by Gytha Lodge
She was doing her best not to think any further about the night before, and the drink with Ben Lightman that had come to an abrupt end. She’d told herself several times over how glad she was that she didn’t have a hangover, and then she’d focused on the coming day instead.
She went to find her running gear and began to pull it on while periodically stirring the porridge. She’d always liked to run. Although she’d never been particularly fast, the sense of getting away from everything and everyone was always appealing. She also liked the way her mind wandered, often coming round to decisions and solutions as she ran. In fact, the only time she’d found running a challenge had been while dating Damian. Letting her mind wander had become a terrible thing. It had allowed her time to give in to all the negativity, and she would find herself stopping before she’d even realized it, her legs too heavy to continue and her brain reeling.
The feeling had followed her even after she’d finally split up with him. He’d made sure she kept thinking about him by harassing her with messages. It was all part of the narcissism that had made him the hideous bully he’d been.
But over the four months since she’d blocked all forms of communication from him, she’d come back to her running and started to love it again. She even loved planning it, making sure she had a route of the right length, and ate and drank the right things before and after.
This morning, she packed most of the porridge into an oblong Tupperware box and shoved it down to the bottom of the bag. The small remainder, which was the most she could eat straight before a run, she ate standing at the stove before shoving the pan into the sink to soak.
She was fully ready and pulling the backpack on when her phone buzzed. She gave a small growl and pulled it out of the little pocket in the top of the rucksack, trying not to tangle the cable of her headphones as she did it.
It was Angeline, telling her that she’d messed up, and could Hanson call her?
Hanson removed the headphones with a sigh and pressed the Call button.
* * *
—
THE PRESS CONFERENCE involved a lot more questions than Jonah would have liked. All he was really there to do, as far as he was concerned, was to appeal for information. He got through his piece all right, asking anyone who had seen Zoe on Thursday or earlier in the week to get in touch.
The problem was that a lot of stories had already started circulating in the media, and so Jonah had to field questions about whether the attack appeared to be racially motivated, about when she had been discovered, about whether anyone was currently in custody.
It was always difficult answering questions in an open manner when there was information they wanted to keep hidden. The time of discovery of the body, for example, and how they had been alerted. So he told them that a friend had been worried after not hearing from Zoe, and that nobody was in custody. As to a racial motivation, he could only say that there were no indications of that at present, but that they would, of course, look into it if it arose. He felt somewhat harassed by the time it was done but had at least made a good go of it.
Hanson was clearly poised, ready and waiting for him back in CID, unintentionally adding to the feeling of pressure. She rose as he entered, wet-haired and ruddy-cheeked, presumably from some sort of fitness, which made Jonah feel bad. He’d only made it out of bed in time for the press conference.
“Morning, Chief,” she said as she came to walk alongside him.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Angeline called,” Hanson replied. “She was full of self-recrimination, because last week she lost her keys, including the key to Zoe’s flat. Says she didn’t want to admit it at first but knows we need to know.”
“Lost how?” Jonah asked, letting them both into his office.
“She thinks she left them at a pub, and didn’t realize because Maeve let her stay on her sofa. They were handed in three days later to the police, and her letting agents returned them to her. Her room keys have a tag on.”
Jonah pulled out a pastry and started in on it, talking around mouthfuls in what he knew must be a fairly unattractive fashion. “Do we know who she was at the pub with?”
“Some of her course mates, apparently, but she messaged Maeve Silver and Zoe to tell them she’d got drunk and was feeling panicky.”
“And then Maeve told her to come round?” At Hanson’s nod, he said, considering, “And we don’t know for sure that she left them at the pub?”
“No,” Hanson replied. “It’s possible, for example, that she took them home to Maeve’s and passed out, and Maeve took advantage of that and went to get a copy made.”
Jonah nodded. “Or that someone else went and picked them up from the pub.”
“Yup,” Hanson said.
“Can you check her story?”
“I’ve left a message with the letting agents,” she said with a slight smile. “I figured it could be fabricated. I mean, it’s an easy way to divert attention from Angeline being one of the only people with a key.”
“That occurs to me, too,” Jonah said, and took a long chug of coffee. “Do you have times for when our interesting people are coming in?”
“I’ve emailed you,” Hanson replied. “Zoe’s landlord’s first.”
“Good. And Ben said he’d be in soon. I might take him into the interview,” he said apologetically. “If you wouldn’t mind making up a few leaflets requesting info and going to see Zoe’s neighbors?”
Hanson sighed, thinking of the rain that had started falling toward the end of her run, and the well-heated car she could have driven to get here. “Do you have any waterproofs I could borrow?”
* * *
—
“FELIX SOLOMON,” THE impeccably dressed landlord said, holding out his hand to Jonah. It was a strange move, Jonah thought. Witnesses and suspects alike were usually nervous. They rarely asserted themselves calmly. The impression Felix gave was of a consultant arriving to help with a job, not of a potential suspect.
Jonah took the hand and received a brief, warm handshake. “DCI Sheens. I’m glad you could come in for a chat.” He glanced at Lightman, who had brought the landlord to his office. “Which room are we in, Ben?”
