“It’s just that, with all this media attention, we’ve virtually been prisoners in the house. It hasn’t worried Evie so much. I doubt that she’d move out of bed if I didn’t rally her to. But I’m afraid your police presence will inflame those news reporters.” The grooves on either side of her mouth seemed to deepen with disapproval. “I really don’t understand all the fuss. Evie’s a nurse. She was just doing her job, for goodness sake.” There was a hint of jealousy under the condemnation.
Just doing her job? Bex fought down a desire to shake Meredith and shout at her. Trying to save the life of your daughter’s killer was far from routine! Where had Evie summoned the fortitude from to ignore her own overwhelming grief to let her nursing instincts kick in? Bex doubted her ability to be as professional. In fact, her instincts would have been far more likely to beat the driver that ran her and Zane off the road to a pulp if he hadn’t already hightailed it away from the crash scene.
“If she could just see us for a few minutes, Mrs Murphy, and then we’ll be out of your hair,” Reuben persisted.
Meredith disappeared and was gone for several minutes before reappearing with her sister. Evie shuffled reluctantly into the room and stared vacantly at them when they introduced themselves. She looked shrunken, as though all the air had been sucked out of her frame. Calling her haggard was being generous, Bex thought. Evie resembled nothing more than a resurrected zombie.
She and Meredith sat together at one end of the sofa. Meredith gathered one of Evie’s hands in her own. Bex sat at the opposite end of the sofa, her body angled towards them, while Reuben perched carefully on the end of the coffee table.
From the tangled mess of her hair, Bex guessed that Evie hadn’t showered or dressed since returning from the hospital. Her palpable despair spread like fog, sucking Bex into a void of misery. It took a colossal effort to unglue herself from the downwards spiral of her emotions. Please don’t drag me back to that dark miserable hole.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mrs Butterworth, but we have a few questions about Tuesday afternoon. You said in your earlier statement that you and Clara had been to the movies. Could you just go over the events after you left the movie theater?”
Evie’s glazed eyes roved restlessly over them and the furniture as though she had trouble processing the question. Finally she drew in a shuddering breath. When she spoke her voice was soft and scratchy, like she hadn’t spoken in days, and the words were laced with pain so raw it made Bex’s eyes water.
“We’d been to see a Hitchcock marathon. ‘Dial M for Murder’ was one of the movies, I think. I-I can’t remember the other movies.”
“It doesn’t matter, Mrs Butterworth. Just tell us what happened when you and Clara left the Odeon,” Reuben urged, his phone out ready to take notes.
“Clara and I both loved old black and white movies. We hadn’t been to one in simply ages. When I wasn’t working night shift, Clara was usually doing something with Bon.” When she said his name, her face twisted and she looked like she was about to break down into tears. Bex saw Meredith’s fingers tighten around her hand.
“So, Clara spent a lot of time with Bon?” Bex probed gently.
She watched Evie make the heroic effort of pulling herself together.
“Yes. He was always on the phone texting and talking to her, wanting to take her out, wanting to know what she was doing. He was always so attentive and such a gentleman. He was obviously besotted with Clara. His eyes never left her the moment she walked into the room.”
“How long had they been going out?”
“They met at a fundraiser at the local animal refuge. Clara loves animals.” Her voice caught and Bex sensed the avalanche just being held back. “She loved animals,” she corrected herself. “She always wanted me to take in stray cats and dogs. Volunteering at the animal refuge took care of those emotions for her. I didn’t know they’d broken up until she told me on Tuesday.”
“Did Clara break up with Bon or did Bon break off the relationship?”
“Definitely Clara. She was so upset when his car drove past the cinema. She said he was stalking her. She went up to the car and yelled at him. Told him to leave her alone and that she would call the police if he didn’t return her property.” Gentle sobs broke through and Bex and Reuben waited until they subsided.
“Do you recognize this, Mrs Butterworth?” Bex held out her phone with an image of the blood locket. “Could this be the property that Clara wanted returned from Bon?”
