by Jane Casey
‘Oh, right.’ Briefly, she went through what she had done, showing me the bedroom, big enough for a double bed and a wardrobe and not much else, and the bathroom, a tiny marble-lined cube crowded with cosmetics that jostled for space on every surface. I followed her, increasingly despondent about our chances of finding any useful evidence. Bedsheets washed, floors vacuumed, surfaces dusted, bathroom and kitchen doused in bleach. Everywhere we might have hoped to find something of interest, Louise had got there first.
‘Bit of a mess, was it?’
‘That wasn’t unusual. Generally Rebecca lived in a state of chaos.’
‘It’s hard to keep things in order if you’re not that way inclined naturally,’ I said, with some feeling. I turned around in the small hallway and, finding myself nose-to-nose with Sam, rotated again to face Louise. ‘This isn’t the biggest flat in the world. I can see how it might get chaotic pretty easily. Did Rebecca like it?’
‘I never asked. She lived here for over a year, though. So it can’t have been that unpleasant.’
‘Did she live here on her own?’
‘Officially.’ Louise came as close to wriggling as I had seen her so far. ‘Um – she did have the odd person who stayed over. And some of them stayed for longer than a night or two. But basically, she was on her own.’
‘Meet any of them?’
Louise shook her head. ‘She hadn’t found the one. There was no one she wanted me to meet. Especially since I didn’t exactly hit it off with Gil.’
‘So you don’t have any names or contact details for any of them.’
‘No. But you’ll be going through her email account and her phone, won’t you? So you should be able to track them down that way. There’s no privacy for the victim in a murder investigation, I’m given to understand.’
‘Not much, no.’ I would be turning Rebecca Haworth’s life upside down and shaking it to see what fell out. At the thought of it, I folded my arms and leaned against the wall, suddenly fatigued beyond endurance. Concentrate, Maeve. With an effort I said, ‘Is there anything else you think we should know, Louise? Anything that was worrying you?’
I was expecting her to say no, but instead she bit her lip. ‘Well … There was just one thing. But it’s probably nothing.’
‘Go on,’ I encouraged her.
‘I just – well, I thought that maybe there’d been someone here yesterday. Someone who’d had a drink with Rebecca. There were two wine glasses in the sitting room, and there was still some wine in the bottom of them that hadn’t dried out completely. She didn’t drink alone, Detective – only when she was with someone. And there was lip gloss on one, I noticed, but not on the other.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Want a job?’
‘I just noticed it,’ she snapped, colour rising in her cheeks. ‘I was trying to work out who might have been here.’
‘Why?’
It was an obvious question, but it seemed to make Louise more edgy. She looked away from me and swallowed before managing, ‘Just – because.’
‘Because what, exactly?’
‘Well, if you must know, because I was wondering if she’d had Gil over again.’ The words came tumbling out, as if she’d been holding them back. ‘The last time I saw her, she said she was thinking of getting in touch with him again. I told her I thought it was a bad idea, and we almost had a row about it.’
‘Almost?’
‘I never argued with Rebecca. Not properly. There was nothing she couldn’t say to me, or me to her.’
Right, I thought. I’m sure. What I actually said was, ‘Fair enough. But do you think she might not have said anything to you if she did contact him?’
‘Maybe not,’ Louise admitted.
‘OK. Well, it sounds as if it would be worth our while to talk to him. Does he live around here?’
‘No. He has a place in Shoreditch or Hoxton or somewhere like that. Somewhere arty. I’ve never been.’ From the tone of her voice, she wouldn’t be rushing there any time soon, either.
‘Do you know how we might get in touch with him? Where does he work?’
‘He doesn’t.’ She met my eyes and smiled unexpectedly, if briefly. ‘Sorry. He alleges that he’s a theatre director, but he never seems to do any actual directing. He was born wealthy so he doesn’t need to work. He doesn’t have an office, but I have his mobile number.’ She strode back into the living room, picked up her bag – Prada, and this season too – and took out her phone, scrolling through the contacts until she found his name.
