These Little Lies

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  They sipped their tea. No one took a biscuit. Silence descended and they each sat with their own memories of Lauren. Not all were fond and regretful.

  * * *

  Natasha Visser could hear her son pacing in his bedroom. She’d told him to go and have a rest but clearly, that wasn’t happening. Up, down, up, down, across the creaking floorboards. Ade had been like this when Melody died and now another wife was gone. How could he absorb this new grief?

  She started the dishwasher and wiped down the already spotless sink. Everything in the kitchen was so huge and gleaming. The cooker took up half a wall and looked like a flight deck with banks of lights and buttons. The fridge was a larder type with double doors. She started to walk up and down herself. It was hard to read or settle to anything while that restless movement came from above. Her thoughts flitted around like small birds. There was a window box of herbs on the ledge: basil, mint, thyme and coriander. She felt the compost and it was dry so she watered them and then went to stand at the window, looking out onto the garden.

  When she’d lifted the phone and heard her son’s news, she’d felt an intense weariness. Her husband, Don, had been a difficult, crabby man, prone to mood swings. Her marriage had been challenging. She’d never been frightened of her husband but she’d allowed him to get away with too much early on in the relationship. Natasha was no doormat but by the time she’d caught up with what was happening, the dynamic was set. Ade was so much like her late husband and part of her resented having to be here. While she’d mourned Don, she had also felt a huge relief at escaping his overwhelming presence. Deep down, she felt she deserved time off now, a chance to breathe, but instead she was listening to the pacing overhead and feeling the familiar tightening around her jaw. Then she immediately felt guilty. What kind of mother was she, thinking of herself when her son had been widowed again?

  She’d been so pleased to hear that Ade had met someone new after the tragedy with Melody. He didn’t like being alone, needed the ballast of a partner. But when she met Lauren, her heart sank. This serious, softly spoken young woman who wore her heart on her sleeve had clearly been swept up by Ade, caught in his headlights. Natasha has been certain she’d never be able to stand up to his hectoring. As time went on, Natasha had been surprised to see that Lauren had a stubborn streak and stood her ground over her swimming. She suspected that like herself, Lauren had found space to breathe in her marriage by pursuing her own interests quietly and under the radar. Ade’s frequent trips away would have helped with that.

  Up, down, up down. Her son’s pacing brought her back to the present. Something was troubling her son and it wasn’t just his wife’s murder. She knew him, knew that strained look and the belligerence that masked his true feelings. He’d barely spoken to her since she arrived. Her questions about the other body and what the police had said had gone unanswered. He’d merely mumbled something about stabbing with scissors. She was struggling to understand what had happened by the river and who this dead man was.

  She decided to muster the energy and cook a meal. It was almost five thirty and it would give her something to do. This kitchen with its high tech gadgets made her feel stupid, but she couldn’t bear to be idle. She looked in the fridge and saw vegetables in the salad drawer. She took out mushrooms, peppers, red onion and some sliced beef to make a stir-fry. She’d rarely visited the house, so had to search for a chopping board and a knife. She opened a couple of drawers, looking for cutlery, and saw a photo of Lauren and Ade on top of flyers and bills. She picked it up, looking into Lauren’s candid, rather melancholy eyes.

  As she replaced it, her fingers nudged flyers for a window cleaner and organic vegetable delivery. She saw a postcard lying beneath them. It was a plain white card with a cut-out of a pair of scissors glued on and red blotches of paint glistening like blood around the open blades. She lifted it out. White smears of dried glue seeped from under the silvery blades. There was no stamp or address on the blank front, just a couple of lines printed on a square of paper pasted to the back: You will be the one to feel the pain soon enough. She put it back quickly, shoving the flyers back on top, and closed the drawer. She felt hot and nauseous. She didn’t know what to think and her mouth was dry and bitter. She picked up a pepper and rolled it between her hands, listening to the sound of her son tramping the floor.

