Murder in Kentish Town: an elegant mystery set in Bohemian London

by Sabina Manea

  ‘I only met her briefly,’ lied Lucia, trying to distract attention from the fact that they had got to the real subject of her enquiry. ‘She would have been interviewed like everyone else, of course. I don’t particularly recall her, to be honest.’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Lucia. She was mates with Genevieve. You know that. Why don’t you just spit it out? You’re here to quiz me about Genevieve and probably about Rosie as well. You don’t get in touch with me after all this time if you’re not after something.’ Matthias leaned over the table and glanced at her sharply, the disconcerting false smile etched deep into his face. ‘You might think you’re smarter than all of us put together, Lucia, but I can see right through you. I’ve always been able to.’

  Lucia didn’t know what to make of this last comment. What exactly was he able to see? That she wasn’t some spoilt rich brat like most of them, that she had had to fight tooth and nail to be as good as the privately educated kids who breezed into Oxford and Cambridge as if it were their God-given right, and then waltzed straight into a top City law firm without ever lifting a finger? She’d made it into Cambridge because she worked her arse off, straight from the local comprehensive and the council flat she’d grown up in a corner of Hampstead blissfully untouched by corporate money. She’d never felt inferior to any of her work colleagues, but neither had she made any lasting friends. Nina didn’t count, and, by the looks of things, though for entirely opposite reasons, Matthias didn’t either.

  Lucia decided she wouldn’t beat around the bush any longer. ‘Alright then, I’ll be totally straight with you. Rosie Venter. What do you know about her?’

  ‘I don’t have to answer any of your questions, you know.’ Matthias crossed his arms defiantly, but a glint in his eye suggested that he might anyway. Lucia was counting on the fact that she knew him to be the office gossip, and so he probably wouldn’t be able to help himself.

  ‘You don’t. But one of my colleagues from the station is bound to come asking them sooner or later. So, it’s your choice. You answer them now over lunch, or you go through the much more painful process of being interrogated by a low-paid, eternally pissed off PC. Your call.’

  The gambit worked. Matthias thought for a few seconds and opted for the logical avenue. ‘Point taken. Rosie’s a bit of a dark horse, if I’m honest with you. She’s one of the people who keeps her head down and quietly gets on with it, and before you know it, she’s the one bagging all the new clients and racing ahead of the rest of us. She’s nice enough, always up for a drink down the boozer and all that, but she definitely keeps her cards close to her chest.’

  ‘She must be popular with the partners, if she’s bringing in so much work,’ said Lucia.

  ‘Yes and no. It’s a funny one, actually. I know for certain she’s got lots of new commissions, but the other day she walked out of the room for a few minutes, and I happened to glance over at her screen. Not on purpose, you see. It’s not like I’m spying on her or anything,’ Matthias added, a little defensively.

  Sure you are, you conniving little shit, thought Lucia. She said, ‘And?’

  ‘Her timesheet was open. The weird thing is, there weren’t many hours recorded on it. At least not as many as the volume of work she’s been getting seems to suggest. She’s got this new client she’s leading on: Greenspace Properties. Big commercial developer that’s buying up most of the old end of the City, one whole street at a time. But she’s barely recorded any time for them. That doesn’t make sense, does it?’

  ‘Maybe the partners have written off her time, or done a lump sum deal,’ ventured Lucia.

  ‘Maybe. But you can’t put a price on the kind of work they’ll need doing. But maybe Rosie’s just started out, so they could be writing off her time, that’s true,’ said Matthias. ‘The other thing that’s odd, though, is that she’s been knocking off pretty early.’

  ‘How early is early?’ asked Lucia.

  ‘Five-thirty, six. For a good few weeks, I’d say. And you know full well that any time before 8 p.m. is early at the old C&G. There are only so many times you can get away with claiming you’re taking work home.’

  For the next hour or so, the conversation meandered on, from speculation about what sort of work the firm was getting involved in, to titbits of office gossip that didn’t interest Lucia that much, but that she felt compelled to listen to so as to indulge Matthias’s natural inclination.

  As they parted and he gave her another unpleasantly long kiss, Lucia wondered what Rosie Venter had to hide that she didn’t want the timesheet revealing.

