one knew I was coming back.’
‘Oh?’
‘I left my dad’s house early.’
‘When were you supposed to come back?’
‘On Tuesday.’ She gave a little gasp of a laugh. ‘I thought Mum would be surprised.’
Surprised. Not missing.
‘Was your mum planning to be away while you were away, Chloe, do you know?’
‘No. She wouldn’t have left Misty.’
‘Misty?’
‘The cat.’ Chloe looked stricken. ‘I don’t know where she is.’
‘Downstairs.’ The FLO gave her a smile. ‘She’s down in the kitchen. I saw her when I went down to get you your cuppa, love.’
Chloe glanced down at the full mug on the floor beside her. It had a thick film on top of it. ‘I didn’t drink it.’
‘That’s all right. We can get you another,’ the FLO said.
The girl looked nauseated. ‘No. No, thank you.’
‘So no one was expecting you to come home,’ I said, dragging the interview back on track. ‘Was there some reason you left early?’
She was bright red, instantly, and she locked her eyes on the floor in front of her. Her lips were pressed together, as if she didn’t want to run the risk of letting as much as a word out. One for the dad to answer, I decided.
‘OK. We’re nearly done. You got a lift from the station, is that right?’
‘Mr Norris saw me. He drove me back here.’
‘Did he come into the house with you?’
A big, definite headshake. ‘I was on my own.’
I looked up from my notes. ‘But he rang 999.’
‘I forgot my bag. I left it in his car. I’m always doing that kind of thing. I should have remembered because I had tried to put it in the boot and he shouted at me – well, he didn’t shout but he told me not to open the boot.
It was in the back seat – my bag, I mean. And I forgot.’ She shivered. ‘I just wanted to go home.’
‘So you went inside on your own. Did you notice anything strange?’ Like the dried blood on most of the surfaces …
‘Not at first. I mean, I did, but I didn’t know what it was. I don’t really know what happened. I don’t understand why Misty was shut in and the house was all dirty and Mum wasn’t there.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘I don’t understand anything except that I came home and it was all wrong. It was all wrong and bad, and I don’t know anything except that I want it all to be right again.’ She jumped up, suddenly agitated, and the FLO rushed past me to guide her back to her chair.
‘It’s all right, lovey. You sit down.’
‘We’ll come back and talk to you tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Try to get some rest, Chloe.’
‘I don’t want to rest. I want to go home. I need to go home. I need some stuff from home, and I need to go there, right now.’
‘That won’t be possible, not at the moment,’ I said. ‘But we can get things for you if you give us a list.’
She was shaking her head, tears starting into her eyes. ‘I know where it is. I need to get it. I need it.’
‘What is it?’
Chloe caught her lower lip between her teeth, stopping herself from answering. She shut her eyes for a long moment, then relaxed. ‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’
I exchanged a look with Georgia, who gave a tiny shrug.
‘I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m looking for. What does it look like?’
‘My medication. And …’
‘And?’ I prompted.
‘An envelope. With my name on it.’ She had gone back to looking out at the garden. The agitation had disappeared. She seemed detached.
Withdrawn.
I’d lost her.
‘If I see it, I’ll make sure you get it,’ I tried, and got no response at all. With a nod to the FLO I left her alone.
‘That didn’t go very well,’ Georgia observed, having shut the door behind us.
I whipped around. ‘What makes you say that?’<
br />
‘Well, she’s upset.’
‘That’s normal when someone you love is missing.’
‘And she didn’t tell us much.’
‘I thought she told us a lot. Much more than she knew.’
‘Like what?’
‘Think about it,’ I said, and started down the stairs wondering if it was promotion that made people unpleasant, and if I’d be as nasty as Derwent by the time I was a detective inspector myself.
Assuming I made it that far.
4
The hall was empty when I came downstairs. I followed the sound of voices to the kitchen at the back of the house. It was narrower than the one on the other side of the road, and full of people. Eleanor Norris was standing by the sink twisting a tea towel in her hands. A teenage girl sat at the table leaning against a man with short dark hair and a golden tan, who was deep in conversation with a second, white-haired man. A third man sat on a chair he’d pushed away from the table, balancing on the two back legs. He glanced up as we came in.
‘Look out, it’s the filth.’
‘Morgan,’ the tanned man snapped. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Just a joke.’ He let the chair slam back onto the floor and stood up. ‘Morgan Norris. I’m Oliver’s brother.’
‘For my sins. I’m Oliver.’ The dark-haired man stood too, glaring at his brother. I’d have known they were related without being told. They had the same quick way of moving, the same tilt of the head, the same light eyes. Oliver was darker and handsome in a square-jawed, rugby-player way. Morgan was leaner, more like a runner. He was looking at me with frank curiosity which I ignored. I got a lot of that, one way or another. I didn’t look like a murder detective, I’d been told. Too pretty, they said. Not tough enough. Too tall.
Such nonsense.
‘I need to speak to you, Mr Norris. I need to ask you some questions about what you saw this afternoon. Is there somewhere we can talk?’
‘Of course.’ He started to detach himself from the teenage girl who clung on to his arm more tightly.
‘No.’
‘Bethany, I have to go.’
‘Let go of him, Bethany.’ The white-haired man stretched out his hand but didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. She let go of her father instantly and dropped her hands into her lap.