  * * *

  Ali Carlin had attended Lauren’s post-mortem with Steve Wooton earlier in the day. Siv went to Rimas’s and watched through the screen as Rey Anand went methodically about his business. Wooton attended that one also and had smirked at her when she said she’d be in the viewing room. Got a weak stomach, guv? She’d ignored him. She wasn’t squeamish. She simply thought that the dead suffered enough indignity when they were cut open, and anyway, she would learn anything of importance in the follow-up for both PMs in Anand’s office.

  Anand was a man who didn’t allow dissecting bodies to get in the way of hospitality. A jug of coffee and a jar of sweets awaited when they sat down. Siv saw Ali look longingly at the sweets but he resisted with a sigh. Wooton took a handful and stacked them in a little pyramid in front of him.

  Anand pushed his glasses up on his forehead. ‘We’re new to each other, Inspector. The way I usually play this is I give a summary of my findings and then my colleagues ask questions. That okay for you?’ He spoke courteously, with a measured look.

  ‘That’s fine with me, thanks.’

  He unwrapped a chocolate and popped it into his mouth. ‘Something to sweeten the sour taste of death. I’ll start with Lauren Visser. She wasn’t sexually assaulted and there’s no evidence that she had ever given birth. No evidence of drugs or alcohol. Mace was sprayed in her face. There were residues in her eyes and lungs. She’d have been temporarily blinded. She was stabbed from the front in the neck and face with a blade. Six incisions in all, and all with the same rough edges. At a guess, a closed pair of long, sharp scissors was used, or a blade very like that. No defence wounds. Because she was wearing neoprene gloves, there was no evidence available from the fingernails. She died where she was found.’ He paused for a sip of coffee.

  ‘The mace must have been used so she couldn’t defend herself,’ Siv said.

  Anand nodded. ‘The effects would have left her disoriented and unable to see the weapon. Whoever killed her was taller than her. Could have been a male or female attacker. The cuts indicate a downward thrust, as they do on Mr Rimas. Lauren was five feet six, Rimas just half an inch taller.’ He consulted his notes. ‘The only other possibly significant item is saliva on her neck. I need to run checks against her own saliva.’

  ‘So if the saliva’s hers we have no forensic evidence from the body to help us trace her killer,’ Wooton confirmed.

  Anand nodded. ‘Moving on to Mr Rimas. Judging by body temperature, I would say that he died around the same time as Mrs Visser, but it’s hard to be definite about that. All I can really say is that, like Mrs Visser, he died between the time he arrived at the river and when he was found. A healthy man, no evidence of drugs in his body although a level of alcohol indicating he’d had a lot to drink the night before he died. No mace was used on him but then he’d been stabbed from behind. The same blade was used. Again, no defence wounds, which indicates he didn’t see what was coming. Five incisions in total, in neck and back of head. No forensic trace from anyone else on his body.’

  Ali was nursing his coffee. ‘You think the same person killed them both?’

  ‘Correct, based on the fact that the same blade was used, the direction of the blade and the force used. If the saliva found on Ms Visser isn’t hers or indeed Mr Rimas’s, I can at least tell you if it’s from a male or female. Whether or not that’s your killer is your job to determine.’

  Siv took a caramel. It was the same colour as Ade Visser’s hair. She had a sharp pair of the type of scissors Anand had described at home, to trim paper for folding. Not unlike the ones she’d seen on a shelf in Jenna Seaton’s office. She’d get Steve Wooton to hav
e those collected for forensic testing.

  * * *

  At the station, Ali took her through what the techies had found on Rimas’s phone. They sat at his desk, which was scattered with crumbs, food boxes and bits of cling film.

  ‘He’d googled Lauren and looked at the Caterpillar Corner website. She’s listed as a staff member. Then he visited her Facebook page and emailed someone about what she’d written. Take a look at these emails from a couple of months back.’ Ali shuffled his chair aside and angled his computer screen so that Siv could read it.

  From MatiRimas26@wingmail.com

  To NowakB@quickword.com

  21 February. 7.30 a.m.

  Hey, have you seen this lady Lauren Visser wrote to Equality and Human Rights Commission about sign at river. She put poster up at Polska. She say can’t be allowed. She get crowdfunding to do legal thing. You should talk to her. They might have to take sign down.