  Chapter 24

  Rosie Venter crossed and uncrossed her legs a few times. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the table as she took sip after nervous sip of her cappuccino. From the other end of the restaurant, Lucia watched her from a convenient vantage point that rendered her out of view. She’d managed to bag a seat just by the window, hidden in a small alcove that gave her a direct line of sight to her target.

  The place didn’t look suited to a romantic encounter, so it could safely be surmised that Rosie Venter wasn’t meeting a lover. The choice of venue had clearly been intentional. Its proximity to the office meant suspicion would not be aroused by an unusually long lunch break. At the same time, it was the kind of location unlikely to be frequented by Creasy & Gotts lawyers: too smart and non-descript for a lunchtime jolly, not upmarket enough for client entertainment.

  What’s she up to, wondered Lucia. She’d decided to employ her usual method that delivered good results fairly consistently when everything else had failed: good old-fashioned surveillance. She had been hanging around outside the Creasy & Gotts building every lunchtime and well into the late afternoon for the past couple of days, hoping that she would catch sight of Rosie Venter and make sense of her allegedly mysterious whereabouts. What Matthias Schoen had said about Rosie knocking off early was true. She’d been straight out of the door at five-thirty sharp on each of the days that Lucia was there. Lucia had followed her, but every time the trail had gone cold as Rosie got on the tube and headed home to her flat in Bayham Street, in Camden. Lunchtimes had been equally uneventful. Rosie had popped out to the chain sandwich shop directly next to the Creasy & Gotts offices, grabbed a small meal and headed straight back into the building.

  On the third day, however, Rosie Venter walked out just after one and headed across the busy main road. Lucia followed her as discreetly as she could. Lucia was dressed in sports clothes: trainers, leggings and a slim-fitting hoodie, topped with sunglasses and with her hair in a ponytail. She looked like just another City worker who had changed into fitness gear for a lunchtime run and was therefore pretty invisible. Rosie Venter veered right and turned into a small side street just off High Holborn. The first door was a restaurant, which she walked confidently into, clearly with a table reservation under her belt. Lucia hovered outside to see where Rosie was going to sit. Fortunately, the place was decently populated, so the allocated table was quite far in, and Rosie sat with her back to the street. Lucia decided she would chance it and walked straight in.

  ‘Have you booked?’ The severe-looking girl with a clipboard at the entrance eyed Lucia up suspiciously, as if her get-up didn’t quite pass muster.

  ‘No. Any chance I could grab a quick lunch? I won’t be long,’ replied Lucia, beaming her broadest smile and hoping for the best.

  The girl mollified a little as she peered at her clipboard. ‘Er, OK, let’s see. You can sit here.’ She pointed to a table for two that was practically squashed into the window and could only realistically accommodate either one adult or two toddlers.

  ‘That’s great. Thank you, really appreciate it,’ said Lucia. It was ideal; far enough from Rosie, but well positioned to keep an eye on her. Lucia sat down, sunglasses on her head, and flicked through the menu that the girl had deposited on the table. She watched Rosie Venter, ready to take in whatever information was about to reveal itself.

  It felt like hours, even though only about ten minutes had gon
e by, before the restaurant door swung open to admit a man anywhere between forty and fifty. He was smartly but conservatively dressed in immaculate chinos and a striped shirt under a well-cut, knee-length coat that he handed to the girl in a rather off-hand manner. His demeanour exuded extreme self-assurance, if not downright arrogance. Lucia tapped the keys on her phone to double-check. According to the photo and profile, the man was confirmed to be Lewis Masser, none other than the CEO of Greenspace Properties. Lucia smiled. What Matthias Schoen had said made her think very hard. A new client with barely any hours billed, coupled with inexplicably short days in the office despite the increased volume of work were all very suspicious circumstances that had to be connected in some way. Lucia didn’t believe in coincidences.

  As soon as Lewis Masser materialised at the table, Rosie Venter jumped up from her seat. She looked furtively around her, clearly not wishing to be seen in his company, shook his hand, visibly nervous, and they sat down. She was armed with a laptop and reams of paperwork that had by now covered most of the table, so the meeting was evidently not for pleasure. Lucia watched as they pointed at the screen, waved their hands around a bit, scribbled on the paperwork and so on. They ordered and ate a light lunch of salad and water. Lucia could have sat there for hours on end, and the logical conclusion would still be the same.

