‘Is it?’ Millie challenged her.
‘Yes.’ Lucy met her gaze. ‘I mean, at one time I might have thought about having a family, but it’s not that important to me. And now we’re married and I’m getting pregnancy test kits in the post, it makes it look as if I’ve changed my mind.’ She began to weep again.
‘But you haven’t?’
‘No! Of course not.’
‘But Will didn’t believe you and he got angry,’ Millie surmised.
‘He’s got a bit of a temper,’ Lucy admitted. ‘Haven’t lots of men? But he’s all noise, that’s all. All couples argue sometimes, don’t they? Don’t you and your husband?’
Millie didn’t have to think about that one. Suli had never even raised his voice to her. But telling her that wasn’t going to help. Instead she asked: ‘Does Will ever frighten you, Lucy?’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
But there was something in her voice that didn’t entirely put Millie’s mind at rest. ‘Who else have you told about this decision not to have kids?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know . . . lots of people.’
‘Lots of people?’ Millie queried. ‘Julie-Ann doesn’t seem to know — or your mum.’ She could have added Paula to that list but it was probably enough.
‘I haven’t seen Julie-Ann lately,’ said Lucy. ‘And I haven’t yet plucked up the courage to tell Mum. She’s so looking forward to her first grandchild. She hasn’t said it outright, but I know she is. I’ve mentioned it to plenty of other people, though. It’s kind of an expectation, isn’t it? I’ve just got married in my thirties and people are very fond of telling me about how my biological clock is running out, so I’ve sort of felt compelled to make it known that we’re not planning a family.’
‘Have there been any more phone calls?’ Millie asked.
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. They stopped while Will was at home but the phone rang just after he went out. I unplugged it.’
‘How long after Will went out?’
‘Straight away, pretty much. That’s why I didn’t even answer it.’
‘If we’re going to help you, we do need to talk to Will,’ Millie reminded Lucy.
‘He’s away again,’ she seemed relieved to say it. ‘The band has got a couple of gigs this week. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.’ She was sounding vague and unable to meet Millie’s eye. Eventually she did look up. ‘Will thinks I’m imagining things.’
‘What do you think?’
When she looked back up at Millie her eyes were glistening. ‘Honestly? Just lately I sometimes think I must be going mad.’
Millie was aware that her next question was a sensitive one. ‘The people I’ve spoken to,’ she said, carefully. ‘They seem to think that you and Will getting married was quite sudden.’
Lucy was instantly defensive. ‘Well, maybe that’s just jealousy speaking.’
‘Julie-Ann maybe. But your mum? They’re all worried about you.’ Millie was experienced enough to know that it was a subject she’d have to drop and come back to later. There was nothing to be gained by turning Lucy against her. ‘I’d like to see all the stuff you’ve been getting in the post,’ she said. ‘Can we go back to the house now?’
‘Sure. My next appointment’s not till this afternoon. I’ll just let my manager know that I’m taking an hour out.’
Chapter Seven
The houses on Nina Silvero’s street were spaced apart and set in mature gardens, each uniquely designed; a mock Tudor rubbing shoulders with Rennie Mackintosh and post-modern concrete and glass. This was an affluent district; three quarters of a million apiece at least, Mariner thought, and the kind of residents who would be unsettled by the sight of the blue and white striped tape, and the police officer standing sentry at the gates of number fifty-two. House-to-house enquiries were being conducted, though Mariner could see no evidence of activity this morning and, as far as he was aware, nothing significant had yet been uncovered. It was common in neighbourhoods such as these, and a phenomenon that Mariner had encountered before. Walking up the drive he had a powerful sense of déjà vu that took him back to a night in February about five years before, but even so, he was astonished when Knox said: ‘Reminds yer of Eddie Barham, this one, doesn’t it, boss?’
The murder had been a significant one for Mariner for all kinds of reasons. It had been the first case he and Knox had worked on together, during a brief spell when Knox had been relegated to uniform, and during the course of the investigation Mariner had come to know the deceased’s autistic brother, Jamie and, more importantly, their sister, Anna. It had been the start of a rocky three-year relationship, which had only ended, Mariner was beginning to acknowledge, because of his own stupidity.
