Six
Eight o’clock and Ellen was still at work. Both children would be in bed by the time she got out of here. This was the part of her job she hated the most. The long hours that meant she never seemed to spend as much time with her children as she felt she should. She could have left earlier. Ger had done her best to push her out the door, but Ellen had stood her ground. There were times – and this was one of them – when work had to come first.
She was in an interview room with Ger, Pete Cooper and Cooper’s lawyer, an overweight Scot with a completely bald head called James Wilson. The interview was Ellen’s idea. Virginia Rau was a cousin of Cooper’s dead wife. The connection had to be more than just coincidence.
‘My client’s already told you,’ Wilson said. ‘He was at a Rotary Club dinner last night. There are plenty of witnesses who can attest to that fact. He couldn’t have killed Virginia Rau. It’s not possible.’
They’d already checked out the dinner and had confirmation that Cooper was there. Which meant they’d have to let him go soon unless they got something else.
‘Mr Cooper.’ Ellen straightened in her chair and tried one final time. ‘After your wife died, Virginia Rau was one of the people who gave a statement at the time, implying you had something to do with your wife’s death.’
‘She was lying,’ Cooper said.
‘She also said your wife was having an affair,’ Ger said.
The now-familiar flush crept up Cooper’s cheeks.
‘She lied about that too.’
‘Kieran Burton,’ Ger said. ‘Now Virginia Rau. Two people you are directly connected to and they’re both killed within a few days of each other.’
‘Both connections are tenuous at most,’ James Wilson said. ‘Mr Burton was the boyfriend of the daughter of one of Mr Cooper’s associates. The two men didn’t know each other.’
‘We have witnesses who say otherwise,’ Ger said.
‘More liars,’ Cooper said.
‘What about Virginia?’ Ellen asked. ‘She accused Mr Cooper of killing his wife.’
‘Ginny wasn’t right in the head,’ Cooper said. ‘If you did your job properly, you’d know that already.’
Ellen felt a twinge of uncertainty. Their investigations into the dead woman were in the early stages. All they knew so far could be summarised in a few short sentences. Three times divorced, no children, only child of Alberto and Sandra Rau of Esher, Surrey. Both parents deceased. Her father five years ago and her mother a year later. Her last husband, Sylvester, was on holiday in Dubai. Local police had informed him of his ex-wife’s death and he was flying home tomorrow for questioning. So far, they hadn’t uncovered any hint of mental illness.
‘Would you care to elaborate?’ Ger asked.
Cooper smiled. ‘Not really my place, is it?’
‘What about your daughter?’ Ellen said, going for Cooper’s only weakness. ‘Was she close to Ms Rau?’
‘They got on okay,’ Cooper said.
‘Cosima must be very upset’ Ellen said.
Cooper shrugged. ‘She’ll get over it. Not like losing her mum, is it?’
They let him go soon after that, Ellen and Ger both frustrated by the lack of information they’d got from him.
‘Cooper’s wife,’ Ellen said. ‘Kieran Burton and now the Rau woman. There’s only one thing that connects all three deaths. And that’s Cooper.’
‘Or his daughter,’ Ger said.
Ellen considered that. ‘Yeah. Except she was only a kid herself when her mother died.’
‘Find out how close she really was to Rau,’ Ger said.
‘I’ll get Abby to speak to her,’ Ellen said. ‘I’ll ask her to go to the college and see if she can get to her without Daddy there to protect her.’
‘Good idea.’ Ger yawned and looked at her watch. ‘I’m knackered. You must be too. Let’s both go home, get a decent night’s kip and see how things look in the morning.’
It was almost nine o’clock. If Ellen left now, there was a tiny chance Pat might still be awake and she’d get to say goodnight to him. A tiny chance, but it was enough to put a spring in her step as she left the office and walked along the corridor to the lift.
Seven
She was empty. A shell. She’d thought the morgue would be the worst bit but she was wrong. The worst bit was now and all the endless days and weeks and months and years ahead. All that time wasted just existing – because it wasn’t living when you felt like this – in a world without Ginny in it.