  Siv clicked the attachment and saw a photo of a poster about a crowdfunding campaign with Lauren’s email and mobile number on. Then she opened another email.

  From NowakB@quickword.com

  To MatiRimas26@wingmail.com

  22 February. 8 p.m.

  Hi Matis, Thanks for this and very interesting. I’ll find out more. See you for a beer sometime.

  ‘Do we know who this Nowak is? Sounds like a Polish name.’

  ‘We’re looking and I’ve sent him an email asking him to contact me. Polska is the Polish social centre in town so I’m going to call them to see if they know Nowak. In the meantime, this is Lauren’s Facebook page and a link to the crowdfunding site. She’d posted regularly about the issue in recent months.’

  Siv looked at the Facebook post from 30 January. It had a photo of the sign at Lock Lane. It had fifty likes and a dozen shares.

  Berminster Anglers should be ashamed of themselves. Got this notice up, basically bracketing Polish and eastern European people with dogs. Disgusting. Bad enough that they torture and maim fish for sport! I don’t agree with anyone fishing but at least eastern European people eat the fish instead of torturing and throwing them back in! I rang the owner who put the notice up and he said it’s private land, they’re trespassing so he’s leaving the sign up. I contacted the police who said it’s not their problem and directed me to EHRC. I’m waiting for their response. In meantime, I’m crowdfunding for a legal challenge. Please see link and give generously. #riversforall

  She clicked the link to the crowdfunding page.

  Lock Lane Appeal.

  Thank you for visiting my page.

  Please give to Lauren Visser’s appeal to start a legal challenge against Berminster Anglers. This challenge is to force the angling club to remove a discriminatory notice, insulting and prejudicial to Polish and eastern European people. The club has refused to remove this notice and the issue has been raised with the European Human Rights Commission. Now I need to start legal proceedings so please give generously. #riversforall

  £3,300 raised by fifty-nine supporters.

  Siv sat back. ‘So there’s our connection between Rimas and Lauren. Perhaps they were lovers or bound up together with fighting this cause. Ade Visser didn’t mention anything about this campaign of hers. Lauren had more of a link to the river at Lock Lane than just swimming there. Alan Vine didn’t mention it either.’

  ‘Maybe Vine didn’t know. He’s not the owner and I’d guess from the way he talked about computers that he wouldn’t even know what crowdfunding is. By the way, I think the passwords Visser gave us for Lauren’s accounts were out of date. The ones we found in her drawer are different.’

  ‘So she felt the need to hoodwink him,’ Siv said.

  ‘Maybe she was frightened of him.’

  ‘Does your wife know your account passwords?’

  ‘Course not. That’d be like opening someone else’s letters.’

  ‘That’s my view. I suppose some couples do share them but I bet Lauren didn’t know his. Anything else of interest on Rimas’s phone? Any direct communication with Lauren? We need to know.’

  ‘The techies are still looking, should be in by the end of today. There are calls to Krosna and texts about work. So far, nothing to suggest he contacted Lauren directly. There’s been no activity on Lauren’s phone and no sign of her rucksack.’ Ali reached for a food box and took out a wedge of Gouda cheese, which he started nibbling. ‘What did Jenna Seaton have to say about the Vissers?’

  ‘Pretty much the same as all her staff. Wonderful couple, great marriage and Lauren was a saintly character, loved by all. He’d been married before, wife died of cancer. The deputy manager wondered if Lauren had been having an affair because of sudden and frequent phone activity from last autumn to fairly recently. But without her phone . . .’ She looked up at the incident board and the photo of Rimas. His death was just as important as Lauren’s. She needed to make sure he didn’t get side-lined just because he might have been an unintended target. ‘Are any of the Rimas family coming here?’

  ‘I had a call from my police contact in Krosna. They can’t afford it. Filip Mazur identified the body earlier.’

  Siv rested her elbow in a tracing of crumbs. ‘Rimas saw the poster at Polska so he could have met Lauren as well, either there or at the river. If someone resented this activity of hers, it could be a motive to get rid of her. But why the child’s photo? I don’t see how that would connect. Anything from the door-to-door?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing helpful so far.’