‘Have you heard how Anna’s getting on?’ Knox asked, carefully.
‘I’m sure she’s just fine,’ said Mariner, tightly, and continued on towards the house. Subject closed.
The Silvero residence was a nondescript red-brick. The tarmac drive smelled strongly in the warm afternoon sun and was tacky underfoot, and Mariner was careful to wipe his feet thoroughly on the doormat when they got inside. Closing the solid front door behind them, Tony Knox paused. ‘Look at that little lot,’ he said, referring to the hardware on the inner door. There were sturdy bolts top and bottom, and a heavy chain. ‘They look new.’
Mariner thought about Lucy Jarrett. ‘Perhaps Nina Silvero was nervous about something, too.’
In the kitchen, the window pane in the back door, broken when Ralph Solomon had forced his way in, had been boarded up. Mariner had brought along the SOCO’s photographs so that they could reconstruct the scene found by Solomon when he first came in. The wine rack was well stocked, though mostly with red Burgundies, Mariner noticed, and he retrieved a bottle of household cleaner from under the sink to represent the drain fluid. ‘That’s interesting,’ he said, squatting by the open door of the cupboard under the sink. He began removing the bottles one by one, arranging them on the floor beside him.
‘That Nina Silvero was an obsessive compulsive?’ Knox offered watching the collection accumulate.
‘Not that,’ Mariner said. ‘Look at the labels.’
Knox picked up a couple of bottles at random and examined them but couldn’t spot what Mariner had seen.
‘Croghan said it would only have taken a couple of mouthfuls of the drain fluid to kill her, yet according to the crime scene report, the bottle of drain fluid was nearly empty,’ Mariner said. ‘I assumed that it was because Nina Silvero had already used some of it for cleaning her drains. But look at all this lot,’ he craned his neck to peer over at the sink. ‘And the washing-up liquid.’
Knox did, but his expression remained blank.
‘Ecover,’ said Mariner. ‘And if you look at these others, they’re all the same. All her cleaning stuff is environmentally friendly. Nina Silvero didn’t keep any of the toxic stuff in her house.’
‘So the killer brought the materials along,’ said Knox.
‘Exactly,’ Mariner indicated one of the photographs. ‘And despite the fact that there was a wine bottle and glass on the kitchen table, there was no wine in Nina Silvero’s stomach—’
‘Because the wine in the bottle had been replaced with drain cleaning fluid,’ Knox took up his train of thought.
‘There was only one wine glass on the table, to make us think that she’d been drinking alone.’
‘So the killer choreographed the scene afterwards.’
Mariner was inclined to agree. ‘The drain fluid bottle wouldn’t have been produced until after Nina Silvero was dead. The wine glass the killer used would also have been washed and replaced, or they might have even taken it with them.’ Knox reached up and opened the cupboard containing Nina’s glassware; one vacant space where a wine glass had been. ‘We’ll get the rest of these tested for drain fluid. I’ll bet that there are traces in one, and if the killer hasn’t been careful enough we may even get a print or some DNA.’
‘So if this is someone who N
ina Silvero was comfortable about having a drink with, it was someone she already knows,’ Knox concluded. ‘She’s on the phone to her daughter when the doorbell goes. She ends the call and answers the door. It’s someone on the doorstep with a bottle of wine, inviting themselves in — maybe to help her celebrate the MBE.’
‘Does she, or does the killer simply hand over the bottle as a gift and hope that the invitation follows?’ Mariner wondered.
‘Nah, too much of a risk,’ Knox said. ‘They need to see Nina drink it. Otherwise, she might not bother; she might just pass it on, or share it with someone else. We already know that she wasn’t in the habit of drinking alone.’ What he said made sense.
‘So they both come into the kitchen and one of them pours the so-called wine,’ Mariner continued. ‘That suggests a level of informality.’
‘Croghan said that Nina Silvero fell where she stood, and if we look at these scene photos it doesn’t look as if the chairs had been pulled out, so that could mean that it’s someone Nina didn’t want hanging around too long,’ Knox pointed out.
