‘Where are you?’ she asks when I broach my business with her. ’Oh God, Alcatraz,’ she says when I tell her. ‘There’s a café. Turkish. Down the road to your right if you’re standing at the church gate. I can meet you there in fifteen minutes.’
It takes me a while to negotiate my way across the roads, but I find the café and cheer up at its robust aromas of coffee and cardamom. I’m ready for serious caffeine now and a good dose of carbohydrate, so I order a Turkish coffee and a piece of baklava. The café’s proprietor seems to smile at me with particular kindness and I wonder if he has spotted the tear stains on my jacket (I hope the rain has dealt with my face). I have always depended on the kindness of strangers, comes to mind as I lean back in my chair, close my eyes and wait for my order. I’m no Blanche DuBois and I don’t solicit or elicit kindness as a general rule but strangers have been kind to me this morning: Claire at the solicitors’, Peter Michaels, this smiley man with the black moustache. Not to mention Margaret and Dawn, having me intrude on their Saturday morning, willing to help. I have to battle with the idea that all this kindness comes because I seem to be pathetic. It occurs to me that self-sufficiency is a kind of selfishness; it deprives other people of the opportunity to exercise the thoroughly desirable human instinct to be kind. I consider at least forty years spent marching through life, coping, and think how much thwarted kindness I have trampled underfoot.
My coffee and baklava come, and so does Dawn. She gives me a hug and says she’s so sorry about my mum. She is a few years older than me, rather muscly and leather-skinned. She runs marathons for charity, I know, and spends her summer holidays climbing mountains. She orders a mint tea and gets straight to the point. ‘Your mum really never told you about the baby?’ she asks.
‘Not a whisper. I had no idea. Did she talk to you about him?’
‘Not to me. To Mum. She called my mum when it happened – when she found him.’
She looks at me as though she expects me to know what she’s talking about. I stare back, dumb.
‘It was a cot death,’ she says, ‘only I’m not sure they called it that then. She went to pick him up from a nap and he wasn’t breathing. She called an ambulance, tried to revive him and rang my mum, who lived round the corner. By the time Mum arrived the ambulance was there but she wouldn’t let go of him. Just kept trying to get him to breathe. Mum said it was the most dreadful thing she’s ever seen. And she spent the whole of the war in Lewisham, so she’d seen a few things.’
‘And there were no more children, until me?’
‘No.’
‘Was that deliberate, do you know? Or did it just not happen?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure that Mum knew that. She had a sort of nervous breakdown afterwards, your mum, I think. Didn’t work for a while. Then she went back and just poured everything into her work, Mum said.’
‘Well, that explains some things,’ I say. I take a swig of my coffee, like a dose of medicine, but I can’t face the baklava now. I offer it to Dawn, who shudders her rejection. We finish our drinks without saying much more. Dawn offers to get the jungle drums going about the funeral and gives me a lift to New Cross Station. We part with another hug.
As I go onto the concourse to look for the next train to St Pancras, my phone cheeps with an incoming text.
How did you know about Leanne’s boyfriend? it asks.
Elementary … I reply.
My phone rings. ‘Where are you?’ David asks. ‘You sound as though you’re in a station.’
‘That’s because I’m in a station.’
‘Why? Where? Aren’t you supposed to be doing your thing at the abbey?’
‘Actually not. Long story. I’m at New Cross.’
‘Going where?’
‘Coming home.’
‘Wait there. I’ll drive you home. Give me twenty minutes.’
‘Where the hell are you, then?’
‘I’ve been at Wormwood Scrubs.’
‘Lovely.’
‘If I drive you home we can talk.’
‘We can?’
‘Yes. This theory of yours.’
‘Oh, that.’
‘Yes, that. What did you think I meant?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
19
28.07.12: 07.45
Information Received
Scott heard the incoming text as he surveyed the contents of the bread bin and contemplated a jog to the garage for something more appealing in the way of breakfast.