Sam wrote down the number she dictated, then looked up at her limpidly. ‘So you didn’t like him and you didn’t get on, but you have his phone number?’
‘Rebecca insisted,’ she said, her mouth thinning again. ‘She was the sort of girl who lost phones – she left her handbag in cabs a few times. She once dropped one down the loo. She wanted me to have Gil’s number as a backup in case I couldn’t get hold of her.’
‘And did you use it when you couldn’t get in touch with her recently?’
‘Their relationship was over.’ Again, there was a hint of satisfaction in her voice. ‘But I’m sure you’ll enjoy meeting him. He’s quite a charmer.’
‘You didn’t fall for it,’ Sam pointed out.
‘He didn’t bother wasting any charm on me.’ She checked her watch. ‘I should go. Are we done here?’
I agreed that we were, for the time being. ‘We might have more questions for you later, though. We’ll need your details too.’
She took two business cards and a Mont Blanc pen out of her bag, then wrote quickly and neatly on the back of the cards, flapping them twice to dry the ink before laying them on the table. ‘Home address and telephone number. But you’re more likely to get me at the office. I’ve put my mobile on there too.’
‘Even at weekends?’ Sam asked.
‘It’s a good time to get things done.’ She looked defiant for a moment, reading the scepticism in his face and bristling at it.
‘How does your boyfriend feel about that?’
‘If I had one, he would have to get used to it. But as I don’t, I’m free to come and go as I like.’
‘Lucky you,’ Sam said, grinning. She looked as if she was going to say something else in return, but settled for nodding coolly to both of us, then left without offering to shake hands.
‘Not good enough to touch the hem of her garment,’ Sam observed once the front door had shut behind her.
‘Oh, get over yourself.’ I frowned at him. ‘What would it matter if she had a boyfriend anyway? Why shouldn’t she work all the hours God sends if she likes it?’
One eyebrow slid up Sam’s wrinkled forehead. ‘Found yourself identifying with her, did you? Career women together?’
I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him though he could probably tell that he’d hit a nerve. I pushed Ian to the back of my mind as Sam stumped across to look at the pictures on the bookcase.
‘Think there was anything dykey going on between our victim and her little friend?’
‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you?’ I snapped, but then I relented. ‘I thought that too. But as it happens, I don’t think so. I didn’t get that impression. Just friends, I’d have said.’
‘Shame,’ Sam said easily, his hands jammed in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. ‘So what now?’
‘I’ll give forensics a call,’ I decided, taking out my phone. ‘There might be something of interest – and if there is, I’d rather not be responsible for screwing it up. So could you stop touching things, please and wait until we get the all-clear from the lads?’
‘There’s no evidence that anything happened here.’
‘No, there’s no evidence that we can see that anything happened here. When they’ve confirmed it, I’ll believe it.’
‘All right, missy. Make your call. And then you’d better phone the boss. He’ll probably want a look around too, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Mo
re than likely,’ I said sedately, my voice not betraying the sudden increase in my heart rate though my hands shook a little. The thought of phoning Godley always made me nervous – but excited, too. And at least this time, the news I had to share with him was good.
‘And the next time you decide to go off and investigate a victim’s home without telling anyone where you’re going or what you’re doing, maybe you might think about letting your supervisors know what you’re up to.’
I didn’t think I’d ever seen Superintendent Godley look so thoroughly angry, and in the course of this investigation I’d seen him in some fairly dark moods.
‘I don’t know which of you to blame. I’m surprised at both of you. DC Prosser, you should know better than to go off on a solo run like that, with your experience. And DC Kerrigan, I thought you were brighter than that.’
I managed not to wince, just. His words stung, as they were meant to. I didn’t dare look over at Sam, though I would have given much to see the expression on his face.
‘The first thing you should have done when the ID came through was call me. What did you think you were going to achieve by coming here on your own?’
