Ash & Bone

by John Harvey

  * * *

  When Karen left an hour and a half later, her face was rigid with anger and hurt, her mind alert. During the course of their relationship Kennet had persuaded Estelle to take part in a number of scenarios in which they played out the act of rape. Sometimes where they were living, sometimes in cheap hotels, and sometimes, after dark, on Wimbledon Common and Hampstead Heath.

  In those instances, what he had her do, against her will, was walk along the path pretending to be lost, whereupon he would appear as the apparently kind stranger, offering to show her the way. Or sometimes, wearing a mask, he would jump out at her, grab her arms and throw her to the ground.

  Towards the end of the relationship, when she wouldn't agree to play along, he raped her for real.

  Karen called Mike Ramsden from her car before switching on the ignition and slotting the seat-belt buckle into place.

  'Mike? I want Kennet back in for questioning. ASAP. Drag him down off a roof if you have to.'

  One last glance back at the house before she drove away.

  * * *

  Steven Kennet was nowhere to be found. He had failed to show up for work that morning, no reason, no excuse. His home address was a flat off Seven Sisters Road, between Finsbury Park and the Nag's Head. No reply. One of the couple who lived above said they didn't think he'd been home last night. Came in and drove away. A van. 5 cwt Ford van, dirty white. They hadn't seen him that morning either.

  'Keep looking,' Karen said. 'Keep a watch on the flat. Let's get a description ready for circulation, details of the van.'

  * * *

  When Tara's mother delivered Jake and Amber back home just before four and there was seemingly no one in, she simply bundled them back into the Toyota and drove them along to number 35 with Tara, where she gave them all chocolate biscuits and juice and then, after they'd played together and the Cooper telephone remained unanswered, some pasta with M & S tomato sauce.

  As far as Jake and Amber were concerned it was an unlooked-for treat.

  Tara's dad went to the house as soon as he came home and knocked loud upon the door; he let himself into the garden by the side passage and found the conservatory locked, the whole house in darkness. Shouting yielded nothing.

  They thought of phoning the police, but decided to wait until Gerald Cooper arrived from work, at least he would have a key.

  Gerald, as it happened, caught the early train and was back by seven, to find a note from Tara's parents pinned to the door. He thought he'd have a quick G & T before going to fetch the kids. God knows where Estelle had gone off to, silly mare.

  He found her in the lounge, hanging from the chandelier, the kitchen stool she'd brought in to stand on kicked away.

  35

  Elder read bad news in Karen's face before hearing the words.

  'Shit,' he said. And then, 'Poor woman.'

  'Yes.'

  'How are you feeling?'

  'How am I? What difference does that make? She's dead, for Christ's sake.'

  'You went to see her yesterday? Spoke to her?'

  A laugh choked from Karen's throat. 'Yes, I spoke to her.'

  'How was she?'

  She looked at him as if he were some kind of fool. 'How do you think she was? I cosied up to her and calmed her down and made her tell me about that arsehole Kennet raping her.'

  'He raped her?'

  'He raped her. Sometimes in some kind of sick game she went along with and sometimes for real.'

  'She told you this?'

  'She told me this and then I left her alone, alone in that house with her gardening gloves and her fancy fucking teacups and her fake fucking chandelier.' There were tears running freely down Karen's face. 'And yesterday afternoon when I wanted that bastard brought back in, he'd fucking disappeared.'

  Elder eased her chair away from the desk. 'Sit down a minute.'

  'I don't want to sit down.'

  'Sit down, have some coffee, let's talk this through.'

  'I don't want any fucking coffee either.'

  'Karen.'

  'What?'

  'Sit down. Come on.' Firmly but gently, he took hold of her arm. 'Let's sit.'

  Karen sighed and did as she was told; she found a tissue in her bag, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Elder pulled another chair round from the other side of the desk and sat opposite her, close enough to have held her hand.

  'It's not your fault, you know.'

  'Oh, no. Yes, it is. Of course it is.'

  'You didn't do any of those things to her.'

  'I made her talk about them, think about them.'

  'You were doing your job.'

  'My fucking job.'