Evie stared at it, all the while dabbing at her eyes. She shook her head. “No, I don’t recall seeing it before. I don’t know what Clara was referring to. Bon was usually the one buying her presents, so I just don’t know what he could have of hers.”
“It has the initials ‘C.L.B’ on it. We thought it might be Clara’s.” Reuben sounded disappointed.
“It could be something she bought recently that I didn’t know about. She-she didn’t always tell me everything,” Evie admitted on a sob.
Bex noted the remark with interest. What made Evie think Clara had been keeping secrets?
“Did you work night shifts regularly?” Reuben asked.
“Four nights a week for the last year and a half. My shift ends at 4:00 a.m. I usually stay awake until Clara goes to school. Then I’ll have a sleep and be up when she comes home, before heading off to work again.”
“Do you know who her friends were, who she hung out with apart from Bon?”
Evie shook her head. “She was happy with her own company. That’s why it was so refreshing to see her with Bon, just being a normal teenager.”
“Takes after you then,” Meredith interjected. “You were never one for a full social life. Up and left Leeds to come all the way down to London on your own at eighteen. And look what it’s got you, all alone again.”
Evie blinked rapidly several times, but didn’t respond to her sister. Bex felt a sympathetic shiver course down her spine. What could she say to refute Meredith’s unvarnished truth?
“What about Jemma Winship? Did your daughter ever mention her?” Reuben asked.
Evie drew in a hissing breath, throwing Reuben a shocked look.
“Anything you can tell us, Mrs Butterworth, might help resolve this case. No matter how small an incident you never know if it could provide a vital clue,” Bex pressed.
“It’s personal. I don’t know if Clara would want me to say anything.” She gnawed on her lip.
“Please, Mrs Butterworth. We just want to help.”
“She told me she thought she was a lesbian. She’d started seeing someone, someone called Jemma. She took me by surprise. I didn’t even know she’d broken up with Bon. But I just wanted her to be happy. She accused me of loving Bon more than her.” Tears were leaking in rivulets down her cheeks. “It wasn’t true, I could never love anyone more than Clara,” she said fiercely.
Her fingers twisted together, shredding the used tissue. When she raised her eyes, they locked on Bex beseechingly. “I thought he made an ideal boyfriend. He was always so polite, so attentive and so kind. He even brought me flowers once when he first came to call for Clara. I just can’t believe what’s happened. It’s all so tragic. How could this happen?” Her voice ended in a wail before she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving.
Meredith put an arm around her, staring pointedly at Bex and Reuben. “That’s enough questions. She can’t take any more.”
Bex agreed. This interview had been harrowing. It took all her self-control not to join Evie in bemoaning the futility of all the useless deaths in the world. The two of them belonged to the exclusive club of the bereaved, where only members understood how crazy bad the pain of loss could be.
Chapter 17
Thursday 6 July
Quinn alighted from the bus onto Oxford Street in a mood as foul as the weather was fine. Dresden had denied him an official car, deeming the tasks Bex had set him to be “non-urgent”. Instead of filling
out the paperwork to use his private vehicle, he stubbornly clung to his pique and had been schlepping around the city by public transport.
Absently, he rubbed an open palm over the knuckles of his other hand. They smarted, but the pain was satisfying. After dropping Bon’s phone with his friend in Forensics last night, he had stopped by his gym. It was a mixed martial arts dojo run by a buddy of his and ex-police officer. Tony offered him the key after the combatants from the last Brazilian Jiu Jitsu class of the night disappeared through the exit doors, so he could stay behind.
“But I’m turning off the air con. Gotta consider the running costs. Besides it’ll be good for you to sweat off some of those excess pounds you’ve put on with Isla’s good cooking.” Tony was a great one for jokes. All Quinn’s friends knew Isla’s idea of cooking was making a reservation at Flat Three for dinner.