It hit her in waves, like a bad hangover. In the lulls, the sense of it remained, gnawing at her insides. She could endure that. Just. Existing in a numb bubble of anxiety, pain and emptiness. Then, out of the blue, with no warning, the grief hit again – a tidal wave that crashed into her and consumed her for minutes, maybe hours, at a time.
A bottle of wine and an empty glass sat on the coffee table in front of her. At some point, she must have opened the bottle and drank some wine. She didn’t remember that. She was sitting in the conservatory. Didn’t remember how she’d ended up in here, either.
A table over by the wall with photos on it. Lots of her and Nick. Most from their first few years together, including a selection of wedding snaps. A song started in her head. The Human League, ‘Don’t You Want Me’. Playing in the club the first night she met him. Phil Oakey’s voice echoing her own devotion to Nick when they’d started dating. Before she realised the sort of man he really was.
A horrible photo of Freya and Kieran. A copy of the one that sat on the mantelpiece in Freya’s flat. Kieran with his arm around Charlotte’s daughter. Freya looking like she’d just won the bloody lottery. Beside it, an older photo of Charlotte and Ginny. Both of them so young and happy. She looked away. Unable to bear it.
Nick wasn’t home. She didn’t know where he was. Didn’t care, either. Doubted she would care about anything ever again. If he came home now she’d have to tell him, and she didn’t think she had the strength for that.
She hadn’t turned on the lights or closed the curtains. She sat in the pale grey half-light, time crawling by as she tried to process what had happened.
She should have stayed at the morgue. If she’d known that was it, the very last time she’d see Ginny, she would have begged to be allowed to stay. At the time, the woman laid out in front of her looked so unlike her friend, she hadn’t wanted to. Now, she wished more than anything that she could be there with Ginny. Instead of being here with this unbearable, unending emptiness.
She reached out for the wine bottle and filled the glass. Put the bottle down and stared at the glass, wondering what she was doing. Oblivion. It was the only sensible option, the only thing to aim for in the face of this pain.
Two people dead within a few days of each other. One she’d hated, one she’d loved. She remembered the last time she’d seen Kieran. The awful things he’d whispered in her ear as he pressed his body against her, ignoring her when she told him to stop. Her hands curled into fists, manicured fingernails digging into the palms of her hands.
Ginny never knew. The one secret Charlotte kept from her. Too ashamed of what she’d done. Ginny hadn’t known about it and yet … Two people dead.
The last time they’d been out, on Sunday night, there’d been something off with Ginny. Like she’d wanted to tell Charlotte something but was holding off. Charlotte should have pushed it. She was certain now that whatever Ginny knew, it was important. It had to be. She refused to believe this was an accident.
A sudden noise outside made her jump. The crash of something being knocked over in the garden, followed by a high-pitched, drawn out squeal. Through the glass walls of the conservatory she saw a fox running across the lawn. Something dangled from its mouth. A rat, squealing for its life. Charlotte watched the fox streak across the lawn and disappear through the narrow gap in the hedge. The squeals lingered, faded slowly, disappeared. Until there was nothing left except the bottle and the glass and the pale light of the full moon.
/> * * *
Abby woke with a start. At first, the presence of someone else in the bed startled her. Then she remembered. He was lying on his side, facing her. Hands clasped under his head. Asleep, he looked younger, more beautiful too. She reached out and stroked his face gently, not wanting to disturb him.
She’d been dreaming. Walking in the East Sussex countryside with her brother. Trudging across wide, open countryside. Trying to catch up with two people in front of them. Something about the dream was annoying her.
She got out of bed and walked over to the window. The apartment was high up and she liked to sleep with the curtains open. From her bed, she could see the sky through the huge windows. It always felt like a luxury, to be able to lie in bed and watch the stars.