‘I just thought we’d get a head start,’ I mumbled, staring at the knot in his tie, afraid to meet his eyes or to look away from him. Behind him stood DI Judd with a little triangular smile on his weaselly face. Behind that was a SOCO dusting surfaces with a fat brush and black powder, searching for prints. A mask hid the smirk that I knew would be there. Everyone loved it when someone else was in trouble.
‘Did you. Well, that’s all right then. What am I complaining about?’ His voice was heavily sarcastic. ‘You fucked up, Maeve.’
‘If we hadn’t got here when we did, we wouldn’t have known that her friend had tidied up,’ I pointed out, unable to stop myself even though I knew it was stupid to argue. ‘We’d just have found the place all neat and tidy and never known what the real story was.’
‘And what is the real story?’
I talked fast, seeing a chance to redeem myself. ‘No sign of a struggle, but according to Louise – her friend – the place was in a chaotic state.’ I ran through what she had described to me. ‘She did think that Rebecca had been here recently. The interesting thing was that she also thought someone had been in the flat with her, more than likely last night.’ I explained about the wine glasses, hoping Godley would be impressed.
He frowned. ‘Doesn’t mean it has anything to do with what happened to her, does it? As far as we know, our killer doesn’t have any contact with the victims beforehand.’
‘Right. But maybe Rebecca went out with her visitor after they’d had a drink. Maybe they went out for a meal or clubbing or something – and on the way home, in the early hours of this morning, she ran across the murderer. Finding out who was here with her is pretty important if we’re going to reconstruct her final hours.’
‘What an original idea,’ Judd said sarcastically. ‘Thank God we’ve got you on the team, DC Kerrigan.’
A frown flickered on the superintendent’s face for a second and I guessed he was irritated by the interruption. I managed not to look pleased. Who’s in trouble now?
‘So how are we going to track down the mystery guest?’ Godley said eventually.
‘According to Louise, it might have been Rebecca’s ex, Gil Maddick. I can follow that up if you like.’
‘I do like.’ Godley sighed. ‘If it isn’t him, we’re stuffed, aren’t we? I presume we won’t get much from the forensics?’
‘Louise was pretty thorough.’ I ticked it off on my fingers. ‘She changed the bedclothes and washed the sheets. She dusted and vacuumed the entire flat. She cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen, and bleached all the surfaces. She put away Rebecca’s clothes and washed up all the dirty dishes.’
‘It’s almost as if she knew we were coming,’ Sam chipped in mordantly. ‘Couldn’t have done a better job if she’d been paid to do it.’
‘What was she, the victim’s slave?’ Godley was back to sounding irritated.
‘She was used to looking after her. That’s how their friendship worked, she said.’
‘So what did Louise get out of it?’
I shrugged. ‘Enough that she felt it was worth her while to spend a couple of hours here tidying up. Like I said, I don’t think it was unusual for her to get stuck into Rebecca’s domestic chores. I don’t get the impression that Rebecca was that focused on the more mundane things in life. From what Louise said, she was more of a party girl.’
‘We’ll need to find out what the victim’s family and friends made of Louise. Make sure she is who she says she is.’ Godley was frowning again. ‘See if you can get hold of the ex-boyfriend, but in the meantime, we need to think about how else we might prove who was here in case that’s a dead end.’
‘I’ll check with the porter to see if there’s any CCTV in the building,’ Sam volunteered. ‘Whoever was on duty last night might remember Rebecca leaving, too. She was the sort of girl you’d notice, wasn’t she?’
I thought of the park, the body lying at my feet in the charred grass. Someone had noticed her, all right, in her heels and her tightly fitted dress. Someone had noticed, and hated, and wanted to destroy her.
‘Good,’ Godley said, and Sam shot out without waiting for anything else. ‘Maeve, I want you to be the one who talks to Rebecca’s family, her colleagues and other friends as well as the ex-boyfriend – see if you can find out what was going on in her life. Don’t get started until we’ve got in touch with her next of kin to let them know what’s happened. I don’t want you getting ahead of us again.’
