The Postscript Murders

by Elly Griffiths

  ‘DS Kaur? This is Julie Monroe.’ It’s a rather breathy voice, younger than Harbinder was expecting.

  ‘Oh, hallo. Thank you for ringing back. I’m one of the detectives investigating the death of Dex Challoner.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ says Julie Monroe. ‘It’s so awful. I just can’t believe it.’

  ‘Did you know Dex?’

  ‘A little. I just saw him at festivals and events. He was always so nice, so friendly. I just can’t believe that he’s . . . gone.’

  Gone is one way of putting it.

  ‘Ms Monroe,’ says Harbinder. ‘I understand that you also knew Peggy Smith.’

  ‘Peggy?’ Now she really does sound surprised. ‘Yes, I knew her. Why do you ask?’

  ‘You acknowledge her in your books. PS: for PS.’

  ‘That’s right. She gave me some advice. It was a joke between us.’

  ‘You know Peggy died recently?’

  ‘Yes. I came to her funeral. I had to leave before the wake though.’

  ‘Well, we found a note amongst Peggy’s things. A postcard really. It said, “We are coming for you.” I just wondered whether you’d received anything similar.’

  There’s a long pause and then J. D. Monroe says, ‘I think I did.’

  ‘You think you did?’

  ‘Well, I get all sorts of things sent to me. Books to review, flyers about new releases. I think I might have got a postcard saying that.’

  ‘Can you find it? I’ll have an officer go round to your house tomorrow.’

  ‘The thing is,’ says Julie, ‘I’m going to Aberdeen tomorrow for a literary festival.’

  Harbinder has no idea what a literary festival entails and she’s not going to ask. She says that she’ll send an officer round to look at the postcard and clicks the red button to end the call. She’s feeling frustrated. A man has been shot dead and the only clues seem flimsy, insubstantial things—​literally paper-thin. And, in a few moments, she’s got to go home and probably cook supper, clean the house and help her mother to bed. What had Natalka said about getting a carer who might be able to help? She scrolls through her phone contacts until she finds N. Natalka has added the number herself, complete with disturbingly sultry selfie.

  ‘Hallo?’ That accent again.

  ‘It’s DS Kaur. Harbinder. I’m just ringing about carers. For my mum. You mentioned that you knew someone who might do private work.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Natalka. ‘Maria. She’s very good. Not a word to Care­4You, though. Patricia hates people working freelance but you can’t make ends meet otherwise.’

  Make ends meet. Natalka’s English is really very good. Harbinder wonders when she left Ukraine. When was the war with Russia exactly? Another desperate, murky conflict.

  ‘Thank you,’ says Harbinder.

  ‘How is the investigation going?’ asks Natalka. ‘Have you found out who killed Dex?’

  ‘I can’t really say,’ says Harbinder. ‘It’s at a very early stage.’

  She expects Natalka to challenge this but instead she says, after a brief pause, ‘You know I told you about those two men outside my house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t tell you that I thought they were waiting for me, watching the house where I live. Last night they were back again. A white Ford Fiesta. I’ve got the licence plate.’

  And sometimes her vocabulary is American, thinks Harbinder. Licence plate instead of number plate.

  ‘I’ll run a check on it,’ says Harbinder. ‘Have you any idea why these men could be watching you?’

  To her surprise, Natalka says, ‘Yes. I’d rather tell you face to face though. What about tomorrow night?’

  And Harbinder finds herself agreeing to meet Natalka in a pub near her parents’ house.

  14

  Natalka

  Tea and Biscuits

  NATALKA IS WAITING in a car park. She feels as if she is on stake-out, waiting to exchange hostages, perhaps, or to pass on a sinister package, wrapped in silver foil. It must be thinking about the mysterious men in the Ford Fiesta. But also it brings back memories of clandestine meetings in the Ukraine, of passwords and burner phones and a churning feeling that could either be excitement or fear. But she’s put all that behind her now. Tonight, she’ll tell DS Kaur everything. Or nearly everything. But right now she has to get Harriet Hartington ready for bed. As Harriet is bed-bound this requires a winch and two carers. So Natalka is waiting for a colleague, wondering who Care­4You will send. When she sees Maria’s car drawing up, she’s relieved. Maria is efficient and reliable. She’s not the friendliest of the carers but some of the others are way too friendly, yacking on about their kids and their pets and their unreliable husbands. Maria’s not a chatterer. Natalka knows that Maria is married with children but she doesn’t talk about them unless she’s asked directly. She’s professional. Natalka thinks she’d be perfect for Harbinder’s mother.