  'Besides, you think they weren't on her mind, all the time? You think she could forget? Ever?' He was thinking of Katherine, standing in Rob Summers's house, back before Christmas. Dad, I'm never going to be like I was before. 'It's Kennet,' Elder said. 'That's who's to blame. What we've got to do is make sure he doesn't do it again. Make sure he pays.'

  * * *

  Jennifer McLaughlin was serving a customer with something for a sore throat and sympathising: a lot of it about this time of the year. Elder went in and begged ten minutes of her time. Together with Karen they walked along the Broadway, Jennifer taking the opportunity for a cigarette; Karen doing her best to inhale but getting only petrol fumes instead. Starbucks was full so they went on past the circle to Pizza Express.

  Karen began her questions as delicately as she could, but Jennifer, a good decade and a half younger than Estelle Cooper by age, and several generations by attitude and experience, was largely unfazed.

  'We quarrelled about it, yes, course we did. All that play-acting stuff. Don't know now why I went along with it as long as I did.' Pausing, she looked Karen in the eye. 'Except, well, it was exciting at first. You know? You know what I mean? It's only afterwards you think, God, what was going on there at all?'

  'And when you fell out on holiday,' Karen said, 'is that really what it was about? More of the same?'

  Averting her face, Jennifer slowly released a wavering line of smoke. 'Yes,' she said.

  'We'd like you to come in and make a statement,' Karen said. 'I presume that's okay?'

  'Now? You don't mean now?'

  'Later this afternoon would be fine. When you finish work. We can give you a lift both ways if that would help.'

  'All right.' She looked at them again, first one and then the other. 'He has done something this time, hasn't he? Something serious.'

  'It's possible,' Elder said.

  'Dear God,' Jennifer whispered and crossed herself.

  'If it were necessary,' Karen said, 'you'd be prepared to give evidence in court?'

  'Oh, yes.'

  'You don't know the names of anyone Steven went out with before, do you?' Elder asked. 'We'd like to talk to as many as we can.'

  Jennifer reached for her pack of cigarettes. 'I don't know, I might. If I think about it, you know. Names he's mentioned. Not above a bit of bragging, as you might imagine. But offhand there's only that —' The cigarettes slipped from her hand. 'Only that policewoman, the one who was killed. Oh, God. Oh, my good God!' A sudden shiver running through her, every vestige of colour bleached from her face.

  * * *

  In the end, Jennifer McLaughlin came up with three names, going back, she thought, a good few years. One might have been working in Waitrose, another a nurse. All were — or had been — north London-based.

  'You and me then, Frank,' Karen said. 'Bit of old-fashioned legwork. What do you say?'

  36

  Elder picked up the CD box and glanced at the front: a round-faced black man with short cropped hair, saxophone balanced over one shoulder, hands together as though in prayer. 'Stanley Turrentine,' Elder called towards the kitchen. 'Should I have heard of him?'

  No reply.

  Saxophone and what? Organ?

  'Sorry,' Karen said, carrying through two newly rinsed glasses and the bottle of Aberlour she'd spotted on speci
al offer on their visit to Waitrose. 'You said something but I couldn't hear what.'

  'Turrentine, is he famous? '

  'Celebrity-famous or the jazz-cognoscente kind?'

  'Either.'

  'Maybe a little bit of the latter.' She poured two quite generous measures of Scotch, handed one to Elder, and raised her own. 'Cheers.'

  'Cheers.'

  'I saw him a few years back at the Jazz Cafe.' Karen smiled. 'Back in my clubbing days.'

  'Now you sit around in the evenings knitting and doing crochet.'

  'Something like that.'

  The whisky was good, warm on the back of the throat. They'd eaten at a place on Upper Street, Turkish; had to stand in line twenty minutes or so for a table, but it had been worth it. Lamb kebabs and rice, hot sauce, a bottle of red wine.

  'He played this,' Karen said, listening. 'You know it?'

  Elder shook his head.

  '"God Bless the Child".' She sang a few bars.

  * * *

  During the course of a long afternoon they'd managed to track down and talk to two of the three women whose names Jennifer McLaughlin had remembered.