I tried not to look disappointed. On an investigation like this, background information on the victim wasn’t usually that important. It was busy work, something that needed to be done but that wasn’t remotely likely to find our killer. Plodding research with formulaic questions, file-card facts no one would ever need to make a case.
‘Sure. No problem. Er – any preference for where to start?’
‘Take them in whatever order you like. Do me a report once you’re done and put the data on HOLMES. Then let Tom know you’re finished and he’ll assign you something else.’
Behind his back, DI Judd smiled unpleasantly. Whatever he assigned me would be the equivalent of latrine duty. That was the price I’d paid for getting to be the bearer of bad tidings twice in twenty-four hours. Godley could be superstitious. I was a leaning ladder, a crack in the pavement, a black cat in his path. Unless I could come up with something good, I was done.
On the way out to the car, I couldn’t help looking for cameras in the halls and corridors. Not a one. Sam had bellied up to the front desk and was leaning over it, talking football with the security guard. I pointed towards the door as I passed the front desk. I’m out of here. Coming?
‘Five minutes,’ he said, spreading his hand wide to hold up five chubby fingers. He looked as innocent, bald and plump as a toddler. If toddlers routinely sweated through their clothes. And had nose hair.
‘Five minutes,’ I repeated. ‘Then I’m gone.’
I got a swift grin in response. He knew I’d wait ten. He also knew I’d leave after ten minutes exactly, if he hadn’t emerged by then. Sam could find his own way back to the incident room, or home, or to the nearest pub. I would owe him the pint I’d promised him. I was good for it.
The short walk to the car was enough to chill me to the bone. When I sat in the driver’s seat, I spent a couple of minutes rubbing my hands together, trying to get the blood moving in them. I didn’t think I would ever be warm again. The wind was coming straight off the river, cutting through the narrow streets with knife-like sharpness. I guessed the river was one of the things that had brought Rebecca to the area, though she hadn’t managed to get herself a view of the Thames. She’d looked at people. And maybe, I thought with quickening interest as I scanned the apartment building opposite, they had looked at her. Looked at her and looked at her visitor. It was worth knocking o
n some doors, surely.
But not myself. I had my orders. There was absolutely no merit in setting off on my own initiative again, not with the superintendent’s epic bollocking still ringing in my ears. Instead, I dug out my phone and rang him, explaining what I had noticed as concisely as I could, and suggesting that it might be worthwhile, if he thought it would be useful, to check it out.
‘Not a bad idea. Good work, Maeve.’ Civility restored. I grinned as I disconnected. I wasn’t home free with Godley, but I was in a far better position than I had been before I called. I might even risk approaching the boss directly once I’d finished my trawl through Rebecca Haworth’s life. DI Judd would never forgive me for bypassing him, but then DI Judd was never likely to clamour for membership of my fan club. Why put myself in the way of shovelling shit for him if I didn’t absolutely have to?
No reason at all, Maeve.
I looked at the clock on the dashboard. Sam had four more minutes. Then I’d hit the road. Try to track down Gil Maddick. Find out if he had been with Rebecca. Find out what he thought of the lovely Louise. She had been right: there would be no privacy for Rebecca, but what she hadn’t realised was that she would be scrutinised too. Rebecca’s murder was a heavy stone dropped in the pool of her family and friends’ lives. None of them would be unaffected by the ripples that spread out from it. And nothing would ever be the same again.
LOUISE
I went home once I was sure the police were finished with me for the time being, and when I walked in through the front door of my little house in Fulham, I couldn’t remember a step of the journey back. The house was cold, the central heating off, but instead of going to the kitchen to poke the boiler into life I pushed open the sitting-room door and sat on the sofa, staring into space. After a few minutes, I roused myself to switch on the lamp beside me and slipped off my shoes. The objects in the room, dimly illuminated by the orange streetlight that shone through the window, now leapt into detail. The grey sofa I was sitting on, with its brown cushions. The coffee table, plain and wooden, completely empty. A television I never switched on. An armchair, rarely if ever used by any guest. No ornaments. It was a bland room, a blank waiting for a personality to be stamped on it.