A full moon lit up the sky, turning the world silver and grey. There was something liberating, standing naked like this, bathing her body in the moon’s pale light. From here, she could see across the river to Greenwich. The lights of south-east London twinkled at her across the dark expanse of river that split the city in two.
Ellen was over there somewhere. Asleep in her own bed, alone. Or not alone. Abby thought Ellen had said something about Pat sleeping with her these days, but she couldn’t recall whether he slept there all night, came in during the night or what.
She tried to imagine what it would be like, having to deal with something like that on top of losing your husband. It couldn’t be easy. Abby knew about grief. It had almost destroyed her once. To lose your husband, and to have to manage your own grief alongside that of your children’s, Abby didn’t know how you did that. And then on top of all that, your son is almost killed.
No wonder Ellen was the way she was.
Andy was with her in the dream. That should have made her happy. Instead, there was something else, something that made her anxious. The two people in front of them. A man and a woman, walking fast. Abby and Andy running after them, trying to catch them because they had something Abby needed to see. If only she could remember what it was. She knew it was important. But when she tried to remember she heard her brother’s voice instead, shouting as he’d done in the dream. And remembering that made her sad so she stopped trying to remember.
Behind her, Sam stirred in the bed, mumbled something and was still again. Abby turned and walked back to him. She was lucky. She was alive and she had this. She climbed under the duvet, curled tight into Sam’s body, closed her eyes and let sleep claim her once more.
Thursday
One
Pat didn’t want to go to school. If her parents were here, Ellen might have relented, let him spend the day with them instead. But that wasn’t an option. She couldn’t take the day off. Not in the middle of a murder investigation. Besides, there was nothing wrong with him. Larry had stressed the importance of consistency and normality.
‘He’ll test you,’ Larry had said. ‘See how far he can push things. That’s normal. What’s important is that you don’t give into it. I know he’s had an awful experience, but he’s getting better. That’s why I’m here. He needs to realise that the normal boundaries and rules he’s lived by until now remain in place. If you give in to every little request, it won’t help either of you.’
Ellen knew Larry was right. Even so, she still felt like the worst mother in the world for sending her child to school when he didn’t want to go. Feeling utterly crap, she dropped the children off and walked through the park to Nick Gleeson’s flagship restaurant in the heart of Greenwich.
The last time she’d passed Nick Gleeson’s restaurant, the empty shop beside Totally Tapas had been a building site. Now, she could see Gleeson’s new vision taking shape. She peered through the dirty glass for a better look.
The décor inside was retro. A wooden bar ran along one side of the long room. Wooden tables and chairs filled the rest of the space. Old-style lanterns hung from the ceiling; a huge pizza oven took up the entire back wall. A sheet of A4 paper had been glued to the window. Tipico Totale: a new concept in dining. Opening soon! Ellen wondered what was new about wood-fired pizza and over-priced pasta.
Totally Tapas, next door, was already open for business. She noted a group of journalists and paparazzi across the road. As she approached the restaurant, someone took her photo, the sudden flash of light disorienting her. She twisted her head to avoid the glare. When she looked again, one of the pack had broken away from the others and was running across the road.
‘Ellen!’
Martine Reynolds.
‘I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ Ellen said, pushing past the journalist.
‘Just one question,’ Martine said. ‘Are you linking the two murders?’
‘There’s been a second murder?’ Ellen said. ‘You obviously know something I don’t.’
‘Virginia Rau,’ Martine said. ‘We’re working an angle that she was killed because she knew who killed Kieran Burton. Would you like to comment on that?’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
Ellen got inside the restaurant and closed the door, pressing her body against it in case Martine tried to follow her inside.
‘Those damn journalists.’
A tall, striking woman with bobbed red hair came running over with a smile. ‘I’m so sorry they bothered you. Do you want to book a table?’
Ellen had been to this restaurant many times before but never this early in the morning. Despite the time, several tables were occupied and she thought it seemed like a nice place to come for breakfast.
‘Actually, I’m looking for Nick Gleeson,’ Ellen said. She pulled out her warrant card and showed it to the woman.
