Body and Soul

by John Harvey

  ‘I mean, what if it was someone who gained access by some means or other, someone who didn’t necessarily know Winter but attacked him for some reason – robbery, say – and then just got carried away, once the attack had started.’

  ‘You’re right, Mark, thank you. The scenario you suggest is equally possible. Perhaps not quite as equally possible as the one I put forward, but one we should certainly do well to bear in mind.’

  Laughter. Faces looking towards Foster once more, the young officer blushing furiously yet again.

  ‘By the way,’ Hadley said, ‘that woman Winter had a relationship with – sculptor, was it? Adriana something – have you had any luck yet tracking her down?’

  ‘Not yet, ma’am. She lives in Cyprus at least half the year as far as I can tell. I’ve been trying to get an address, but no luck so far.’

  ‘Keep on it.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘All right,’ Hadley said, looking from face to face, ‘what else have we got?’

  There was not a great deal more. Katherine Elder’s prints were amongst those lifted from various surfaces in the studio, but that was only to have been expected. Some of the others had been identified, but by no means all. Katherine’s partial prints were also found on the chain, but given the painting for which she’d been the model, this again was unsurprising.

  Trace evidence – hair and fibres – was plentiful but inconclusive. Stains from the covers and mattress of the day bed were still being checked for semen and vaginal secretions. Data recovery from Winter’s various devices had uncovered a strong interest – not surprisingly, Hadley thought, given the nature of some of his paintings – in various S&M sites, along with a smattering of more straightforward porn. Gambling, too: online poker, a particular favourite. His call history was currently being re-examined, the unit seeking whatever links and connections they could find. Despite the part-time assistance of two other officers, Howard Dean was still working his way through hours of CCTV footage.

  Together with Chris Phillips, Hadley went over the findings of the investigation so far, outlining possible further lines of inquiry; she was due to report to Detective Chief Superintendent McKeon on the hour.

  27

  Despite the various assurances Hadley had felt able to make, McKeon was not a happy man. But then, as she told herself, the DCS was rarely, if ever, a happy man. Possibly at home with his wife and four rumoured children, comfortably ensconced in a detached house in Totteridge on the northern edge of London, with views out towards the M25 and the steadily disappearing Green Belt, he was, indeed, happy. Content, at least. Hadley had met his wife once, a semi-formal occasion she’d been assured she should attend if she were serious about any further promotion. Mary McKeon had proved to be, against all of Hadley’s meaner assumptions, a friendly dimple-cheeked woman from a farming community in County Antrim, her accent, by the third or fourth glass of wine, leaving no doubt as to her antecedents. Hadley had liked her a great deal.

  She was back in her office, halfway through the mozzarella, avocado and tomato ciabatta Chris had brought her back from the Wine Cellar, when Howard Dean knocked on her door.

  ‘Okay, Howie,’ she said, ‘I hope you’re not looking like the cat that’s got the cream for no good reason?’

  ‘No, boss. I don’t think so. We haven’t got through all the CCTV stuff yet, not by a long chalk. But there is this.’

  She set her sandwich aside, opened her computer and slotted the USB stick Dean offered her into place, then clicked on the appropriate file. Looked closely once, twice, once again for good luck.

  ‘I think,’ she said, ‘I think you might just be right.’

  Howard Dean’s grin resembled that of the Cheshire Cat.

  ‘Alice,’ Hadley called from the door, ‘Katherine Elder, we need to talk to her again. If she’s not at home, find out where she is. There are some more questions she needs to answer. And this time here at the station. Take Howie with you.’

  ‘Riding shotgun, boss?’

  Hadley smiled. ‘It is Dalston, after all.’

  Katherine was not answering her mobile phone. The landline number rang and rang. When the two officers called round at the flat, Stelina had only just arrived home. At first she claimed to have no idea where Katherine might be, nor when she might return. It took all of Alice’s quiet persuasion to gain her cooperation. ‘You could try London Fields maybe. Or Gillett Square. She sometimes goes there.’

  Stelina watched from the balcony as the two detectives got back into their car, uncertain if she’d done the right thing. Katherine had been fragile enough lately, drawing further and further back into herself and spending more and more time alone. And drinking: after what had happened before that was not a good sign, a safe thing for her to be doing. It might not take too much to push her back to the edge.

  Stelina stepped back inside, uncertain what, if anything, she might do to help.

  They found Katherine sitting alone in Gillett Square, cross-legged on the ground, head down, jacket collar pulled close. Nearby, a group of rowdy teenagers were pushing and shoving one another, swearing loudly and drawing the ire of a smaller and quieter group of older black men who were gathered round two of their number, engaged in what was obviously a nail-biting game of chess.

  ‘Hello, Katherine,’ Alice said. ‘Remember me?’

  Katherine blinked up into the light. The storm that had threatened earlier in the day had cleared, leaving a patchwork of blue-and-grey sky and a chilly wind that danced the various bits of paper and food wrapping around the surface of the square.

  ‘Alice. Alice Atkins. And this is my colleague, Detective Constable Dean.’

