These Little Lies

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  ‘What do you think of him, Officer?’ Ali asked as Vine was driven away. He’d gone to the car and was eating a banana.

  ‘Apart from being a man who talks in italics and likes to air his prejudices? He’s a useful witness in that I’d say he’s got precise recall.’

  ‘Hope you don’t mind the banana, guv. I’m diabetic, need to regulate the blood sugar now and again. It’s an uphill struggle all the way, to be honest with you. Why I’m going grey.’ He grinned and unzipped another inch of banana skin.

  ‘You’re fine. My husband was diabetic.’

  She saw the quick flash in Ali Carlin’s eyes. So he knew. Well, that was probably for the best. No secrets. One of the constables hurried over to them.

  ‘The Honda doesn’t belong to Matis Rimas. It’s registered to a Filip Mazur, address in North Road. And we have an owner for the Seat. Mr Ade Visser, 31 Spring Gardens.’

  Siv nodded. ‘Great, thanks. Quick work.’

  Steve Wooton was talking to one of his colleagues. They were both laughing and she saw the man glance in her direction, then away quickly. She waited, checking a map on her phone, until Wooton had finished and then waved him over.

  ‘We have an address for the Seat owner, so that may be where our female victim lived. Our killer had gone when Alan Vine showed up and he didn’t see a car or anyone walking along Lock Lane. They must have had transport to get here and away. I reckon our best bet is around where Rimas parked, where there are other fresh tyre tracks. There might be other access points nearby, along the river. Can you check the whole area?’

  ‘Will do. It’ll take quite a while.’

  ‘It takes the time it takes.’ Siv felt the heat of the sun on her head. A wave of fatigue passed through her. A tiny prickling on her scalp sounded alarm bells. Six months away from work and she’d got into the habit of shaping her days to her own rhythms. She was unused to demands, decisions and expectations. She took a deep breath, aware that Wooton was watching her. She arranged with him that he’d contact the coroner and have the bodies removed to the morgue. ‘I’ll touch base with you later,’ she told him.

  ‘Your wish is my command, guv.’ He said it innocently enough but she caught him rolling his eyes as her phone rang.

  ‘Guv, it’s the duty sarge here. We’ve just had a call from a man who’s worried about his wife. He said she was going swimming at Lock Lane early this morning. He’s arrived home from a conference and she’s not there or at work. He can’t raise her on her phone. I thought, as you’ve found a female, I’d pass it straight on.’

  ‘Sure, thanks. What’s his name?’

  ‘Visser, Ade Visser. Address is—’

  ‘It’s okay, I know. What’s the woman’s name?’

  ‘Lauren Visser.’

  She rang off, turned to Ali and Wooton and gave them the information. She and Ali walked back to the car.

  ‘Well, that’s bad news for Mr Visser at Spring Gardens,’ she said to Ali.

  ‘Aye. We have both IDs, that’s something.’

  ‘Is it me, or has Steve Wooton got an attitude?’ she asked.

  ‘Ach, he’s a wee man with a big head on him. Thinks he’s forensics central. Sometimes I want to tell him to go and play with the traffic. I blame Silent Witness for his self-importance. We heading to see Visser now?’

  ‘Yes, but can you drop me off? I can see Mr Visser and I’d rather you got on with finding out more about Matis Rimas. He might have family here who we need to inform. So, address, work place, anyone who can ID him. Delegate the legwork. Can you get someone to contact Nick Shelton about what’s happened here? Confirm that we need a list of members. No details of where the photo was found to be shared with anyone. But first, get on to the mortuary. I want Mr Visser to ID the body today. If you need me to weigh in, let me know. Whatever they have to do to make Lauren Visser presentable enough, I want it done. I’d say get DC Hill . . . what’s his first name?’

  ‘Patrick. Patrick Hill. Generally called Hat-trick because he caught three burglars in three weeks last year.’

  She’d tuned in to his accent now, got the hang of the cadences. She’d noticed that he’d slowed down when he spoke to Vine and liked the self-awareness. ‘I’d say get DC Hill to do it, but Dr Anand is a fan of yours so you should be able to swing it.’