“Three,” Lightman replied. “And there’s coffee on the way.”
Jonah let his sergeant lead the way and watched Felix follow him. There was such assurance to the way he moved. It wasn’t that he swaggered, just that he seemed entirely unfazed by everything he saw.
It was difficult to know how to interpret it. Jonah had seen some killers with an air of untouchable self-belief, but they’d usually given themselves away by smugness. He thought briefly of the few bankers he’d interviewed, who had been on the calmer end of the spectrum, and wondered whether Mr. Solomon’s working life involved a lot of high-pressure meetings.
Felix maintained a neutral expression as the tape started rolling, and nodded equably when Jonah asked him if he was Zoe’s landlord.
“Yes. Zoe moved in five months ago, in June.”
“And how did she find the place?”
“She knew me through the coffee shop,” Felix said.
“So you were friends?”
“Yes, I’d say so.” He nodded. “It happens when you’re a regular. Gina and I, the owner, you know, we became quite close a few years back. And quite a few of the staff come and sit and chat on their breaks.”
“What do you go there to do?”
“To work, largely,” Felix said.
“What’s your occupation?”
“Oh, I’m retired in terms of actual work,” he said. “I’m trying to write a memoir, which I acknowledge is a silly thing to do when I’ve never really written anything before. So I take my laptop and a notebook and I spend a few hours in there every day, working my way through more coffee than is healthy.”
“D
id you move here on retirement?”
“Yes, though I only came from Brighton.” He gave a smile. “I originally moved to Woolston in a house that was too big for me but I moved again a little over two years ago. It seemed sensible to be more self-contained and invest in a second property that would generate income.”
“So how did renting your flat to her arise?” Jonah asked.
“Zoe was looking for somewhere to live, and she knew I’d had problems with my tenant in the past. It was a good thing she asked. It gave me the motivation to kick the tenant out and move her in.”
Jonah gave a slight frown. “You kicked the tenant out for her? Isn’t that rather a long way to go for someone you know only casually?”
“Not when the tenant is a huge pain, and when the friend has told you she’s being harassed by her ex-boyfriend,” Felix said evenly.
“Do you know the identity of the ex-boyfriend?” Lightman interjected.
“Aidan Poole,” Felix said. “A lecturer and, unfortunately, one with a wife.”
“You learned this from Zoe?” Jonah asked.
“Yes. She’d sometimes let on about the difficult stuff.” Felix glanced between Jonah and Lightman. “I’m assuming you’re looking into him, so I probably don’t need to add all that much. But I would want to look at him quite hard. What she told me about how he behaved…”
“Are you talking about his behavior in general, or during the breakup?” Lightman queried. Jonah always appreciated his sergeant’s precision, his need for clarity.
“Both, really, but when she broke things off, he essentially stalked her and tried to make her take him back,” Felix said. “It was awful for her. Zoe was an easy victim because she was kind, and she wanted to see the best in everyone she knew.”
“Did she ever report him for it?” Jonah asked, knowing the answer.
“No,” Felix said, and fixed him with a wry grin, “which I’m sure you must know. I suggested that she should, but she felt for him. Which is why people like Aidan Poole end up winning out.”
“So she asked for a flat,” Jonah went on, “and you helped her. Presumably she wanted to keep the address from Aidan.”
“Absolutely,” Felix said. “She told me she’d had to speak very firmly to her friends about it. Her former housemate, Maeve, was a bit of a pushover when it came to Aidan. After Zoe broke up with him the first time, Maeve let him into the house, and it meant he was able to talk Zoe round. And then the second time, she told him what time Zoe’s coffee-shop shifts had moved to, so he found her again.”
Jonah glanced at his notes. “This is Maeve Silver.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Did she give a reason for this behavior?” Jonah asked.
“She said she wanted it to work out. She thought they belonged together and just needed to find a way.” Felix gave an exasperated sigh. “Romantic bullshit. She’d be an abuser’s dream, that one.”
“You think Aidan was manipulating her?” Jonah asked slowly.
“To an extent, yes,” Felix said with a nod. “And to an extent, I think Maeve did it all herself. She liked him, and liked the dynamic of them all together.”
Jonah gave him a thoughtful look. The response, and the analysis of Zoe’s friendship, was both considered and convincing.
“But Maeve didn’t have access to the new flat? She didn’t have a key?”
“No, I’m sure she didn’t,” Felix said. “It was one of the things Zoe was looking forward to. There was no way she could come home and find Aidan in her sitting room. I’m not entirely sure Maeve knew where the flat was.”
Jonah made a point of noting this down in his book, and then changed tone deliberately as he looked up again. “You did have a key, however.”
“Yes,” Felix agreed. “I had a landlord’s set.”
“And were you in the habit of using them?”
“Only when a plumber had to get in or when Zoe had locked herself out,” Felix said with a disappointing lack of willingness to rise to Jonah’s words.
“Can you describe your movements on Thursday evening?” he asked, hoping that the change of tack might unsettle Felix Solomon instead.