  ‘Hi, Katherine,’ Dean said with a hopeful smile.

  Katherine didn’t respond. A boy, no older than eleven or twelve, crossed the square at speed on the rear wheel of his bike alone, hauling the front wheel high by the handlebars.

  Alice squatted low, one hand to the ground. ‘You remember, Katherine, we said we might want to talk to you some more? Well, that’s what we’d like to do, only this time down at the station.’

  Katherine blinked again, as if trying to bring Alice into focus. ‘Station?’

  ‘Police station.’

  ‘Shacklewell Lane?’

  ‘No, Kentish Town, where we’re based. You don’t have to worry, we’ll drive you there and back.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Come on, Katherine. It’s just a few more questions. The sooner we get started, the sooner it’s over.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said again, angling her face away to avoid looking at Alice, looking at either of them, staring at the ground instead.

  ‘The thing is,’ Dean said, ‘I’m afraid, when it comes down to it, you don’t really have a whole lot of choice.’

  She looked at him then. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘He means,’ Alice said, ‘if you don’t agree to come voluntarily, we’ll have no alternative other than to place you under arrest.’

  It was quiet in the interview room, just the faint electronic hum of the recording devices, audio and visual; fainter and yet persistent, the slow build-up of traffic along Kentish Town Road. At one end of the table a screen linked to Alice Atkins’ laptop.

  For the tape, Alice identified herself and Detective Chief Inspector Alex Hadley by name and rank and gave the precise time and date.

  ‘You’re not under arrest, Katherine,’ Hadley said, ‘but you are being interviewed under caution. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  Katherine looked blank, frightened. Tugged at the ends of her hair.

  ‘As I say, you’re not under arrest and you’re free to leave at any time. And if you wish to obtain legal advice, you’re free to do so. All right, Katherine? If you don’t know the name of a solicitor, we can arrange one for you.’


  Nothing. Katherine bit down into her bottom lip and looked away.

  ‘Katherine, you do understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do you want a solicitor present?’

  ‘No.’ Almost too quiet to hear.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Hadley eased back a little, glanced down at the papers in front of her. ‘When we spoke before, you said that the last time you saw Anthony Winter was on the Monday before he died.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘When you went to the studio to see the paintings for which you’d posed.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you didn’t see him after that?’

  ‘No. That’s what I said.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes, of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  Hadley shifted sideways so that she was facing the screen. ‘I’d like you to take a look at this piece of video taken from a CCTV camera on Highgate Road. You’ll see there along the bottom the date and the time: twenty-three thirty-five on Saturday the eighth.’

  The apprehension showed clearly in Katherine’s eyes.

  ‘Take your time,’ Hadley said, ‘and tell me what you see.’

  Katherine looked at the image, looked away, looked again. ‘I don’t know, it’s too dark to see anything clearly at all.’

  ‘Look again. Look carefully.’

  Alice played the same sequence again.

  ‘It’s just someone walking. Some woman walking, I don’t know.’

  ‘Someone walking along Highgate Road?’

  ‘That’s what you said.’

  ‘Close to the path leading down to Anthony Winter’s studio?’

  Katherine breathed out deeply. ‘It could be, I suppose. How can you tell?’

  Alice clicked on a second image.

  ‘How about this?’ Hadley said.’That’s the same person we just saw on Highgate Road, a little over a minute later. Only now – you can just see the flats on the left – they’re walking towards the studio. The same clothes, the same walk. It’s the same person, you agree?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.’

  ‘Look again.’

  Katherine stared again at the picture and saw a woman walking towards the camera, head down, deep shadows to one side.

  ‘It’s still not clear. The face, you can’t see the face.’

  ‘Then that isn’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That isn’t you?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Voice louder now, the edge of panic, alarmed. ‘Me? How could it be me?’

  ‘Look at the build, Katherine, the shape, the way she’s walking. Slim, tall, athletic even. The colour of her hair. And the clothes, look at what she’s wearing.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘A leather jacket, isn’t it?’

  ‘It could be. I don’t know.’

  ‘A leather jacket and jeans.’

  ‘So? So what?’

  ‘Just like the jacket you’re wearing now.’

  Katherine reared back in her seat. ‘That’s … that’s ridiculous. It doesn’t mean anything. There’s hundreds of jackets like this. Thousands.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Katherine, I put it to you, that image shows you approaching Anthony Winter’s studio at eleven thirty-seven and a few seconds on Saturday the eighth of April, the night he was killed.’

  ‘No, no! No, it’s not!’ Katherine clawed at her face, drawing blood. A scratch below the left eye, skin caught on a jagged nail. ‘No, it’s not, it’s not me and I want to go. You said I could go, right? Whenever I wanted to, I could go.’

  She was on her feet, hands outstretched, fingers spread as if to ward them off, though neither of the officers had moved.

  ‘I want to go, now. Now. Home.’

  ‘Of course.’ Hadley pushed back her chair. ‘That’s your right. Alice will drive you.’

  ‘No. No. I can get home on my own.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Alice asked. ‘It’s no trouble.’

  Katherine nodded, edged towards the door.