  ‘Is he? How do you know?’

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘Right. How will you get back from seeing Visser?’

  ‘According to Google,’ she said, flashing her phone, ‘Spring Gardens is only a ten minute or so walk to the station.’

  ‘No wonder you look much fitter than me,’ Ali said, gunning the engine.

  No, it’s not fitness. It’s the way grief pares you down and leaves nothing to spare.

  Chapter Five

  Spring Gardens was a street of fine Edwardian houses not far from the town centre and just outside the conservation area. Siv walked up a beautiful tiled front path, treading on blue and terracotta lozenge shapes. The front door was inside an arched porch, the glass panels etched with pineapples. A honeysuckle trailed across a trellis along the top of the porch.

  The man who answered the door was tall and striking-looking, with amber eyes and longish, caramel-coloured hair that curled damply on his neck. He smelled as if he’d just stepped from the shower. He looked past Siv, as if expecting to see her with someone else. His wife, possibly.

  ‘Mr Visser?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  She showed him her card. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Drummond. I’m here about your wife.’

  He licked his bottom lip. ‘A detective inspector? Has something happened?’

  ‘Can I come in? I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Yes. Okay.’

  He hovered for a moment, anxiety shadowing his face as he glanced once more over her shoulder, and then led her down a wide parquet hall with a racing bike propped against a wall, and into a sitting room. He gestured at a chair. ‘Have you got news of Lauren? I’ve not heard from her.’

  ‘Sit down with me, Mr Visser.’ She waited until he was seated, leaning forward. ‘I believe we’ve found Lauren’s body. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You’ve found her? At the river?’

  ‘Yes, at Lock Lane, but we still need to confirm her identification. Could you answer some questions? What colour wetsuit does your wife wear when she swims?’

  He’d moved right to the edge of the deep, soft leather chair. He stared past her, out of the window behind. ‘Ahm . . . she has two. I was with her when she bought them in that outdoor gear shop in town. One’s a silvery colour, the other’s dark blue.’

  ‘And does she wear a cap?’

  ‘Yes, just the one. It’s bright blue.’

  ‘I can confirm that the woman we’ve found is dressed in those things. I’m sorry,’ Siv said again softly.

  He gasped, coughed, and then started talking rapidly. ‘I don’t like Lauren wild swimming. Not safe out there on her own, in isolated places. You never know who’s around. I’ve asked her not to go but she loves it so much . . . What happened to her? I had this feeling that something bad had happened, I just knew.’ He clenched his fingers so tightly the knuckles were stretched.

  Siv had been glancing at a photo of a young woman on the coffee table to her right. She was wearing the earrings. Now she watched Visser’s face. He looked exhausted and racked with pain. She leaned slightly towards him. ‘Mr Visser, the woman we found was dressed in the silver wetsuit and bright blue cap you’ve described, but she has no form of ID on her and little else to identify her. Tell me, did your wife wear earrings?’

  ‘Yes. They were made in Antwerp for my grandmother. She gave them to Lauren when we got married. They’re quite rare.’

  ‘Can you describe them?’

  ‘Ahm . . . small, gold, with red coral cabochons. Lauren wears them always, she loves them so much. Just takes them out to clean and puts them back in.’

  She pointed. ‘The ones in the photo?’
>
  ‘Yes.’ His voice dropped. ‘The woman you found . . . she’s wearing them?’

  ‘Yes. Also, your Seat was found in the car park at Lock Lane. We will need you to identify your wife’s body. Or, if you don’t feel up to it, another family member can.’

  He stared at her and shook his head. ‘N . . . no, no. I’ll do that. What happened? Tell me what happened. Oh my God, was she raped?’ His horror seemed genuine.

  She felt a twinge of nausea, made an effort to maintain the shield that kept her own memories at bay. ‘I can’t confirm anything yet, although there was no immediate indication that she had been raped. The woman we found was attacked with a blade.’