  Maria Upson, a nurse working in Orthopaedics at the Middlesex, had confirmed pretty much everything about Kennet they either knew or suspected; she'd gone out with him for nine months and now regretted almost every minute of the last six.

  'Men,' she said, with a not totally disparaging glance towards Elder, 'get to know them, or think you do, let them slip under your guard and they either turn into five-year-olds who want cuddling and cosseting or else they're Fred West.' She didn't need to add which Kennet resembled most.

  Lily Patrick was a trainee manager at Waitrose and the picture she painted was different: Kennet was kind, funny, considerate. Okay, he did once climb through her second-floor bedroom window in the middle of the night and scare the wits out of her, but that was to deliver a dozen red roses and some red balloons on her birthday. 'You know, like the Milk Tray man.'

  'And sexually,' Karen said, 'he didn't ever suggest anything you felt uncomfortable with?'

  'No.' Blushing, but just a little. 'What kind of thing?'

  'Games, acting out fantasies. That kind of thing.'

  'We did act out a bit of Romeo and Juliet once. You know, the balcony scene. After we'd seen the movie.'

  'I was thinking of something a bit less romantic'

  'I don't understand.'

  'Rape fantasies, perhaps.'

  'Rape?' Lily wiped her hands down the front of her Waitrose overall, as if they were suddenly sullied. 'You're joking, right? This is some kind of a joke?'

  'No.'

  'You've got to be.'

  'It's something people do, Lily. Fantasies like that. Ordinary people.'

  'Not people I know. Not Steve.'

  Elder had been thinking about a song by Dire Straits Joanne had played over and over. He was trying to recall their fantasy life, his former wife and himself, if they ever had one.

  'If it was so good,' he said, 'the relationship with Steve, how come you stopped seeing him?'

  'He went away, didn't he? The Middle East somewhere. For work. This big project, rebuilding a hospital I think it was. Kuwait, maybe. Somewhere they couldn't drink, I know that. No alcohol. I remember Steve joking about it, how he'd have to be careful which airline he was flying with, in case, you know, it was dry. As much free booze as I can get, he said, before the drought.'

  'He liked a drink then?' Karen said.

  'No more than anyone.'

  'And you haven't seen him since then? What was it? Eighteen months ago?'

  'Two years nearly. No. He's still there, isn't he? Living there.'

  'You've heard from him then?'

  'No. Not really. Not since Christmas, Christmas before last.'

  They'd thanked her for her time and left her looking wistful and not a little sad.

  The third name — Jane Forest — they were still waiting to track down.

  * * *

  Karen was sitting on a low-backed two-seater settee, orange with purple and red cushions; Elder opposite in a grey wicker chair. The music was still playing over sounds of traffic and muffled voices from the street.

  'Close on two years ago,' Karen said, 'according to Lily Patrick, Kennet went out to Kuwait.' She shook her head. 'I don't think so. Eighteen months ago, or not so long after, he started seeing Jennifer McLaughlin.'

  'During which time he was also seeing Maddy Birch.'

  'And, presumably, shopping at Tesco instead of Waitrose.'

  'Seems to be a pattern,' Elder said.

  'So what's the betting while he was going out with Miss Waitrose, he was seeing someone else then too?'

  'Somebody whose fantasies ran on the rougher side of Cadbury's Milk Tray and Romeo and Juliet.'

  'Most likely. Though even Juliet died in the end.'

  'So did Romeo, remember?' Elder sipped his Scotch. 'If I knew my Shakespeare better, I could probably come up with someone more like Kennet than Romeo.'

  'Othello,' Karen suggested. 'No, Iago.'

  Elder had seen it once, Othello. When he was in the sixth form. The Grand in Leeds. A matinee. He could remember the teacher forever shushing them, then reading the riot act when they got back to the coach; remember the name of the girl he'd sat next to but not a lot about the play. Desdemona? A handkerchief?

  'Wait, wait,' Karen said. 'Titus Andronicus.'

  'Who?'

  She laughed. 'I don't know. I just know there was a lot of blood.'

  Stanley Turrentine seemed to have come to an end. It was comfortably quiet.

  'I'm sorry about the other night,' Karen said after a while.

  'The other night?'