  ‘At least let me find a plaster for that cut on your face.’

  ‘What cut?’ Reaching up, Katherine wiped blood across her cheek. ‘It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘How about those other cuts?’ Hadley asked.

  ‘Which …’

  ‘The ones on your wrists.’

  Instinctively, Katherine drew her arms back against her chest. ‘That’s nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Nothing to do with Anthony Winter?’

  ‘No!’ Leaning across the table, Katherine screamed the word in Hadley’s face.

  ‘This interview,’ Hadley said calmly, ‘terminated at sixteen-nineteen – nineteen minutes past four.’

  28

  Vicki was midway through a storming version of ‘Tain’t Nobody’s Business’ when Elder felt the phone in his pocket begin to vibrate. Outside it was drizzling rain and he sheltered under the archway above the pub entrance while he took the call. Katherine’s voice was faltering, weak, broken by small choking sobs.

  ‘All right,’ Elder said. ‘Just tell me, where are you now?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘At the flat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is there anyone there with you?’

  ‘Chrissy. And Stelina.’

  ‘And all of this happened when?’

  ‘This afternoon. Late this afternoon.’

  He fought back the urge to ask why on earth she hadn’t called him before.

  ‘Listen, sweetheart, try not to worry. Get some rest. Sleep if you can. I’ll be there first thing tomorrow. And don’t worry, okay? Try not to, at least.’

  ‘All right. If you’re sure.’

  ‘Of course. Of course I am. And just let me have a quick word with Stelina, okay? I’ll see you first thing and we’ll get all this sorted.’

  After a few confused moments, Stelina came on the line. Elder asked her to make sure any pills, ibuprofen, paracetamol, anything stronger, were shut away where his daughter couldn’t get at them. Any alcohol. Anything sharp. Keep watch, you and Chrissy between you, it’s important.

  Stelina assured him she would. They both would. Abike, too.

  Elder broke the connection. For a moment he thought about going back inside to explain to Vicki, then thought better of it; he’d phone her later. Right now he needed to make sure he was in time for the overnight train.

  Once he was on his way, he called Joanne and alerted her to what had happened. He didn’t think it was anything too serious, but he thought she should know all the same. It sounded to him like a fishing expedition on the part of the police and not a whole lot more. Anything more serious and Katherine would have been charged and placed under arrest. From what she had said it seemed as though they were trying to make connections, hoping things would fall into place. He would go in to the police station tomorrow, speak to whoever was in charge and sort things out. Let her know how he got on, good news or bad. If there was anything she could do. And he’d be sure to give her love to Katherine, of course.

  He closed his eyes.

  Slept fitfully.

  At Paddington, he paid to take a shower, bought a bacon sandwich and coffee from one of the few places he could find open, then took the Tube to Highbury and Islington via Oxford Circus and from there the overground to Dalston Junction.

  When Stelina let him in it was still not yet properly light.

  Katherine was sleeping with one finger in the corner of her mouth, her other hand clutching at her hair. Careful not to wake her, he lowered himself to the floor beside the bed and sat there listening to the faint sounds of her breathing and watching the quick, occasional tremor of her eyelids as she slept.

  Hadley realised she’d read the document on the screen three times without ever fully takin
g it in, her mind, part of it at least, elsewhere. Had that been a genuine row she’d had with Rachel that morning or simply more bickering? All over an invitation to supper with friends – actually more friends of Rachel’s; they were always, almost always, more friends of Rachel’s – that she hadn’t felt able to commit to.

  ‘It’s three weeks away, for God’s sake, Rach, how d’you expect me to know for certain?’

  ‘I’d just like to be able to say we’ll be there, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, do. Say that. Tell them yes, we’ll come. I just can’t promise, that’s all.’

  ‘Can you ever?’

  ‘Now what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Oh, never mind.’

  ‘Look, if it’s that important, you go. Go on your own.’

  ‘All right then, I will.’

  ‘Tell them I’m sorry, but I just happen to have this job that doesn’t allow me to commit myself so far in advance.’

  ‘Three weeks?’

  ‘Yes, three fucking weeks.’

  Bickering? Or something more basic? More serious?

  The phone went and she picked it up. The officer at the front desk. ‘Someone to see you, ma’am. Elder. Frank Elder. He’s pretty insistent.’

  ‘Send him up.’

  Take it easy, Elder had told himself. Stay calm. Nothing to be gained from losing your temper, storming in there like a bull in the proverbial china shop. Last thing you want to do, get off on the wrong foot, put this officer’s back up even further.

  The moment he entered Hadley’s office all the clichés fell away, unnoticed.

  ‘Mr Elder …’

  He glared at her, ignoring the proferred hand.

  ‘You’re in charge? In charge of this investigation? The murder of Anthony Winter?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘In connection with which you had my daughter in here yesterday, being questioned under caution?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then what the fuck did you think you were doing?’

  Hadley caught her breath, held his look, walked around him and pushed the office door closed, went back behind her desk.

  ‘Mr Elder, please take a seat.’

  ‘I’ll stand.’

  ‘As you wish.’