Someone Else's Skin: (DI Marnie Rome)

by Hilary, Sarah

  Marnie said, ‘We’d like to ask some questions about Simone Bissell.’

  Lowell passed his tongue over his skinny upper lip. Not nervous, just tasting whatever he’d eaten for lunch; the penthouse smelt of chorizo and cheese. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Simone, yeah.’ He put the bottle to his mouth. ‘Cool.’

  ‘You remember her.’

  ‘Sure. We hung out together for a bit.’

  ‘More than that.’ Marnie smiled.

  Lowell sprawled lower on the red leather, getting comfortable. ‘Yeah.’ A long swig from the cola bottle left his mouth wet, open. ‘Lived together for a bit. Must’ve been about a year. Cool times.’

  ‘You lived together for a year. When was this?’

  ‘Two, three years ago.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘She did a ghost.’ Lowell kissed the neck of the bottle, blowing a note from it. ‘Vanished. But that was cool. Peace out, vato.’ He splayed two fingers from the side of his head.

  ‘She left, after a year. Why did she do that?’ Marnie looked around. ‘This is a great place you have here.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lowell stroked his left thigh. He glanced at Noah, from under his lashes.

  Someone else might’ve mistaken the glance for fear, or flirtation, but Noah knew it was Paton’s prejudice for his skin colour; wanting to impress the black man he was aping. Paton would’ve loved Noah’s little brother, Sol.

  ‘Simone didn’t like it here?’

  ‘We didn’t live here.’ Another swig from the bottle. No sweat on his face or hands. No evidence of nerves. ‘They hadn’t finished the place back then.’

  ‘Your dad owns the block, is that right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So where did you and Simone live?’

  ‘Down in the basement.’ He laughed, nodding. ‘Yeah, I know, bit of a shithole, but still . . .’ He edited the laugh, turning down the corners of his mouth, caricaturing regret. ‘They were some good times.’

  ‘You were fond of Simone.’

  ‘I loved that girl.’ Lowell sat forward, his face changing. For a man with no lips, his pout was impressive. ‘What’s with all this?’ He looked at Noah. ‘What’s up, man?’

  ‘Simone’s missing,’ Marnie said. ‘We’re asking around anyone who knew her, seeing if they can suggest places she might’ve gone. You’re the person who spent the most time with her. We thought you might have some ideas for us.’

  ‘Missing.’ Lowell sank back, sucking at the neck of the bottle. ‘For real?’

  Noah’s dad would’ve slapped him, no hesitation: ‘Learn some respect, boy,’ believing women should be worshipped, not seeing this as sexism in another shape.

  ‘So you loved Simone,’ Marnie said. ‘How did you two meet?’

  ‘On the streets.’ Lowell was desperate for Noah’s approval, some sign that he was winning respect from that quarter.

  Noah gave him a bland face, guessing this would elicit further attempts, maybe a boast, anything to give them an excuse to take Paton in for questioning, better still if they could charge him with false imprisonment and assault, although Noah didn’t ask for miracles. It was clear that Lowell was insulated by his father’s wealth, to the point of complacency. Noah was surprised he hadn’t insisted on calling Paton senior before answering police questions. Did Lowell really believe he’d done nothing wrong in keeping Simone a prisoner for a year, beating and raping her? He was so relaxed on the sofa, he looked boneless.

  ‘How did Simone feel about living in the basement?’ Marnie asked.

  ‘Anywhere’s better than the streets, right?’

  ‘Where did she go when she left?’

  Lowell shrugged. The light slid off the shoulders of his tracksuit, pooling in his lap. He fidgeted with the cola bottle. ‘No idea, sorry.’

  ‘Why did she leave?’

  ‘Dunno. Maybe she got a better offer.’ He flashed his teeth, rotted by cola. Daddy needed to shell out for some dental implants.

  ‘Better than this?’ Marnie looked around again. ‘Hard to imagine.’

  ‘I told you, we weren’t up here. We had the basement flat.’

  ‘Still, anywhere’s better than the streets. And you loved her. You’d have moved her up here, when it was ready.’

  ‘I guess.’

  Noah was watching Paton’s hands on the bottle, his knuckles white above the yellow rings. ‘What sort of better offer?’ he asked. It was the first time he’d spoken. He used Sol’s street accent. ‘You said maybe she got a better offer.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lowell wet his upper lip. ‘She liked it hard, you know?’ He flicked his eyes at Marnie, then back to Noah. ‘Stabbing.’