  'At your place. You must have thought I was being a bit of a tease.'

  'No.'

  'You didn't think I was coming on to you and then backing off?'

  'I didn't think you were coming on to me at all.'

  Karen threw back her head and laughed. 'God! I must be losing my touch.'

  'No, it's me. Forgetting how to read the signs.'

  'A little rusty?'

  'Something like that.'

  'Well,' she picked up the bottle of Scotch and tipped some into his glass, 'what you need is a little lubrication.' And then, aghast, 'I can't believe I just said that.'

  'You didn't.'

  'No, you're right.'

  But he was smiling, smiling with his eyes, and though she wasn't certain, having got this far, she kissed him anyway. Once would have been okay, acceptable, within the limits of the situation, a point of some return, but it was more than once: his mouth, his neck, his cheek, his eyes. His hands on her body, her back, her thighs, her breasts. She pulled him towards her from the chair on to the floor. Oh God, they weren't going to do it on the floor? His fingers warm across her shoulder blades, his leg between hers. Some part of her mind flashing warnings. Her diaphragm was in its box in the bathroom, no condoms, and the chances of his having one were less than nil. As his thumb brushed her nipple she repositioned herself. Buttons and zips. She unbuckled his belt. Salt and sour in her mouth. Grabbing one of the cushions from the settee she raised herself up and touched herself between her legs. He kissed her there and there. Her heels drumming on his spine. If screams could only wake the dead.

  Afterwards, they lay side by side. Somehow Karen had contrived to turn the music back on again. 'More Than You Know'. Elder was amazed at the colours of her skin, everything from dark chocolate to iron grey.

  'I'm going to have a shower,' Karen said eventually, scrambling to her feet.

  Elder lay there wondering what the time was, whether he'd be expected to stay the night. Whether he wanted to.

  She came back five minutes later wearing a cotton robe, glass of water in hand, broad smile on her face.

  'What?' Elder said.

  'Wasn't so long ago, I could have got dressed up, really fit, put on my face, got myself down to the Funky Buddha, Sugar Reef, Chinawhite. Pulled some ris
ing rap star or a brace of Premiership wannabes. And what do I end up with?' She laughed. 'Tired white meat.'

  'Thanks. Thanks a lot.'

  'My pleasure.'

  'You've got a mouth on you, you know that.'

  'You should know.'

  Elder shook his head. 'Look, I should go.'

  'Okay. You need a hand up off the floor?'

  He looked at her to see if she were being serious and couldn't tell. When he was in the shower his mobile rang and Karen answered it.

  'Here,' she said, handing it to him as, water off, he reached his hand around the shower curtain. 'A woman. Young.'

  He knew it was Katherine before he heard her voice. 'Dad. I need to see you. It's important.'

  'What about?'

  'When I see you, okay?'

  'All right, but I'm not sure when —'

  'Dad, if it weren't urgent, I wouldn't have asked.'

  He knew it was true.

  'Tomorrow morning then,' Elder said. 'Nine thirty, ten?'

  'Make it ten. The Castle. I'll meet you in the grounds.'

  'Katherine —'

  'Tomorrow.' And she finished the call.

  'Trouble?' Karen asked once he was dressed. She was in the process of making coffee.

  'I've got to go up to Nottingham tomorrow. My daughter again. I'll be back down as soon as I can.'

  'Don't worry. We'll keep after Kennet. See if we can't trace this Jane Forest. Meantime, it's my turn to call you a cab, okay?'

  Elder nodded. 'Okay.'

  She kissed him at the door, nothing lingering. 'Not so tired,' she said, grinning. 'Just very white.'

  37

  It was a peerless winter's day. Elder had considered driving, but in the end had opted for the train. Not so much over an hour and a half, an hour and forty minutes, and he was in the centre of the city, walking past the canal and then the bus station, one edge of the Broad Marsh Centre taking him on to Lister Gate, Castle Gate and Maid Marian Way. The Castle sat on rock, not a child's idea of a castle with turrets and narrow windows and now-crumbling arches, the castle of Robin Hood and King John, sword fights and bows and arrows, but something more recent, more four-square and municipal.