by Sabina Manea
‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.
‘I’m thinking this is out of our league.’
‘That’s why I got Nina involved. She’s like a dog with a bone – won’t give up till she gets results. Listen, something’s bothering me. Have you heard any more from your PC about Danny?’
‘As a matter of fact, I haven’t. With all these cheap thrills, I forgot all about it. I’ll give him a ring right now.’ He was about to make the call. ‘Hold on, he’s already sent me a message. Looks like your Danny’s been leaving work every day at four sharp and going to the builders’ merchant. Does that answer your question?’
‘Sort of. Don’t you think that’s odd? No builder goes shopping every day.’
‘Maybe he’s not very organized?’
‘Maybe. What did you say they found in his van the other day?’
‘Nothing. Hold on, that’s not quite right. Fruit.’
‘What sort of fruit?’
‘Can’t really remember. Bananas, I think. And donuts. Makes me peckish just thinking about them.’
Jackpot. It all fell neatly into place. ‘Call your man and tell him to stop Danny and search his van again, and not let him go until we get there.’
‘Are you out of your mind? They can’t search someone on a whim. There are rules. What do you think they’re going to find?’
‘Just what I would expect.’
‘Great, another one of your revelatory hunches. You’d better be right, or I’m looking at an uncomfortable session in the Super’s office.’
‘Given all the transgressions you’ve committed so far, what’s another one?’ She winked, knowing he wouldn’t be able to refuse.
* * *
On Flask Walk, PC George Harding swore fruitily as he stepped in a freshly laid dog souvenir. It was past two o’clock, but the hangover hadn’t yet lifted. He’d made the mistake of agreeing to go ‘for one’ on a Sunday night, to wet the baby’s head – couldn’t turn down an old friend who was desperate to escape the man-repelling maternity ward. It turned into more than a few; they couldn’t even remember getting home. He took a slug of warm Lucozade and knocked on the door.
‘Is that your van outside?’ Harding said with the best air of authority he could muster under the fraught circumstances.
Danny stood in the doorway, not best pleased at the interruption of his tea break. ‘Yeah, so what?’ A glimmer of recognition lit on his face. ‘Are you the one who pulled me over the other day? I swear, I’ve had it up to here with you lot. Police harassment this is. I’ll be putting in a complaint.’
Lucia and Carliss arrived just as Harding had finished jumping through the legal hoops. Danny had turned bright red and was protesting at the perceived flagrant violation of his human rights. Setting eyes on her made him all the more incensed. ‘You? What are you doing here?’
A small crowd had started to gather on the other side of a pavement, thankful for the impromptu entertainment. Lucia peered through the open front door. On the passenger seat sat an innocuous supermarket bag. ‘There it is. Have a look inside.’ Lucia pointed at the bag.
Carliss nodded to the PC, who took charge of the item. ‘Bananas and donuts. What shall I do with them, Guv?’ asked Harding, looking distinctly peaky as the sight of food wasn’t doing much for his already fragile constitution.
Danny stood frozen, white as the van itself.
‘Take a look at this.’ Lucia pulled out a banana. Close up, it was a lurid, shiny shade of green. ‘It’s made of resin.’ It looked convincing enough from a distance. She ripped it open to reveal a packet of white powder tightly wrapped in clingfilm. ‘No prizes for guessing what this might be.’
‘I’ll be…’ Harding couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘Coke. You sneaky sod. Thought you’d get away with it.’
Carliss turned to Lucia. ‘How did you know?’
‘I remembered something I’d watched on TV on Colombian drug smugglers. I’m guessing Danny had done his research. He’s smarter than he looks.’
‘Not smart enough. Deal with him, Harding, and fill me in later. He’ll have a base somewhere, and a stomping ground.’
‘I’m pretty certain he’s dealing it at the Red Lion,’ said Lucia. She remembered the glazed eyes and erratic behaviour of the customers – it all made sense now.
‘The pub? That would add up. Hold on, isn’t that where Adam Corcoran drinks?’
‘Yes, and I bet we’ve just found out who supplies him.’