  Visser got up abruptly and strode up and down. He stopped to touch another photo of his wife on the mantelpiece, and then straightened it. ‘She’s gone,’ he whispered, sinking back into his chair.

  ‘Yes. Can I get you anything? Some water?’

  ‘No. Nothing. When can I see her? Can we go now?’

  ‘We have to wait until the mortuary staff are ready.’

  He stood again. ‘No fucking way! I want to see her now. I want to see my Lauren!’

  He was tall, muscular. There was something hard about the mouth that suggested a man who liked things his way and was used to getting what he wanted. Siv could see grief and anger building. She knew well how those emotions worked together.

  ‘Mr Visser, please, sit down. Believe me, we will expedite your visit to the mortuary but it’s not possible right now. When we find a body, there are protocols we have to follow. It would really help if you could tell me about this morning and Lauren’s movements. Can you do that?’

  He stared at her angrily for a moment and she held his gaze. He sat again, rubbing his thighs. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘When did you last see your wife?’

  ‘Yesterday morning. I went away yesterday. Took the train to London. I organize equestrian events. I was attending a sales conference in a hotel there, the Raeburn.’

  ‘On a Sunday?’

  ‘Yes. That’s not unusual. Events planning is a seven-day-a-week affair.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go by car?’

  ‘Lauren said she might do some shopping and it’s easier to get to central London by train anyway.’

  ‘Did you speak to Lauren after you left yesterday?’

  ‘I called her about half five yesterday evening. She said she was planning to go for a swim at Lock Lane early this morning.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘I think so. Sometimes she goes with other people but she’s often solo.’

  ‘What time this morning?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. She usually went around six a.m. in the spring and summer, sometimes earlier. She’s not a good sleeper, so she might go straight away if she woke up early. Sometimes I wake up and she’s gone out. I hate that, finding the bed empty, but I know it means a lot to her to have that time to herself . . .’

  ‘Wouldn’t it still be a bit dark before six?’

  ‘Yes but she didn’t mind that. In fact, she loved to swim in the dark. She says the world’s mysterious and silent then. And she always goes to places she knows and had checked out. She took a torch in case she needed it. When we talked last night, I said she shouldn’t go because she’d had a cold. But of course, she thought the water and the exercise would be beneficial. We just chatted about this and that and then I attended an early evening event followed by dinner with colleagues.’

  ‘Was that in the hotel?’

  ‘Yes. In the restaurant.’

  ‘Did Lauren usually swim in the morning?’

  ‘Sometimes she went in the evening but it was usually in the morning. She’s a morning person. Where you described, by Lock Lane, is a place she’s gone before. She says the water’s clean there and as long as there’s no one fishing, the anglers don’t seem to mind.’

  She noted that Visser kept slipping in and out of the past and present tense when talking about his wife. That could suggest genuine grief. ‘How did she sound when you spoke?’

  ‘Fine. She was fine. Said she’d had a quiet day, gardening and reading. I stayed overnight with a friend and got the train back this morning. I’d left my bike at the station so by the time I cycled home it was around nine thirty, and I was surprised to see my car wasn’t here.’

  ‘Would Lauren not have used it to go to work after her swim?’

  ‘No, she always walked to work, it’s nearby. And the cats hadn’t been fed or the litter tray emptied. Lauren always fed them first thing and cleaned out the litter. She’d never leave it, she was fastidious about it and the cats’ comfort. She would worry it might smell. I tried her mobile but she didn’t pick up. I had a shower and waited for a while but I was starting to worry. Then I rang Lauren at work and they said she wasn’t in and they hadn’t heard from her. I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe she’d had to go somewhere and forgotten to tell me or that she’d been taken ill or had an accident in the river and was stranded. I tried her mobile again and left another message. I kept looking out of the window, expecting her to turn up.’

  ‘Did you ring any of her friends?’

  ‘I tried Cora Laffin. She’s the friend who got Lauren interested in wild swimming, and I thought maybe they’d gone together and Lauren was with her for some reason. But her phone went to voicemail. That’s when I rang you.’

  ‘Where does Lauren work?’

  ‘At a nursery. Caterpillar Corner in Clarendon Street.’