Had a thought about the murders but lost it due to circumstances beyond my control. Involves shoes, pronouns and idiolect, with something about Odysseus, I think. Will try to think further. Meanwhile, find out the name of Karen’s sister’s boyfriend. G
He sat down at the kitchen table, swearing softly. Her bloody mind games. What was he supposed to make of shoes, pronouns and idiolect? Idiolect, he knew, through prolonged exposure to Gina, was an individual’s characteristic use of language, but so what? As for Odysseus, did that mean anything or was it just showing off? The thing that made him want to grind his teeth and beat his head on the table was that she was probably onto something. That was Gina. But she couldn’t just come out with it, could she? She was going to make him jump through all sorts of hoops first.
As he made coffee, he looked at the message again. What were the circumstances that were beyond her control? He was supposed to guess that too, of course. Probably something to do with the play in the abbey water garden, which she would expect him to go and see, never mind that he was leading a high-profile murder inquiry. Well, the name of Leanne Thomas’s boyfriend he could find out. They had been interested in any boyfriends Karen might have had, but Leanne they hadn’t thought about, and he didn’t see why he should be relevant but he had learned not to ignore Gina’s questions. He rang Paula.
‘Leanne Thomas. Do we know if she has a boyfriend?’
‘I don’t think we asked. She said the boy’s father isn’t around but we didn’t think other boyfriends would be relevant. I suppose …’ She hesitated.
‘What?’
‘All those locks on the door – she seemed like a woman living alone.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why the sudden interest?’
‘You’re not going to like this.’
‘What?’
‘A text from Gina.’
A silence.
‘I thought you said—’
‘I know. All the same I want to f—’
‘Actually, hold on! Hold on! There was something. She may just be right. There was something – something’s been niggling since we were at Leanne’s yesterday. Do you remember you sat down on the sofa next to her and you moved something off it to make room?’
‘Yes?’
‘What was it? Can you remember?’
‘A jacket of some sort, I think. Black.’
‘Man’s or woman’s?’
‘Hard to say. It was leather – or fake leather.’
‘A man’s, then?’
‘Probably.’
‘Who do you know who wears a black leather jacket?’
He took a breath. ‘Darren Floyd,’ he said.
‘God knows how Gina got onto him.’
‘Possibly not even God.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘He’s due to go to The Scrubs with me this morning, leaving at nine. He’s no early starter. We may well find him round in Kendal Way. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.’
*
‘What are you going to do if it is him?’ Paula asked as she buckled her seat belt.
‘Put him on a disciplinary. He knows quite well that he should have ruled himself out of the inquiry.’
‘You don’t think it’s more than that?’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve been thinking. Haven’t you thought that he seemed to have an agenda? He always seemed to be steering us in the team meetings. Away from Leanne, when we thought she might have Doug Brody’s
loot, and towards terrorists and paedophiles.’
‘You don’t think he’s actually our killer?’
‘I don’t know, but it’d be worth checking his whereabouts that evening.’
He was silent for a couple of minutes. ‘If he turns out to be our man, I imagine that will be the end of my career,’ he said.
‘But you wouldn’t let him get away with it?’
‘What do you think? Get onto the station to send a couple of uniforms to Kendal Way to wait for me there. We’ll throw misconduct in a public office and conspiracy to pervert at him for a start, and we’ll check his alibi.’
He stopped round the corner from Leanne Thomas’s flat and parked in the shadow of a large camper van. ‘Don’t want to risk him hearing the car,’ he said. It took some minutes of banging and shouting to bring Leanne to her door, and when she opened it she looked white and scared. The flat offered little in the way of hiding places and Scott found Darren Floyd, wearing only his boxers, in the wardrobe in Liam’s room while the boy lay wide-eyed and silent in his bed. Scott escorted him into Leanne’s bedroom to dress and then into the living room, where the uniformed officers were waiting for him, alert with the excitement of the arrest of a CID officer. Read his rights, Floyd, for once, opted for silence. Paula and Scott stood at the window and watched him being put in the car. Leanne flung out of the room and into her bedroom, where she slammed the door. ‘We’ll let him stew a bit,’ Scott said, ‘while we have a chat with Leanne. I still want to go and see Doug Brody. I’ll take Sarah with me. You tackle Floyd, with Mike Arthur. He may be less on his guard with you – thinks he can bamboozle women, I imagine.’