‘I’ll bring Adam in. Should have done it a long time ago. I should have known he’s not to be trusted,’ Carliss said.
‘Hold your horses.’ She couldn’t have Adam dragged down to the station for questioning – it would ruin her plan. ‘Sure, possession is a crime, dealing is a crime, but they’re not the crimes we’re concerned with. They’ve got nothing to do with the murder. We already knew Adam was doing drugs, and now we’ve nailed Danny for it. We need to move on.’
Carliss tapped his foot impatiently.
‘Look, I need to talk to you.’ She watched PC Harding drive off. ‘Not here on the street – somewhere more private. Let’s go to my place.’
Grudgingly, he followed her. She walked briskly up the hill and crossed the road with total disregard for her safety – a boxy SUV beeped angrily as she ran in front of it. Carliss swore under his breath and waited at the traffic lights.
‘Keep up.’ She unlocked the front door and headed upstairs. The flat smelled freshly cleaned, and there were flowers on the kitchen table – showy yellow roses. She threw off her waxed raincoat. The after-effects of the daytime champagne hadn’t fully worn off, so she made a pot of strong coffee. ‘I’ve been turning over something you told me about Emilia. The man who was calling her – Stewart Ross. I think I know who he is.’
‘Oh?’ replied Carliss with surprise in his voice. ‘I must admit I’d forgotten all about it.’
‘It’s Adam.’ She was very pleased with herself at this deduction.
‘How does that work?’
‘Stewart’s his middle name. And Ross is his mother’s maiden name. All publicly available information.’ She hoped he took it as a pointed comment about his reluctance to engage with technology, which it was.
‘Hmm. Interesting theory. Won’t know for sure unless we ring that number and he picks up. Assuming you’re right, why would she need to hide his real identity?’
Lucia couldn’t believe he was actually asking the question. ‘Really? You haven’t worked it out?’
‘Worked out what?’
‘They must be having an affair, obviously. Why else would she be so cagey about his name and the phone call?’ It made sense, even though she knew it was mere speculation at this stage. Even she was beginning to worry that they still didn’t have a single shred of concrete evidence, but that wasn’t going to stop her.
‘If they’re having an affair, does this mean he cut her in, like he did with the housekeeper?’
‘Perhaps. She might not know about the inheritance. If the police asked me, I’d flatly deny it.’
‘No harm in asking.’ He checked his watch. ‘I wonder if she’s hanging around Beatrice Hall. If I didn’t know better, I’d be minded to grill the three of them. They must have plotted killing her – there’s too much money at stake to miss the opportunity.’
Chapter 29
The key turned in the door. Lucia had feared the locks might have been changed, though she had only been away for a few days. The place was eerily quiet. They tiptoed down to the kitchen. A few dishes sat obediently on the drying rack, suggesting that Adam might have dropped in for a meal. It looked tidy, and as grim as ever.
‘Let’s try the library.’ Lucia had a sense that they weren’t alone. If the creaking steps gave them away, there was no evidence of any response. She tentatively opened one of the tall doors, expecting she had been mistaken.
Behind the noticeably less cluttered desk sat Emilia, leaning into the high-backed chair as if she naturally belonged th
ere. For a split second, before facial recognition kicked in, Lucia thought it was the Professor. The grey dress, the butterfly brooch – it was an unsettling déjà vu. The blonde hair was tied up in a severe bun, and the eyes had abandoned their limpid charm.
‘Lucia. What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Oh, and Inspector Carliss. To what do I owe this pleasure?’ She didn’t stand up to greet them. They were on her turf.
Carliss waded straight in. ‘I’ve got a question for you, Miss Poole. Are you and Adam romantically involved?’
Emilia laughed. When she was done, her eyes looked as steely as those of the Professor, as Lucia could clearly remember from the last time she was in the library. ‘What a sweet way of describing it, Inspector. And what if we are?’
‘Can you please answer the question?’
Lucia was furious that she had them both on the back foot – two school children up before the headteacher, waiting to be reprimanded.