‘Ah. Nick is due in any minute.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Loretta Lewis, Nick’s assistant. Why don’t I show you to a table and you can sample some of our coffee and pastries while you wait?’
Ellen allowed herself to be led over to a small table at the back of the restaurant. She sat down and waited as Loretta ordered coffee and ‘a selection of pastries’ from a handsome waiter with chocolate brown eyes and a strong Spanish accent.
‘All our table staff are native Spanish speakers,’ Loretta explained after she’d dispatched the Antonio Banderas lookalike. ‘Although not all are from Spain, of course. A significant number of staff across our restaurants come from Latin American countries. Authenticity is important in this business. Which is why I’m spending a lot of time in Italy right now, recruiting staff for our new venture. Anyway, that’s not why you’re here. It’s about Kieran, isn’t it?’
‘I’m just following up some leads,’ Ellen said. ‘Were you here on Tuesday night?’
‘Tuesday?’ Loretta frowned. ‘Of course. I’m here every night.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Oh. That’s the night the poor woman was killed. You think that’s got something to do with what happened to Kieran? That’s terrible.’
‘Did you know her?’ Ellen asked.
‘No,’ Loretta said. ‘Sorry, it’s just awful, that’s all.’
‘Can you tell me who else was working on Tuesday night?’ Ellen asked.
‘I can print out a list of all the staff who were here if you’d like that?’ Loretta said.
‘That would be good,’ Ellen said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Oh look,’ Loretta said. ‘Here’s Javier with our food.’ She beamed at the waiter and he smiled back. The sort of smile that could make a fool out of you, Ellen thought.
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ Loretta whispered as Javier melted away once more. ‘Gay, of course. Why is it, do you think, that so many drop-dead gorgeous men are gay? Oh sorry. Ignore me. I was in a relationship until recently and I think I’ve become a bit unhinged since it ended. Keep finding myself lusting after all sorts of unsuitable men. Gay waiters, for example. Coffee?’
The coffee was good and the pastries were to die for. Ellen tucked in while she carried on with her questions.
‘You were telling me about Tuesday,’ she said.
‘Not much to tell,’ Loretta said. ‘We were working but that’s hardly
unusual these days. With so much going on, I seem to be always working. Nick was here until about one in the morning. I was too. The restaurant shut at eleven. Tuesdays tend to be quiet.’
According to the witness, Virginia Rau had been hit just after nine o’clock. Ellen wondered how easy it would have been for Gleeson to slip out, drive up to the heath and back again without anyone noticing he was gone.
‘Is Nick usually out here in the restaurant?’ she asked. ‘Or does he stay in the kitchen?’
‘Neither.’ Loretta shook her head. ‘Most of the time he’s locked away in his office. It’s back there. Beside the kitchen.’
‘And after the restaurant closed?’ Ellen asked.
‘I went home,’ Loretta said. ‘You’d have to ask Nick what he did.’
‘You’re saying he didn’t go home?’
‘I’m saying what Nick does when he leaves work is Nick’s business. Not mine. Not anymore.’
Ellen took a sip of coffee as she considered this information.
‘What about his wife?’ she asked.
‘They can’t stand each other,’ Loretta said. ‘It’s been like that for years. It’s not Nick’s fault. At least, that’s what I used to think. She’s a bit of a nightmare, to be honest. I always thought, you know, that the problems they had were all down to her.’
‘And now?’
‘Well, let’s just say I’m not so sure about anything anymore,’ Loretta said. ‘Look, I know what you’re probably thinking. He’s a married man and I should have known better, but I thought he was going to leave her. I mean, it’s obvious to anyone the marriage is over.’
‘Why are they still together?’ Ellen asked.
‘He always said she’d make it too difficult if they got divorced,’ Loretta said. ‘Plus, if they separated, he’d have to give her half of what he had. He wouldn’t do that. Money’s too important to him.’
All Things Nice Page 22