  She tells Maria about the possible job as they climb the stairs to Harriet’s flat. The Hartingtons live in Harbour Mansions, which used to have a sea view until Seaview Court was built. Now it looks out onto the back of the other building. It’s quite the wrong place for an elderly couple with mobility problems but neither Harriet nor her husband, Douglas, complains about it, or about anything really. Douglas always greets them with tea and a KitKat. He’s a small, frail man, unable to lift his wife on her own. He frets about this and about young girls like Natalka and Maria having to do such heavy work. Maria, in her turn, worries about Douglas’s blood sugar level. He seems to have an endless supply of chocolate bars in a Charles and Diana Wedding Day tin. Natalka just eats the KitKats.

  ‘How are you, Harriet?’ says Natalka, entering the sitting room which is now dominated by a hospital bed. The room smells, as all the clients’ rooms tend to do, of air freshener, urine and pre-cooked meals.

  ‘Mustn’t complain,’ says Harriet. And, in her case, she really means it. ‘Tell me about your day.’ Harriet hasn’t left the flat for five years and is always hungry to hear their news. Natalka wishes that she could tell her about Dex Challoner and a real murder case involving schoolgirl assassins and mysterious clues hidden in books. But she thinks that the excitement might kill the old lady.

  ‘I went out for a drink with some friends last night,’ she offers.

  ‘With Benedict?’ says Harriet. Natalka must have mentioned Benedict once and now Harriet and Douglas both seem obsessed with him. ‘Pretty girl like you should have a boyfriend,’ is what Harriet says.

  ‘He was there,’ says Natalka. ‘And some other friends too. In Chichester.’

  ‘We went to Chichester once,’ says Harriet. ‘We had fish and chips.’

  Natalka and Maria use the winch to raise Harriet and give her a blanket bath. Then they slide the bedpan in (Douglas leaves the room at this point), change the sheets and lower Harriet into a more comfortable position. They have an hour, which isn’t really long enough, but it’s the time allotted by the local authority. Afterwards, they stay for a few minutes, chatting. This is strictly forbidden by Patricia but it’s clearly Douglas’s favourite part of the day. He brings in more chocolate and they sit around Harriet’s bed, talking about Coronation Street, although neither Natalka nor Maria watches the soap opera. Natalka doesn’t own a television and resists her host family’s attempts to get her to join them in front of their set. Maria has three young children and no time for such frivolities.

  ‘This is going to break Michelle’s heart,’ says Natalka, when Harriet recounts the latest Weatherfield scandal. She’s never watched it but she knows the characters by now.

  ‘No, she’s tough,’ says Harriet, biting a Mars bar in two.

  Then it’s time to go. They fill in the book, ‘Washed, toileted, made bed. Meds given. All OK’, and descend the stairs. At the door, they pause to check their phones. Both have several other evening calls to make.

  ‘Will you call Harbinder?’ says Natalka.

  ‘Yes,’ says Mari
a. ‘I need the money.’ All the carers struggle for money. They are paid the minimum wage and, even working extra hours, it’s not enough to feed a family of five.

  ‘She’s a nice woman,’ says Natalka. ‘I’m sure the family is nice too.’

  ‘I just need the money,’ Maria repeats. She fiddles with her phone for a few seconds and then says, ‘Did you see that Dex Challoner has died?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Natalka. ‘It was on Twitter.’

  ‘You know I used to look after his mum, Weronika?’

  ‘Yes?’ says Natalka, all her senses on alert.

  ‘She was a funny woman but we got on well. We used to talk in Polish together. But Peggy said something odd about her once.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was after Weronika had died. I was saying how sad it was but Peggy said that she thought her death was suspicious. She wouldn’t tell me any more. She said it was only a suspicion and she couldn’t say more until she had proof. When I asked again she said the answer was in a book.’

  ‘Which book?’ asks Natalka, so urgently that Maria takes a step backwards.

  ‘One of the old ones,’ says Maria. ‘I can’t remember the title but I think it had two people cuddling on the cover.’