‘Or it could just be that she intended them to move into the lounge,’ Mariner countered. ‘Or that the killer’s in a hurry. Just a quick glass then I’ll have to go.’
‘What about the cork? If the bottle’s already been opened wouldn’t Nina have noticed that?’
‘We’ll check with forensics,’ Mariner peered at one of the photos. ‘Hard to tell if this was a screw top; that would have made it easier, but Nina would still have noticed. All the more reason for the killer to be in control of the situation. Perhaps he or she even offered to do the pouring.’ Mariner role-played the gesture. ‘Let me do that, while Nina gets the glasses. They make a toast, to Nina’s MBE success, then the killer stands back and watches while she takes a couple of mouthfuls of the wine and dies an agonising death.’
‘Christ.’
They paused for a moment, imagining the scene.
‘Then the killer calmly tips the rest down the sink, rinses and replaces the extra glass, puts the half empty bottle of drain cleaner on the table beside the empty wine bottle and leaves us to believe that she has taken her own life,’ Mariner speculated.
‘But the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is: why?’
‘This is not just about ending someone’s life,’ said Mariner. ‘Someone wanted to inflict pain on Nina Silvero and watch her suffer. She can’t have been as popular as her daughter thinks she was; not with everyone.’
‘What kind of person does that to another human being, though?’ Knox shook his head in disbelief.
‘Someone who’s pretty sick themselves.’
‘Sick or angry.’
‘Or both,’ Mariner said. ‘We need to find out what forensics have come up with on the wine bottle. If what we’re saying is correct, that’s our murder weapon. Let’s have a look at the rest of the place.’
Nina Silvero kept a neat and orderly house. The only untidiness was on the table in the dining room, where, it appeared, she’d been interrupted mid-task. A photograph frame lay face down, its back opened up and beside it, ready to be displayed, a colour photograph of Rachel and Adam Hordern on their wedding day, the backdrop a country house hotel of some kind.
‘Not the kind of thing you’d be messing about with if you’re about to top yourself either,’ observed Knox.
An antique bureau in one corner of the room seemed to contain current correspondence and bills. In this too, Nina Silvero had been systematic, though there was enough material to fill several evidence bags. In a drawer below Knox found two keys on a ring and held them up for Mariner to see. ‘A safe?’ he wondered.
They went around the room lifting up pictures and, behind a Sisley print, found a small safe. Inside it were several boxes of jewellery, some share certificates and a copy of the deeds to the house. ‘But no will,’ Mariner noted. ‘That must be with her solicitor.’
The answer machine revealed a number of hang-ups, but it was an older generation machine and not sophisticated enough to give them the dates and times; they would trace back phone records to find out if the calls had come before or after Nina Silvero’s death. The ground floor completed, Mariner took the stairs, two at a time, to look around the bedrooms. But the only item of any interest, in the small bedroom, was a desktop computer not long out of its box; the packaging carefully preserved and stored beside the desk it stood on. As was routine these days, Mariner disconnected the processor and carried it down the stairs to be taken with them as evidence. ‘We might as well, though if it’s that new, there won’t be much on it,’ he said to Knox.
There was nothing more to be done here. Securing the door again, Mariner stopped for a quick word with the bored constable on duty and they headed back to Granville Lane with their haul.
As Knox was driving, Mariner took the opportunity to clear up a couple of things with Rachel Hordern. There was no reply from their room at the Norfolk Hotel, but Rachel had also given Mariner her mobile number. When she answered his call, the background noise was an interesting mix of squawking and whistling.
‘We’re next to the aviaries at the Botanical Gardens,’ Rachel explained apologetically. ‘We needed to get out with Harry. Hold on a minute — I’ll find somewhere quieter.’ There was a pause and some scuffling, and Mariner heard her talking to her husband and son. Finally she spoke into the phone again. ‘Okay, go ahead.’
‘We were at your stepmother’s house, and we noticed that she had upgraded her security,’ Mariner said. ‘Was there any special reason for that?’
Rachel thought about that for a moment. ‘Yeah, a while back she had some strange phone calls — someone ringing and just hanging up on her — you know, like people do. I think it bothered her a bit . . .’