Felix nodded, a very slight smile on his face. “I’m happy to, though they’re not that easy to corroborate. I was predominantly in the flat, tidying and then watching documentaries.”
“Which documentaries were those?” Lightman asked.
“Oh…I’m watching Africa at the moment,” Felix said. “And then there was one about the Kray twins. After that I…” He laughed. “I watched an awful traffic officer real-life thing. The Real Road Police or something. Those things are terrible, but it’s addictive TV.”
“So that was until late?” the sergeant went on.
Jonah was mentally adding all of that up, and wondering whether this viewing would have taken him up to 11 P.M., when Aidan had seen someone enter Zoe’s flat and assault her. Even if they had, they were no alibi, and Felix only had to climb a single flight of stairs to get to Zoe’s flat.
“Yes, I watched them until…probably after midnight.”
“From what time?” Lightman asked in his usual flat tone.
“I’d say I tidied up from around seven. The TV would have been on by nine.”
“A thorough tidy, then,” Jonah commented.
Felix gave a small smile. “I know. I’m a bit obsessive about cleanliness. There was laundry and mopping and vacuuming in there, too.”
Jonah wasn’t certain, but he thought he might sense a hint of bullshit. It was strangely hard to tell with the self-assured Mr. Solomon. He didn’t press for now. Better, he felt, to catch him out later by bringing it up again.
“What about before seven?” he asked, aware that, if they discounted Aidan Poole’s statement, they could only pin down Zoe’s death to some point after late afternoon.
“Ah, now that I can prove,” he said. “I had my friend Esther over for tea from four. She left at about five. I have her number on my phone if you need it.”
Lightman nodded, and wrote down the number Felix read out. Jonah watched for a moment, thinking of Felix’s friendships with coffee-shop staff and the implication of loneliness. He asked, “Is she an old friend? Another one from the coffee shop?”
“She has a flat in the block as well, which she Airbnbs,” Felix said. “I’ve known her off and on for a few months. She’s a very kind soul and I think she picked up on the fact that I can get lonely at times.”
“You don’t have family?” Jonah asked.
“No. Unfortunately not.” It was said affably enough, but Jonah felt that Felix was closing the question down somehow. He decided to make a show of respecting the man’s boundaries for now.
“You mentioned to my constable that you’d seen Zoe arriving home. Can I clarify what time that was?”
“It was while I was getting the house straight,” Felix replied. “I wish I could be more specific about the time, but my impression is that it was eight, eight-thirty or so. Certainly before I started watching things at nine.” He gave a small shrug, and then his eyes cut across to Lightman and back and his tone changed. “I’d like to tell you about something that may or may not be relevant, but which I’d certainly want to take a look at if I were you.”
“By all means,” Jonah said.
“Zoe’s next-door neighbor,” Felix said, fixing Jonah with a very set gaze, “is a convicted pedophile.”
There was a brief silence, and then Jonah said, “Can I ask for more details?”
“Piers Lough, in Number Fifteen,” Felix said. “He moved in a year ago and he seems to work from home a lot.”
“How did you come by this information?” Jonah asked. “As far as I know, requests to view the sex offenders register are limited to people with young children.”
“There are other peop
le with kids in the block of flats,” Felix said quietly. “And word gets around. I’m not saying that pedophilia is any proof of the desire to murder a young woman, but it’s certainly a sign that he has problems. And someone who can hear Zoe coming and going and is right next door is in a pretty good position to take her keys at some point.”
“Well, we’ll certainly be looking into it,” Jonah said. “That’s everything covered so far, except for the key to Zoe’s flat. Could I have it?”
“Oh,” Felix said, his hand going toward his trouser pocket and then stopping. “I haven’t brought it. I’m so sorry; I just wasn’t thinking…Can I go and get it for you?”
“That would be helpful,” Jonah said. “We need the crime scene to be secure.”
“Naturally,” Felix said, and rose with a nod.
* * *
—
HANSON HAD MADE four house calls by midday, and found out nothing of any interest whatsoever. She’d taken advantage of a brief lull in the rain to do the houses around the block of flats. At three of them she’d had no reply. She’d stuffed a flyer through the letter box in each case and moved on. The other four explained that they had variously been out on Thursday or at home with the curtains drawn. None of them had seen anything. Which was the trouble with investigating a crime that had occurred in late November. Nobody had been hanging around on balconies or in gardens, drinking or smoking or chatting.
As the rain started to increase again, she headed to the front door of Zoe’s block and let herself in using Angeline’s sequestered key fob. She headed up to the second floor and knocked at Number 17, right next to the murdered girl’s flat on its left-hand side. She was pleased to hear footsteps approaching, and she smiled at the woman inside when she answered. But to Hanson’s disappointment it turned out that the resident had been away all week and only returned late on Friday night.
With a sigh, Hanson moved on to Flat 15, which was at the end on the far side of Zoe’s. She glanced at Zoe’s shiny number 16 on the way past, thinking momentarily of the scene in the bathroom.