When Quinn moved into the boxing area he attacked the heavy bag with snapping kicks and striking punches, using fists, elbows and knees. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when he finally released the bag. He had discarded his gi after the jiu jitsu session, then his sweat-soaked T-shirt after another hour of pounding out his aggression on the bag. Using his T-shirt to mop sweat from his face and chest, he had headed to the showers before dragging out his sleeping bag and bunking down on one of the dojo mats. Since his split from Isla he had basically been living out of his car or crashing on mates’ couches.
In the morning he had raced to Forensics to pick up the phone before heading to the meeting at New Scotland Yard. And all he’d been given for his pains was more of the same, he thought in disgust.
His visit to Harrow had yielded no breakthroughs.
Bon’s room was as neat as the proverbial pin, with textbooks stacked tidily on his study desk and clothes folded primly in the closet. Bon even had a clothes hamper for his dirty washing! Quinn’s questioning of Bon’s House Master and some of the other House occupants had shed little enlightenment on Bon’s state of mind.
“Good chap. Never gave an ounce of trouble. Never threw parties or snuck girls into his room after hours. Everything all above board with Bon,” Dr Eric Black, the House Master, had affirmed to Quinn. “Terrible thing to have happened. Dare say the sun must have momentarily blinded him as he crossed the bridge. Sort of thing happens at that time of day.”
Quinn spoke to three available students who were willing to disclose that Bon had become moodier and more withdrawn in the last two weeks, refusing to participate in the latest social functions organized by the Sixth Form social club. There was only one snippet of information that he gleaned that he classified of any importance.
“Galliers kept his personal life to himself once he hooked up with that Richmond meg. But he’d lose the plot if she didn’t answer his texts or calls. I know he sometimes snuck out of the House after midnight. Told me that his bird had called and said she needed him.” Sharp-nosed and limp-haired, the youth, Quinn quickly flicked his eyes to his notes, Tenby Bradshawe-Culpepper, sounded skeptical.
“You don’t think he was sneaking out to see her?”
Tenby went quiet, as though his mind was flashing back in time. “Nah, I don’t mean he wasn’t going to see her. It’s just, maybe she didn’t exactly invite him over, if you get my drift.”
“Do you remember the last time he snuck out?” Quinn made a note for himself. Did Bon suspect Clara of two-timing him? If so, how did he feel about it?
Tenby tossed his floppy hair to one side and gave him a speculative look and a casual shrug. “Last week. The lads had been ragging for awhile that the Richmond meg was switching teams, but no one mentioned it to his face in case he might go spare. But he had to have known it was in the wind. I think someone finally outed her and she dumped the pretense that she was into him. Mate, you’ve never seen anyone so gutted.”
“So Galliers was the jealous type?”
“Everyone thought Galliers was all mouth and no trousers, you know. Big name on campus but a bit of a wanker with it, so some of the lads took the piss out of him online just to see how far they could push him. These last two weeks he was on edge. Like he was wired, you know. I think he was pretty pissed about the whole situation.”
“Do you know for sure if he was wired?” If Bon was taking drugs that would fit with their suspicions about his ketamine supply.
Tenby’s expression turned cagey. “Can’t say for sure. Galliers’ rep was clean, but he sure acted strung out. And now the fuzz is sniffing around here, so I’m wondering did Galliers actually lose the plot and run her down deliberately?”
Quinn gave Tenby a non-committal smile and a business card on which he scribbled his new work number. “If you think of anything else, call me.”
Now Quinn was on his way to that most salubrious of eating places, a fast food outlet, searching for Stacey Palmer. As he approached, vents blew out an aroma of fries and burgers to compete with the acrid smell of exhaust fumes.
He pushed open the door, glad to escape the mounting humidity outside. Inside, the place was coated with a thin upmarket veneer of designer coffees and flashy magazines. He bypassed a touchscreen menu and pushed himself ahead of the queues, filled with well-dressed mothers hanging onto toddlers or strollers and a few belly-baring teenage girls being ogled by a group of swaggering school boys.