Emilia shrugged indifferently. ‘Yes, I’m sleeping with Adam. What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Did you know that he stands to inherit Beatrice Hall?’ continued Carliss.
‘No, I had no idea.’ She looked maddeningly blank.
‘Did you know the Professor was planning to change her will and disinherit him before she died?’
‘It’s the first I’ve heard of this will.’ No hoped-for flash of admission across her serene face – not as much as a blink.
‘He didn’t confide in you, even though you’re in a relationship?’
She tilted her head forward with contempt. ‘Just because I go to bed with him occasionally doesn’t make me his agony aunt, Inspector.’
Lucia would have dearly liked to step in, but she bit her tongue and hoped the policeman would move on to a more effective line of questioning.
‘Does the name Stewart Ross mean anything to you, Miss Poole?’ he carried on hopefully, trying in vain to deliver the killer blow.
Instead of being ruffled, Emilia smiled. ‘It’s Adam. We didn’t want the Professor knowing about our affair. It’s unlikely she would have approved – I was here as her employee, after all. Full marks for working it out, Inspector, though I suspect you might have had a little help.’ This she addressed pointedly at Lucia.
‘Lovely brooch,’ retorted Lucia.
‘Ah, this. It was on the desk when I came in. I thought I’d try it on – I must have forgotten to take it off. Not really my style.’ She unhooked it gently off her dress and flicked it to one side.
‘What are you doing in the library anyway?’ asked Carliss. Lucia could see he was running out of ideas.
‘I’m sorting through the Professor’s papers. It would be a shame for all of this work to go to waste. Once I’ve filed everything, I’m planning to donate it to the Collaborative Mathematical Society. It’s what she would have wanted. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with it.’ She went back to her papers, shutting out the unwanted visitors.
Powerless, they shuffled back downstairs.
‘What did you make of that, Lucia?’
‘I don’t know what to think any more. She clearly couldn’t care less about Adam. Whether she was using him to get to the inheritance, I don’t know. She and her employer spent practically every waking hour together. It’s plausible that the will would have been mentioned at some point.’
‘I don’t know what it is about that woman – she throws me every time. If one of my sergeants had been that cack-handed with an interview, I would have sent them packing.’
The humiliation stung, and Lucia could see it. ‘She didn’t waste any time moving in to take the Professor’s place. I wonder what she’s planning to do next. Not elope with Adam, that’s for sure. She knows she’s being watched now.’
They stood on the steps outside, and Carliss lit a cigarette. ‘I’d sworn your mate Nina’s tempting Sobranies would be the last, but I’m stressed,’ he explained apologetically. ‘Want one?’
‘No, thanks. They don’t help.’
He shrugged with resignation. ‘I know they don’t. I just wish I could give them up.’
‘We all have our vices.’ Lucia’s sat quietly in a smooth envelope in her bedroom, waiting to be consumed as required.
‘What’s yours? White Burgundy doesn’t count, by the way.’
‘You rumbled me. That’s the only one.’ She was fully aware of the irony engendered by the earlier drugs bust. ‘I wouldn’t mind an early night. I’ll let you know if I hear back from Nina. And I’ll go back to work at Beatrice Hall tomorrow. That way I can keep close tabs on Emilia.’
‘Early night it is then.’
Lucia ambled back up Hampstead High Street. The rush hour was long gone, and the shop shutters were coming down, one by one, ready for a night’s rest. A lone old man nursed a cloudy pint at a table outside a pub even more sterile than the Hampstead Belle. Drugs, sex, money, vengeance, murder – and no closer to finding out how they fitted together. She had begun to question her own judgment. Perhaps Carliss had been right all along, and the rest was a mere distraction.
She sat on her bed, laptop propped on a pillow and a glass of cold wine on the bedside table. She was itching to dig around, but she had already exhausted the information she had on the suspects. Until Nina worked her magic, there was little chance of unearthing anything new. She opened the bedside drawer and looked at the envelope. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. She needed to relax.