‘Not this one.’
‘Exactly.’
*
Leanne, when she emerged from the bedroom, was surprisingly defiant. She had taken valium, or some such, Scott thought, and she had brushed her hair and put on proper clothes. She sat in the armchair, rather than in her usual slouch on the sofa, and said she and Darren had been together for about three months and insisted that she had no idea that there was anything wrong with Darren being on the case. ‘I liked it,’ she said, ’like someone was looking out for Karen. That’s what Darren said. He was like looking after us all.’
Could she really be that stupid? Of course she could; Darren was plausible enough, after all.
They got up to leave. ‘I hope Liam’s all right, Leanne,’ Paula said. ‘He’s had a scare. I expect he could do with a bit of a cuddle and some breakfast, couldn’t he?’
Leanne eyed her with venom. ‘You really are in the wrong job, aren’t you? Social worker, that’s you, telling everyone else what to do.’
‘We didn’t think about social workers, did we?’ Paula said to Scott as they descended the stairs. ‘I guess she’s got one. They might be able to tell us something about the set-up there. I’ll look into it.’
*
Doug Brody, sitting at a plastic-covered table in a small interview room at Wormwood Scrubs, was a different man from the one Scott had seen in the infirmary ten days previously. The livid bruises were gone but his face looked gaunt, and without the ferocious anger that seemed to sustain him on the previous occasion his eyes looked empty and bleak. He did not respond to Scott’s greeting but sat, hunched forward over the table, head lowered. Scott and Sarah sat down opposite him.
‘How are you, Doug?’ Scott asked.
Brody raised his head slightly.
‘You got anything to tell me, get on with it,’ he muttered. ‘Else leave me alone.’
His speech was slurred. Still being kept sedated, Scott guessed.
‘More questions, I’m afraid, Doug,’ he said. ‘We want to know who killed Karen and Lara and we think you know already.’
They watched as Brody lowered his head to the table and covered it with his arms like a man protecting himself from a kicking.
Scott went on. ‘Karen came to see you on the Sunday before she was killed, and you phoned her on the Monday evening. The day before she died. What did you talk about?’
Silence. No sound or movement.
‘Karen was ringing the Samaritans, Doug,’ Sarah said. ‘Did you know that? She was so worried about something. She must have talked to you about it, too, mustn’t she?’
‘She was scared,’ Scott said. ‘Scared to death for herself and for Lara. You knew that, didn’t you? But she wouldn’t go to the police. Why was that? Did you tell her not to involve us? Would it have got you into more trouble?’
Brody suddenly raised his arms and flung himself back in his chair. ‘Jesus!’ he said. ‘Where do they find you people? Go round the spas classes do they? Hey, you look stupid enough. Ever thought of joining CID?’
Encouraged by this sign of life, Scott said, ‘So tell us, Doug. If we’re stupid and you’re clever, tell us. If Karen wasn’t protecting you, who was she protecting? Who was worth risking Lara’s life for?’
He was leaning forward now, trying to make eye contact but jerked back as Brody let out a howl. ‘I made her promise!’ he yelled. ‘I made her promise and she never broke a promise, Karen.’ He dropped his head and then looked up, straight into Scott’s face for the first time. ‘I killed her,’ he said, suddenly quiet. ‘I killed her. You don’t need to look for anyone else.’ He turned to the prison officer sitting by the door. ‘I want to go now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got nothing more to say.’ As Scott protested, he turned back to him. ‘You can keep me here all day if you like,’ he said flatly. ‘All night too. I’m not saying another word. I can keep promises too. Not another word.’