Showing his ID, Quinn accosted one of the servers. “I’m looking for Stacey Palmer.”
“She in trouble?” The pimple-faced youth shuffled from foot to foot under Quinn’s hard stare, his eyes casting nervously around him as though wishing he could disappear into the floor. “You’d better speak to the manager if she’s in trouble.”
“Listen, no one’s going to be in trouble if I can just speak with Stacey for five minutes. Send her into the manager’s office.” Quinn jerked his head to the side towards a door marked “Private. Manager’s Office” located adjacent to the wall-mounted television that was sporting a muted music video to keep customers entertained during busy times.
He opened the door on a woman, a girl really, of about nineteen who raised startled eyes to his. Again he flashed his ID. “I just need five minutes of privacy to interview one of your employees, Stacey Palmer.”
“What do you want with Stacey? She’s flipping burgers out the back.” The girl’s voice held an American twang and Quinn wondered if it was genuine or put on for the sake of the franchise.
“I just need to chat with her for a few minutes. And then you can have your office back, Anna.” He peered at her name badge as he flashed her a smile, as per Bex Wynter’s orders to be charming. Before she could protest, he ushered her towards the door, where a loud rap announced Stacey Palmer’s arrival.
Anna’s eyes regarded him with suspicion. So much for his winning smile, designed to leave ladies in thrall to his charm. “Are you arresting her? I don’t want any trouble on the premises.”
“I just need five minutes with her and then she’ll be back at work. Who knows, our chat might even give her an incentive to redouble her efforts with the burgers.”
With obvious reluctance Anna left him alone with Stacey. She was a pixie of a girl, standing barely five foot tall. Her hair was scraped back off her face and netted at the back under the franchise’s cap and her blue eyes greeted Quinn as warily as the other two.
“Sorry to disturb you at work.”
She shrugged. “I could use the break. They expect us to be robots, dishing up food orders faster than they’re placed. They’d actually prefer us to have psychic abilities to divine what customers wanted before they ordered.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Quinn slouched casually against the desk. He didn’t want to face her with a desk in between so she felt like he was interrogating her. “So, how long have you worked in this palace?”
“Two years. Started when I was fifteen.”
“Pay must be good to keep you here.”
She shrugged again, pulling a dissatisfied face. “Finished my GCSEs but it’s harder than you think
to get a good-paying job.”
“Well, if it’s a good-paying job you’re after, whatever you do don’t join the boys in blue.”
She cracked a reluctant smile.
“I’ll bet they put a pretty girl like you to serve on the front counter quite often.” Bex should be proud of his Mr Charming persona.
“Sometimes. It’s done on a rotation.”
“I’ll bet you meet some interesting people that way. Including some toffee-nosed, rah types.” Quinn knew just by looking at her that Stacey hadn’t met Bon at a Harrow social event. But then Clara Butterworth hadn’t moved in Bon’s social circles either. It seemed like a pattern, and he had a theory that Bon had met Stacey where she worked. “Ever hook up with anyone like that? Anyone who might have turned into a boyfriend?”
“Maybe.” The wariness returned to her voice as she zeroed in on the reason for his presence. “So, what are you really after?”
“Maybe Bon Galliers?”
Her face paled. “I heard about him on the news. He died in that accident. It’s terrible.”
“Yes, he did. But you knew him before that, didn’t you, Stacey?”
Her face went blank. Her eyes closed briefly and she took a deep breath. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s no secret. We dated for maybe four or five months.”
“How did he treat you?”
A mulish look descended on her face. “Look, it’s been nice chatting, but I’d better get back to work.”
“Just a couple more questions. Who broke it off, you or Bon?”
Stacey looked like she was ready to bolt.
“Easier to talk here than down at the station.” He gave her a friendly smile. “Don’t you think?”
Stacey rolled her eyes in the ubiquitous vernacular of teenagers. “Whatev. I broke it off.”
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