  The silence in the penthouse was broken by Lowell insisting, ‘Daggering, man, you know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘She liked rough intercourse.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He bounced on the sofa, juggling the bottle from hand to hand. ‘Oh yeah.’

  ‘It got too much for you.’

  Lowell grinned. ‘Nearly broke my dick. You know what I’m talking about . . . Blacks fucking own this shit.’ He stopped abruptly, as if he’d heard his dad’s voice in his head, telling him to mind his manners, or watch his mouth.

  ‘That’s why she left, to find someone who could satisfy her appetite for rough sex.’

  The flat note in Noah’s voice penetrated Lowell’s defences, finally. He squirmed upright on the sofa, looking towards the phone he’d dropped on a side table. Thinking of calling his dad? ‘I loved her,’ he whined. ‘Tried to give her everything she wanted. Flowers, man. I brought her flowers, every week.’ His eyes filled with self-pitying tears. ‘Yellow roses. Her favourites.’

  ‘But she left, without saying where she was going.’

  ‘It was a long time ago, man. A long time.’

  ‘You didn’t try and find her?’

  ‘She didn’t want to be found. It was pretty obvious, the way she left. Just cleared off one night, when I was sleeping.’ He rubbed his hand under his nose. ‘Didn’t even say goodbye. Didn’t thank me for finding her this place. Nothing.’

  ‘You think she should’ve thanked you,’ Marnie said.

  ‘She was living rough. I found us this place. Yeah, a thank-you would’ve been nice.’ The pout crept back on to his fox’s face. ‘Guess I never really knew her. Never understood where she was coming from, you know? She was cool, but a bit of a freak. I mean, she looked like a street kid, right?’ He stared at Noah. ‘You know what I mean, man. The streets. I thought she was well hench. But when she spoke . . . the things she said . . . that was different.’

  Marnie reached into her bag. ‘Would you mind making a note of your phone number for me, in case you think of anything else?’ She held out a notebook and a pen.

  Lowell shrugged, climbing to his feet. He scrawled the number, adding his signature underneath as if she’d asked for his autograph.

  ‘Thanks.’ Marnie took back the notebook and pen. ‘By the way, did Simone tell you why she was living on the streets?’

  ‘Yeah, her mum and dad giving her shit, usual story.’ Lowell yawned, his lower jaw swinging as if it might come free from the rest of his face. ‘I could dig that.’

  ‘You have problems with your parents?’

  Paton looked through slitted eyes at Marnie. ‘I’m one of the lucky ones,’ he said.

  46

  ‘I need a shower,’ Marnie told Noah, when they reached the street outside Paton’s apartment.

  ‘I need a colonic.’ Noah buttoned his coat, looking savage.

  ‘What’s daggering?’ she asked him.

  ‘You really want to know?’

  ‘I can hazard a guess. Rough sex, you said. I’m thinking very hard and fast.’

  Noah made a non-committal sound of disgust. He looked back up at the penthouse. ‘Do you think Daddy’s going to keep him up there for ever?’

  ‘Out of harm’s way?’ Marnie said. ‘Why not?’

  ‘He needs bringing back down t
o earth.’

  She hadn’t seen Noah like this before, his jaw clenched so hard she could hear it popping. She tried to lighten his mood. ‘He was tight with you, man. Thought you well hench, whatever that means.’

  ‘It means I could trash him in a fight.’ He sent a last look up at the apartment. ‘I wouldn’t mind a go . . .’ He’d used a different accent, inner city, when he was talking to Paton. Marnie wondered where it came from, whether it was the voice he’d used to get by in school. There was a lot about Noah Jake that she just didn’t know.

  ‘So did he write the threatening letter?’ Noah nodded at the notebook she’d slipped into her bag.

  ‘No. At least I doubt it. I’m beginning to think Hope got that wrong . . .’ They walked in the direction of the police station. ‘You know Lowell’s problem?’ she said.

  ‘Where do you want to start?’

  ‘Invisible ape.’

  ‘He’s the ape.’

  ‘Precisely. He can’t see what’s under his nose. I think he really believes he gave Simone what she wanted: a warm place to stay; sex on tap . . .’