*
Scott gave a stone a vicious kick across the courtyard as they were leaving. ‘Damn!’ he said. ‘We must be able to find out who he’s protecting. He loved Karen. He’s destroyed. Why won’t he talk? It can’t be that he’s scared for himself. He doesn’t care if he lives or dies.’
‘They’ve got him on a twenty-minute suicide watch,’ Sarah said.
‘Well, there you are.’
‘It’s got to be family, hasn’t it?’ she said. ‘That’s the only tie strong enough.’
‘You can take the girl out of Family Liaison but …’
‘I suppose.’
‘Do we know anything about his family?’
‘He grew up in care, I think. I’ll find out more.’
‘Priority.’
They arrived at the car. ‘You drive,’ he said. ‘I want to make some calls.’
‘I’m not much good at London driving.’
‘I’ll direct you. Past the hospital and get onto the A219.’
He got out his phone and found Gina’s message still on the screen. Well, she was owed credit for knowing about Leanne’s boyfriend. Did she actually know it was Darren, he wondered, or did she just know he was a police officer?
How did you know about Leanne’s boyfriend? he typed.
Elementary… came the reply.
There was nothing for it but to ring her.
*
Gina was waiting for them near the taxi rank. Sarah pulled up and turned to Scott. ‘I’m quite happy to get a train home, sir. If you’d like some privacy.’
He started to protest but then took in Gina’s face as she advanced towards them. Something was wrong and the chances were he was about to be blamed.
‘If you don’t mind, Sarah. It might be best. I want to talk to her about the case – because she was one of the last people to see Karen – but—’
‘It’s fine, sir,’ she said. ‘No need to explain.’
She climbed out of the driving seat, gave Gina an awkward half-wave and disappeared into the station. He watched her go. Tact? Or just frightened of Gina?
‘Don’t send her away on my account,’ Gina said as he got out of the car. ‘You’ve made it clear that this is strictly business.’
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Don’t I look all right?’
‘Not really.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘I meant—’
&
nbsp; ‘Let’s just go, shall we?’ she said, getting into the passenger seat.
He was silent as he negotiated his way through traffic. Then he asked, ‘So, tell me. How did you know Leanne’s boyfriend was a CID officer?’
‘What?’ He could feel her astonishment without needing to look at her. ‘You mean he’s a policeman?’
‘Yes.’ He glanced at her. ‘I thought that was what you meant.’
‘What’s the guy’s name?’
‘Darren Floyd.’
‘Well that’s not right.’
He laughed. ‘You think I don’t know my own team?’
‘He’s on the murder inquiry?’
‘Yes. But this goes no further, Gina, you understand? If the media get hold of it …’
‘Quite. So do you think he’s the killer?’
‘The killer? No. I think he’s broken rules by not declaring a personal involvement, and I think he may know more than he’s let on, but we don’t have any reason as yet to think—’
‘Has he got an alibi?’
‘We’re checking that.’
‘And you’re certain he’s Liam’s father?’
‘No! No. Liam’s father left long ago, so Leanne says. Darren’s only been around for a few months.’
‘Well, that’s what I meant when I said Leanne’s boyfriend – I meant Liam’s father.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I think Liam’s father is the killer.’
‘Why?’
‘I told you in my text. Shoes, pronouns, idiolect and Odysseus.’
‘Oh, yes! Of course. That really clarified things.’
She sighed. ‘Do you want me to explain?’
‘If it’s not too much trouble.’
‘If you knew the trouble I’ve had already today you wouldn’t be so cavalier about it.’
He took a look at her again. His first impression had been right. She didn’t look like herself. She looked pinched somehow, and deflated, actually smaller, without her usual bounce. ‘Are these the circumstances beyond your control we’re talking about?’
Weep a While Longer Page 19