She broke off as someone in the background spoke, her husband presumably. ‘Oh God, yes, I’d forgotten about that. Sorry,’ she said to Mariner, ‘but Adam’s just reminded me. At about the same time someone sent her some flowers. That was what frightened her.’
‘Flowers frightened her?’ Mariner didn’t understand.
‘Sorry, I’m not making myself clear. They were dead flowers — beautifully wrapped and in a presentation box, but when she opened it up, they were all dead.’
‘Could they just have been left too long in the box?’
‘No, there was a note with them, something about, these flowers are dead and soon you will be too.’ Mariner scribbled it down as she spoke. ‘I think there was mention of an anniversary too, except that it wasn’t the anniversary of anything. I remember Mum was quite scared by it. It happened ages ago, though, and I’d completely forgotten about it.’ There was sudden silence as the implication hit home. ‘Do you think it could have been Mum’s killer?’
‘Can you remember exactly when this happened?’ Mariner asked, sidestepping her question. ‘It may be really important.’
‘Adam might, hold on a moment.’ Rachel Hordern turned away from the phone and in the background Mariner heard a discussion ensue, as she and her husband tried to pinpoint the occasion. Mariner waited patiently giving them as much time as they needed. This could be crucial. Eventually Rachel Hordern returned to the phone. ‘We can’t be a hundred per cent sure, but we think it was around this time last year — March or April. In fact it must have been early March. It was not long before our wedding.’
‘Would your mother have told anyone else about this?’ Mariner asked.
‘She might have done. I don’t really know.’
‘Did she report it to the police?’
‘I don’t think so, because after that the phone calls and everything dried up, so I think she just thought whoever it was had lost interest, or maybe even made a mistake and sent the flowers to the wrong person.’
‘Do you have any idea if she kept them — either the flowers or the note?’ Even as he asked, Mariner knew that the chances were slim and that, either way, Rachel Hordern was unlikely to know.
‘I can’t imagine that she did. I t
hink she couldn’t wait to get rid of them.’
With the customary undertaking to keep in touch, Mariner ended the call.
‘Something for you to look out for,’ Mariner said to Knox. He recounted the episode with the flowers, as Rachel Hordern had told it to him.
‘Sounds charming,’ said Knox, meaning the opposite.
Mariner dropped Knox back at Granville Lane, where he picked up his own car. Thankfully there was no sign of Stephanie.
‘Don’t forget this,’ Knox called after him. Reaching down into the foot well, he retrieved the lunch box and tossed it to Mariner, who deftly caught it.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Get the computer across to Max and make a start on going through the paperwork from Nina Silvero’s. Meet me at the dance school at three.’
‘Where are you going, boss?’ Knox asked.
‘To see Nina’s best friend.’
* * *
It was a day of sunshine and showers, and a squall had blown up by the time Millie arrived with Lucy at her house, forcing them to make a dash from their cars. It was late morning and the estate was quiet, with most people out at work, but the postman had already delivered and Lucy opened the front door onto a deluge of plastic-wrapped catalogues, from among others, an outfit called Yummy Mummy, maternity clothes and baby products for the mother-to-be, as well as nursery furniture and design.
‘It’s getting worse,’ Lucy cried, starting to gather it all up. ‘There are more today than ever. How can I stop Will from seeing them?’
‘I’ll take them with me,’ said Millie, picking up what Lucy couldn’t manage. ‘I’ll follow up with some of these companies and see if there’s any chance of tracing who ordered them.’ Though she knew it was a long shot.
Between them they took everything through to the kitchen, dumping it on the counter, where Lucy ripped open one of the more legitimate-looking envelopes. ‘I mean, look at this!’ She waved a letter in front of Millie’s face. It was to thank Lucy, in person, for her enquiry into nursery design. ‘We will be happy to come and see you as arranged on Thursday, 27 April . . . I haven’t booked this appointment! What if they turn up when Will’s here? He’ll go ballistic.’ Suddenly her face paled and, clamping a hand over her mouth, she ran out of the room. Seconds later Millie heard the sound of retching. Pouring a glass of water, Millie took it down the hall to the cloakroom. By the time she got there Lucy was wiping her mouth.
Married Lies (Reissue) Page 9