  After the best part of an hour, Lewis Masser stood up and said his goodbyes, leaving Rosie Venter to gather her things and make as quick an exit as she could. He settled the bill on his way out and grabbed his coat without even a brief thank you. Rosie scrabbled around the table, gathering up her papers in a messy pile and stuffing them into the large rucksack she had brought with her. She looked deathly pale, as if someone had just walked over her grave. She took one last look around her and made a run for the door. But there was no escape.

  ‘Hi, Rosie.’ Lucia stood up and took a couple of firm steps, so that she was positioned directly in Rosie’s path.

  Rosie Venter stared blankly. For a couple of seconds, she didn’t recognise who was talking to her. As realisation seeped in, a look of pure panic washed over her face. There was nowhere for her to go. She stood there, arms straight down by her side, hands shaking.

  ‘Busy lunchtime then? It must be a lot nicer having business meetings in a restaurant than in those stuffy rooms back at C&G,’ quipped Lucia.

  The sarcasm cut through like a shard of ice and immediately had the desired effect. Rosie Venter practically crumpled before Lucia’s eyes, as if melted into a heap.

  ‘Let’s sit down, shall we?’ Lucia beckoned to the cramped table that she’d been occupying. She pulled out one of the chairs and gestured to Rosie, who complied. Once Rosie had settled down and looked a bit less peaky, Lucia went on. ‘Want to tell me all about it, or shall I tell you what I think’s going on here?’

  Rosie’s hands were trembling violently on the table, and she looked on the verge of tears. The easy assurance that had characterised her to date had vanished into thin air, and all that was left was fear lined with a copious amount of guilt. At last, she spoke with a very small voice. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘OK, we’ll do it the hard way, if that’s how you want it.’ Lucia leaned back, one arm over the back of her chair, and surveyed Rosie with a searching look before launching into her exposition. ‘You’re moonlighting for Lewis Masser.’

  Rosie sat up very straight and frowned. She looked like she had been caught red-handed, shoplifting small items that she thought would go by unnoticed. ‘How… how did you know?’

  ‘I’m not daft, Rosie. I might not work for them anymore, but I’ve still got an ear to the ground at C&G. I know you’ve been taking on loads of extra work and not billing for as much as you’re doing. That was pretty stupid, don’t you think? Do you imagine they won’t find out?’

  ‘They never check the timesheets. I know that, because people get away with billing a lot more than they’ve done,’ replied Rosie sheepishly.

  ‘Business as usual then,’ retorted Lucia. ‘That place has never been above board. I didn’t expect it would all be done so flagrantly though. It must have got worse since my days. This is just shameless.’

  ‘For all the money they think they’re paying me, I’d sell them down the river in a second,’ said Rosie sharply. She suddenly looked a lot less vulnerable. Her attractive face was slowly contorted by pure, unadulterated antipathy. ‘Yeah, I’m on Masser’s payroll. So what? He pays me a hell of a lot more per hour than those stingy fuckers, when I’ve counted all the time I spend in the office. Not to mention the meals on expenses, the booze, the hotels, jetting all around the world. All of that’s in the pipeline for me. He likes me, and not in that way, before you jump to conclusions. I’m seriously thinking of jacking it in and working for him, except the partners will hunt me down with their non-compete agreement. So, I’ve decided to stay on, take my salary and rake it in on the side. Makes me feel good screwing them over, for a change.’ She smirked nonchalantly, her mind evidently made up. ‘Do you blame me?’

  ‘I don’t. I wouldn’t have necessarily gone down that route myself, but no, I don’t blame you.’ Lucia thought to herself that human greed knew no bounds. ‘Did anyone know about your little racket?’ Lucia asked.

  Rosie’s arrogance waned as the meaning of the question sunk in. At last, she replied, resigned that Lucia would have probably prized it out of her anyway, which was precisely right. ‘Genevieve knew.’

  ‘How did she find out?’