With the alcohol and the ketamine inside her, she soon sank into floating, pleasurable oblivion. Jumbled thoughts coursed through her head. For no particular reason, she remembered how Carliss had her pegged as a rich Home Counties girl. She pictured what she would say to him: ‘My mum brought me up on her own. She had me young, and my dad legged it as soon as she told him she was pregnant. We lived in a small council flat up in Hampstead. She was a dinner lady at the local primary school. Every Saturday we’d go to the library. It was my special treat – two or three books to see me through the week. I was bright, so I went to university. She wanted me to be a lawyer, to have a profession and be on my own two feet.’
As the stupor was gradually fading into light-headedness, Lucia heard the ring of her phone. She blinked and stared at the blurry screen. Five missed calls. She didn’t trust herself not to drop it, so she put it on speaker and stared at it, waiting to come back to consciousness.
‘Lucia, you won’t believe this. Adam’s dead.’
Chapter 30
When she arrived early the following day, as hastily arranged with the inspector, Lucia found Beatrice Hall transformed. She had been warned not to bother bringing her van – every single space outside the house was taken up by police vehicles. The outer gate had been left open and kept bashing into the brick wall with a mournful creak. The place seethed with faceless boiler suits photographing, measuring, taking samples. The body had been removed. In the entrance hall, Carliss paced up and down nervously, shouting instructions on his phone. She closed the doors behind her and waited for him to finish, not wanting to interrupt.
He gave out a heavy, exhausted sigh – it had been a long night. His hair looked in need of a good brush. ‘Ah, good, you’re here. It’s absolute mayhem. I’ve had to sell my soul to get the PM fast-tracked. He had enough cocaine in him for several heart attacks. Of course, it helped that it had been laced with 1080.’
‘Poison?’
‘No question about it. The inside of his nose was caked in the stuff. Mrs Byrne found him in his room last night and raised the alarm. They were meant to have dinner together in the kitchen, but he didn’t turn up.’
Lucia was glad she’d rationed her ketamine intake the night before. The situation required a clear head. ‘But the tin of poison was removed after the Professor’s death. Where did the new batch come from?’
‘Doesn’t have to be a new batch. He could have kept some back,’ said the policeman.
‘Are you saying he killed himself?’
‘It’s not out of the question. Could have been intentional, could have been an accident. Maybe he couldn’t live with the guilt of what he’d done or didn’t fancy spending the rest of his life behind bars.’ He paused for a moment, considering the possibilities. ‘There’s a third option. If he didn’t do himself in, anyone could have helped themselves to the stuff while it lived under the sink. Including someone who dropped by for occasional jobs.’
The comment was too specific for her to miss. ‘Whom do you have in mind?’
‘Danny Garrett. We’ve got him down at the station. He fessed up to intending to sell the stash of cocaine, and to supplying Adam. Since he was in a sharing mood, he also admitted to wrecking your van, though criminal damage is the least of his troubles right now. Apparently, the dead bloke wasn’t paying his debts, what with his getting sacked.’
Lucia remembered the evening at the pub with Becky and Leila, and the heated argument that Adam was having on the phone. ‘OK, Danny was owed money. That doesn’t make him a killer. In fact, dispatching Adam would guarantee he would never get paid.’
‘True. But listen to this: Adam kept telling Danny he wanted to get clean. What if he was minded to expose Danny’s drugs racket? That would give Danny a good motive for murder. He knew the house – he says he’s been doing odd jobs at the Hall for years. He could have easily got hold of the 1080 from under the kitchen sink. I like him for it. Sometimes the easy solution is the right one, Lucia.’
She smiled and tapped her forehead. How could she have been so naïve? ‘I know why Adam gave me the job.’
‘Why is that?’
‘So that he wouldn’t be pressured into giving it to Danny. Anyone but him. Danny must have figured out pretty quickly that the Professor was the only source of cash. He may look like a brainless brute, but he’s not daft. If Adam agreed to pay him a suitably inflated price for the decorating, that’s the drugs debt written off. Except Adam didn’t want him anywhere near the house. No wonder he thought I was a godsend, turning up out of the blue asking for the work. And that’s what made Danny so angry that he defaced my van.’