  ‘He broke her nose.’ Noah made fists of his hands, burying them in his coat pockets.

  ‘He couldn’t sit still. Do you think he’s on something?’

  ‘Drugs? It’s the usual way kids like that pretend to rebel against their parents, and he can afford it.’

  ‘You really didn’t like him.’

  Noah looked at her. ‘Did you?’

  ‘No, but after Leo Proctor . . .’

  He glanced away. ‘Leo showed remorse. Paton? Is a deluded freak.’

  What was making him so angry? Paton? Or the set-up in the apartment, the way Lowell’s dad had padded the place with money, security. The polar opposite, she knew, of Noah’s upbringing. On the other hand, as far as she knew, Noah’s childhood had been a happy one. Somehow, she doubted Lowell Paton had received a tenth of the natural affection Noah’s parents had given their son. ‘One thing’s for certain. Simone didn’t take Hope to the basement flat. She wouldn’t go within five miles of that place.’

  ‘Did you really think she might’ve done that?’ Noah was incredulous. ‘Gone back to the basement?’

  ‘She doesn’t know a lot of places in London, from what Ed says. People can make odd choices when they’re feeling trapped.’

  Like leaving home to live in the damp basement of a friend’s house because you can’t stand seeing the impatience on your father’s face any longer. Or renting out the house where your parents were murdered, because you can’t sell it until you’ve at least got close to understanding why . . .

  ‘Do you think Simone’s dangerous?’ Noah asked. ‘What was it Ed said, about the war zone under her skin?’

  ‘I don’t know whether she’s dangerous or not. I thought I might get a clearer idea, after seeing Lowell.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s got denial down to a fine art, and she lived an isolated life before she met him, narrow frame of reference . . .’ She dug out her phone, pressing Ed’s number on speed-dial, getting voicemail. ‘It’s me, hoping for an update on Ayana. Call me.’ She returned the phone to her pocket.

  ‘Maybe we should try the Bissells. See if they can give us anything to go on. Ed gave me an address in Putney Hill.’ She named the street.

  ‘Nice address,’ Noah said shortly. ‘It’s on my run route. You can do five miles just going up and down the private driveways round there.’

  ‘Lots of money,’ Marnie deduced. ‘Not that it did Simone much good. I doubt the Bissells can help us, but we should cross them off the list for Welland.’

  They were clutching at straws, Noah’s silence said as much, but they needed to keep moving, keep busy. If they couldn’t find Ayana, they could at least find Hope.

  ‘We’ll need the car,’ she told Noah, when they reached the station. ‘You’d better check in with Carling, see if he tracked down the Prius driver. Stuke, was it?’

  Noah nodded. ‘I’ll meet you in the car park.’

  Noah took the station steps two at a time, aware of the angry heat in the pit of his stomach. He knew he’d puzzled Marnie with his reaction to Lowell Paton, but how was he supposed to explain that Paton’s patronage was worse than Ron Carling’s prejudice? Noah didn’t understand it himself. He found Carling at his desk, with a message for Marnie: ‘Phone call from a Felix Gill. For the DI. You want it?’

  Noah took the piece of paper. ‘Thanks.’

  Felix Gill, the Proctors’ neighbour. He’d phoned to say he’d seen Hope with a ‘coloured lass’ at the Proctors’ house ‘just now’.

  Noah called the number written on the note. ‘Mr Gill? It’s DS Jake. Thank you for the message you left. Is Hope still at the house?’

  ‘She wasn’t here more than ten minutes. I phoned as soon as they left. Four hours ago, give or take.’

  Four hours. Shit. Why hadn’t Carling, or someone, passed on the message sooner?

  ‘Did they leave together, Hope and the other woman?’

  ‘A coloured lass, yellow beads in her hair. Thick as thieves they looked.’ Gill freighted his voice with suspicion. ‘Took a suitcase. Brown. I made a note and called you right away. Couldn’t get through, mind you, but I kept trying.’

  ‘You didn’t speak with them?’

  ‘I didn’t like to, knowing you people were on the case.’

  ‘Were they on foot,’ Noah asked, ‘or in a cab?’

  ‘On foot, far as I could see. Could’ve been a cab waiting on the corner, I suppose.’

  ‘And this was about eight o’clock this morning?’