  ‘Same as you. Except she didn’t do it on purpose. She was having dinner here one evening with a friend, and she saw me and Lewis. I’d left work early on purpose, exactly because I was hoping not to be rumbled, but I wasn’t to know that so had she. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. She pulled me aside the following day and asked me outright. She wasn’t one to beat around the bush, Genevieve. I had to come clean. I hoped our friendship would count for something, that she wouldn’t rat on me. It’s not like they were treating her any better. But she had this bloody righteous streak in her, you know, looking down on the rest of us mere mortals when we set a foot wrong. Saint fucking Genevieve, she could be, when she wanted. With that pretty little face and her pro bono work, she thought she was so much better than everyone else.’

  ‘Did she spill the beans?’ asked Lucia.

  ‘No, I’m pretty sure she didn’t. She said she was considering her options, whatever that meant. It was like the sword of Damocles, forever hanging above my head. But I know what you’re thinking. You’re a copper, after all. I didn’t kill her, and you can’t drop me in it.’ Rosie shot a defiant look in Lucia’s direction.

  The outburst had been quite something. The woman was out of breath. The shaking had stopped, but the anger was still there. None of this had come out in the slightest when Lucia and Carliss had talked to her before. She must have buried it deep, but one thing was certain: Rosie Venter had a convincing motive for disposing of Genevieve Taylor.

  * * *

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me about Rosie Venter,’ said Carliss, peering over his computer screen and taking one last slurp out of his mug. ‘Shafting a firm of dodgy lawyers. She’s got some guts in her, that girl.’

  ‘Guts, or just plain stupid. It won’t be long until they cotton on to it, and it’s not going to be pretty,’ replied Lucia.

  ‘So, she’s good for Genevieve’s death. You wouldn’t want that sort of secret coming out, would you?’ said the inspector, fidgeting with the packet of cigarettes on his desk.

  ‘She’s got some sort of alibi – at home at the time of death – though no independent source corroborating it.’

  ‘Do you think she did it?’ asked Carliss.

  ‘I don’t know what to think. There are so many layers to this case. Every time we think we’ve got the hang of what’s going on, we’re sprung yet another shocker. What else are these people hiding, I wonder?’

  ‘The Aurora Borealis lot? Plenty, as far as we’ve been able to see. Darius
Major’s a violent ex-soldier and possibly a stalker. Marie Cassel is jealous as hell and has a filthy temper. Rosie Venter’s been pushed into a corner. That leaves Miles Donovan and Edoardo da Carrara. They might be off-piste in their different ways, but that’s not particularly interesting in itself, is it?’ asked Carliss.

  ‘I’m not so sure. Remember what Miles was like when we spoke to him? Something in the way he mentioned Genevieve. I can’t really describe it, but it was as if he hadn’t particularly warmed to her–’

  ‘That’s just wild speculation, Lucia, and you know it,’ cut in the policeman. ‘The man was being perfectly civil, as far as I can recall.’

  ‘OK, then what about Walter’s quip?’

  ‘Walter’s quip?’

  ‘Yes, remember that? Walter went to one of their meetings and said that Miles was muttering something that sounded a bit odd. “Maybe she had it coming.” What on earth does that mean? And why do I get the distinct feeling that Genevieve Taylor wasn’t this innocuous creature that nobody could hold a grudge against?’ wondered Lucia out loud.

  Carliss stood up and gathered his coat and packet of fags. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Go where? I’ve got plenty to get on with here,’ replied Lucia, surprised by this uncharacteristic outburst.

  ‘Genevieve Taylor’s house. If she’s not God’s gift to man, as you suspect, then maybe we’ve missed something. And there’s only one way to find out.’

  The inspector had a spark in his eyes that Lucia rather liked the look of. She had on more than one occasion sensed that underneath his prudent exterior there was a current of recklessness that would eventually find its way to the surface, given the right circumstances. She was drawn to that. Right now, he had a bit of Harry Palmer about him, and it suited him well.

  Chapter 25

  Raglan Street, where Genevieve Taylor had made her home, was suffused in a pinkish light that made it look like a film set. Dusk was creeping in, as if hiding a multitude of things seen but left unspoken.