  It was warm in the room. Patches of sweat were blooming on Visser’s pale shirt, spreading from his armpits, and his forehead glistened. He looked limp now, the fight gone out of him.

  ‘Does the name Matis Rimas mean anything to you? Did Lauren know him?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know the name. Why do you ask?’

  ‘His body was found near Lauren’s. I believe he was attacked by the same person.’

  ‘My God. This is crazy. Another person is dead as well?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘Did Lauren have any connection with the Lithuanian community?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  Unless there were children with Lithuanian parents at Caterpillar Corner. ‘Do you and Lauren have children?’

  ‘No. No children.’

  She took her phone out and showed him the photo of the child. ‘Do you know who this girl is? Take your time.’

  He blinked and stared at the screen. ‘I’ve no idea. What’s she got to do with Lauren?’

  ‘I don’t know. The photo was left at the scene.’

  He looked closer. ‘Unless it’s a child at the nursery?’

  ‘Perhaps. We’ll check. Did Lauren have any children from another relationship?’

  ‘A child? No, absolutely not. Of course not! None of this makes any sense at all — this dead man and this photo. What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know, but whatever you can tell me might help the police to find out.’

  He sat back in the chair, his eyes vacant. ‘I need a glass of water.’

  ‘Let me get it.’ Siv went down the hallway to a long kitchen painted pale grey. It had been extended at the back, with a conservatory-type roof and folding patio doors. The doors were half open. Two Siamese cats were asleep on a small sofa under a window ledge. The kitchen was shiny and new, with a massive double Butler sink set into a wooden surround. A complicated coffee machine stood on a marble-topped side table. There was a framed wedding photo of Ade Visser and Lauren on the wall. She had blonde, wispy hair cut in a geometric slant, a full-busted slim figure and a closed-off smile. The coral earrings glowed. A shopping list lay on the counter by the kettle: vegetables, almond milk and yogurt, buckwheat noodles, tofu, pumpkin seeds. Beside it was a brochure — Ethical Sole: cruelty-free footwear, advertising leather-free shoes. Lauren Visser had been an organized woman if she’d left the place this tidy when she went
out so early. Siv ran the cold tap, comparing this kitchen to Corran and Paul’s. The rooms were about the same size, but theirs was hospitable and pulsing with warmth and energy. This place had a sterile, dead atmosphere, as if the Vissers knew what a home should look like but hadn’t worked out how to imbue it with any personality.

  She took a glass of water back to Visser and waited while he drank it in one go. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. The sitting room was south-facing and full of light, with a little shade from a tall silver birch in the front garden. Two of the walls were decorated with paintings and photographs of horses in various poses: galloping, racing and leaping hurdles. It was furnished with an eclectic mix of modern and mid-twentieth-century furniture, the armchairs in cream and light tan leather. Classy and costly, like the kitchen.

  ‘Can you give me the details of where you stayed last night?’ Siv asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need to have the name of the friend you stayed with in London.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with what’s happened?’

  ‘We have to rule people out of our investigation.’ It wasn’t quite why she was asking, but he seemed to buy it.

  ‘His name’s Errol Todd. He has a flat in Earl’s Court, near where the conference was.’ He gave her an address and phone number. ‘But Errol was flying to Valencia early this morning. He’s a Buddhist and he’s gone on a retreat there so he’ll have switched his phone off. If I’d had my car I’d probably have driven back last night and this might never have happened.’

  There was no point in going there. If he hadn’t murdered his wife — and his shock seemed real enough — he was going to torment himself with all kinds of what ifs. ‘What time did you leave your friend’s this morning?’

  ‘Half six, thereabouts. Errol had already gone. He’d ordered a cab for six.’

  ‘And what train did you get back to Berminster?’

  ‘The 7.10 from Victoria.’

  ‘Can I contact anyone for you? Lauren’s family?’

  ‘What about them?’ He spoke sharply.

  ‘Is there family locally?’

  ‘She’s an only child. Her mother died three years ago, shortly before we met. Lauren never knew who her father was.’