  ‘More like seven thirty,’ Gill said. ‘As I said, I’d trouble getting through to you lot, but I kept at it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Useful to you, is it?’

  ‘We appreciate the call. Thanks.’ Noah rang off. He walked to Carling’s desk. ‘That call came through four hours ago. Who sat on it so long?’

  ‘Search me. I handed it across as soon as I saw you.’ Carling looked pleased with himself for having managed this much. ‘Sorted. Like a chav in a filing cabinet . . .’

  ‘I was here at nine this morning. Gill called at eight. The note should’ve been on my desk when I got in.’

  ‘Don’t look at me.’ Carling put his hands up. ‘I just passed it along. Front desk took the call. You’ve got a problem, take it up with them.’

  Noah moved his mouth into a smile that made Carling flinch with its ferocity. ‘I’ve just spent two hours interviewing a deranged shit in a shiny tracksuit because we’re trying to find one of the women this phone call was about. If I’d got that message when I was supposed to get it, we could’ve picked her up and I wouldn’t now have a taste in my mouth that makes me want to throw up – and nut someone.’

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Carling repeated, but he was nervous now. He sucked at his teeth. ‘I’ll talk to the desk. Tell them to be quicker off the mark next time. Okay?’

  Noah held hard to what was left of his temper. ‘How’d you get on with Henry Stuke?’

  ‘No one’s answering the phone. I could go round, but I figured you’d want a piece of that action . . .’

  ‘So where’re we up to with the CCTV?’

  ‘Nothing from around the North Middlesex.’

  ‘How about Finchley, the refuge?’

  ‘Still waiting on it.’ Carling reached for the phone. ‘I’ll hurry them up.’ He looked straight-mouthed, serious.

  ‘Thanks.’ Noah nodded. ‘We need to expand the search area from the hospital to include the house where the women were seen this morning.’ He wrote down the address and handed it across. ‘And keep trying Stuke.’

  ‘Where’ll you be?’ Carling asked.

  ‘Wherever the DI wants me.’

  Marnie was waiting in the car. She started the engine as Noah got into the passenger seat. He said, ‘Felix Gill called. He saw Hope and Simone, at the Proctors’ place. Four hours ago. I rang back. He’s at home.’

  Marnie rested her hand
s on the steering wheel. ‘Four hours ago,’ she repeated.

  ‘I know. I gave Carling a hard time about it. He says the front desk took the message and only just passed it on.’

  ‘What exactly is Gill saying he saw?’

  ‘Hope and Simone going into the house, around seven thirty. Leaving with a suitcase, on foot. I’ve asked Carling to check the CCTV from near the house as well as the hospital.’

  ‘Good. We should get over to Leo’s place.’

  ‘It’s a better lead than the Bissells,’ Noah agreed.

  Marnie released the handbrake, frowning. ‘They went to her house? That was a bit risky. If Simone wanted the pair of them to go into hiding . . . I’m surprised she let Hope talk her into collecting a bag of clothes from a house we could’ve been watching.’ She glanced at Noah. ‘Gill was sure it was Simone, with Hope?’

  ‘From his description, yes. A “coloured lass with beads in her hair”. He said they were as thick as thieves.’

  ‘What do we think of Gill?’ Marnie asked. ‘Is he just a nosy neighbour?’

  ‘I’d say so. There’s one just like him across from me and Dan. It’s one of the reasons we got curtains instead of blinds . . . Lonely, I suppose.’

  ‘Neighbourhood watch . . . I’ll bet Hope hated being under his surveillance. Too bad she wasn’t under ours.’

  ‘No one was watching the house.’ Noah felt a fresh flare of anger under his ribs. ‘What the fuck is wrong with us?’

  Marnie flicked him a glance. Noah read regret in her eyes, and hard necessity in the line of her jaw. ‘Ask the accountants . . .’

  ‘I’d have done it myself if you’d asked me to.’

  ‘Not how it works.’ Marnie retracted the flippancy from her voice. ‘All right, let’s beat ourselves up later. Right now, we need to get on. How well do you remember the house?’

  ‘The Proctors’ house? Pretty well.’

  ‘Good. Let’s see if we can figure out what they took that was worth the risk of returning there.’

  47

  Felix Gill answered his front door promptly. He must have been waiting in the hall. ‘You’ll want to find out what they took away,’ he said, ‘in the suitcase.’