  Siv glanced at Patrick’s empty desk. ‘How’s Patrick doing with the list of members?’

  ‘Not sure. He’s been out for a while. I’ll check in with him.’

  She brushed off her sleeve. ‘Do you ever come in and find mice dancing on your desk?’

  Ali grimaced. ‘I know, I know, I’m a mucky pup. I’m lowering the tone of the place. Every now and again, I get a disapproving note from the cleaners. I’ll do a wee tidy now.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Jenna Seaton swung her Porsche into the wide drive of her house and sat for a minute looking at the front gardens. What a bloody awful day. She felt completely bushed. A niggling headache was pulsing behind her eyes. Harvey wanted her to sell the business. So far, she’d resisted. Jenna had little interest in children and had never wanted any herself. When she had to interact with them — and she kept that to a minimum — she treated them with a brisk efficiency. With Caterpillar Corner, she’d spotted a lucrative market need and supplied it with her usual business expertise. She enjoyed the success she’d achieved with it and she only worked there three days a week. Having a reliable Betty made that a breeze and things usually ran like clockwork. But after a day like today, she might give serious consideration to selling it.

  The gardener had visited today and the laurel hedges had been clipped, the lawn mown, the flowerbeds tidied. New hanging baskets burst with trailing geraniums, lobelia, petunias and ivy. She wound down the window to inhale the scent of the grass. Last year, when she’d remarked on how she’d always loved the smell of freshly cut grass, Lauren had told her that it was a distress signal. Grass, Lauren preached, released volatile compounds while it was trying to save itself from the injury inflicted. It was almost as if the grass was screaming. Typical of Lauren — always so serious, always complicating everything. Going on in her soft, monotonous voice about the threat to wildlife, pollution of rivers, the hazards of plastic, how we needed to recalibrate our relationship with the natural world. She could never lighten up. Even when she came to dinner it was a headache, because she was constantly checking out what was on her plate. Can I just make sure this is non-dairy milk? That there are no eggs in this sauce? That this hasn’t got cheese in? Jenna had always found her a bit of a drag but she was good at her job. The kids all loved her because she immersed herself in their world. She was able to absorb their inane, insistent chatter and respond to it. Jenna could see that Ade liked Lauren’s subdued style and found it soothing. After Melody, who’d been a vibrant la
ugh a minute, he’d settled for a safe option.

  Jenna had decided to say nothing to the inspector about Lauren being dreary. No point in being negative about the dead. The Drummond woman was hard to read. Some of her questions had been strange. She had a sort of lean intensity, sitting there, soaking everything up like blotting paper. Like a cat, waiting patiently outside a mouse hole.

  She took another deep breath of the distressed grass. It certainly wasn’t going to bother Lauren any more. On a warm evening such as this one, Harvey would be out on the terrace at the back, a pitcher of martini mixed, olives and nuts in bowls. He’d retired in his mid-forties after making a small fortune in software development and she liked the relaxed, softer version of Harvey she now came home to. They’d moved the month after he retired, to this seventeenth-century manor house on the southern outskirts of town. With it came an apple orchard, an orangery and a two-acre paddock and stables where Harvey kept their horses, a black Welsh cob for him and a chestnut Arabian for her. He spent his days riding, looking after the horses, lunching at the country club and booking little treats for them — weekends at boutique hotels, meals in top-notch restaurants, city breaks. It was Vienna in two weekends’ time. She couldn’t wait. She’d put up with years of not seeing enough of her husband while he grafted all hours and now she had her reward.

  She walked through the house, admiring the delicate freesias that the housekeeper, Mrs Dexter, had arranged on the hall table. She’d also left something savoury and minty in the warming oven. Harvey was sitting where she expected to see him, glass in hand, his panama hat tilted back on his head to protect his thinning crown. He was a big man, over six foot, and chunky but without any fat. His skin was tanned and glowing from his ride and the fresh air. She felt a ripple of pleasure as he turned and got up to kiss her.

  ‘Good day, darling?’

  ‘Full on. Lots to do, as you can imagine. That’s why I’m a bit late. Everything okay with you?’