  ‘Thank Heaven Fasting?’

  ‘That was the one. It didn’t have much about heaven in it, from what I could see.’

  * * *

  NATALKA HAS FOUR other clients to see. Once she’s put the last one to bed she parks her car outside the Harpers’ house, keeping a lookout for white Fiestas, and walks to the pub. It’s a real drinkers’ bar, dominated by a TV showing the snooker. Harbinder is already there, drinking a glass of red wine and reading a book. She puts it away when she sees Natalka.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ says Natalka.

  ‘I’ve got one, thanks.’

  Natalka gets herself a large red and sits beside Harbinder on the slightly sticky bench seat. The policewoman has nice eyes, she notices, slightly shadowed as if she doesn’t get enough sleep.

  ‘How’s your mum?’ she says.

  ‘She never complains,’ says Harbinder, ‘but I think she’s in a lot of pain sometimes. And it means she can’t do as much as usual so that’s extra work for me. At least I don’t have to walk the bloody dog. Dad does that.’

  ‘What about your brothers? Do they help?’

  ‘No, they’re both selfish bastards.’ Harbinder takes a swig of wine. ‘Maybe that’s unfair. They’re both married with their own families. Kush works in the shop and Abid’s pretty busy being an electrician. It’s just that they both think all the domestic stuff—​cooking, cleaning and all that crap—​is down to Mum or me. And I’m not good at that kind of thing. I’m good at being a detective.’

  ‘I spoke to Maria just now,’ says Natalka. ‘She says that she’ll help you. I’m not good at domestic things either. My brother was always better at cooking than me.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a brother.’

  ‘He’s dead.’ It seems easier than explaining.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s OK. It’s all water under the bridge now.’

  ‘You speak wonderful English,’ says Harbinder. ‘Did you learn it at school?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Natalka. ‘We all had to learn English but I actually went to university here. At Bournemouth.’

  ‘Bournemouth,’ says Harbinder. ‘I went there once. Sandy beaches.’

  ‘It’s a lovely place,’ says Natalka. ‘I enjoyed my three years there. I liked my fellow students too. So much that I married one of them.’ She laughs at Harbinder’s shocked expression.

  ‘You’re married?’ Harbinder is jolted out of her low-pitched detective’s voice. She almost sounds like a teenage girl, like Natalka’s long-lost friends Dasha and Anastasia.

  ‘It was really just so that I could get a British passport,’ says Natalka. ‘Have you ever been married?’

  Harbinder laughs again. ‘No. I’m gay.’

  ‘But you can still get married, can’t you? In Britain anyway.’

  ‘There’s the slight problem of finding someone to marry first,’ says Harbinder.

  ‘But there are dating agencies, aren’t there? Online groups. Apps.’ Natalka’s fingers are itching for her phone. She has always enjoyed matchmaking.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ says Harbinder. ‘I thought you had something to tell me.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Natalka. ‘But I might need another drink for that. Anyway, I’ve got something else to tell you first. Maria said something strange just now. Apparently Peggy said she thought Weronika’s death was suspicious. You know, Dex’s mother. She wouldn’t say any more but she said the answer was in a book. The one that the gunman took.’

  ‘Thank Heaven Fasting?’

  ‘That’s the one. Do you know anyone who’s read it?’

  ‘No,’ says Harbinder, ‘Benedict said it was out of print.’

  ‘Do you like reading crime novels?’

  ‘Sometimes. Horror’s more my thing though.’ She indicates her paperback which has a large, bloody-fanged rat on it. ‘Especially when I’m stressed.’

  ‘Benny said that he’d try to track down a copy,’ says Natalka. ‘He reads all the time. It’s because he used to be a monk. Nothing to do except read and pray.’

  ‘Benedict used to be a monk?’

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you know? He gave it up a couple of years ago, moved to Shoreham and bought the Shack. His family is quite rich, I think.’

  ‘I can imagine him in a monastery,’ says Harbinder. ‘He does seem a bit like he’s from another world.’

  ‘He knows a lot about murder though,’ says Natalka. ‘It comes of reading all those crime novels and watching old TV shows.’ She drains her glass of wine. ‘Another?’ she says.

  ‘I shouldn’t,’ says Harbinder. Then, after what looks like a brief internal struggle, ‘Oh, OK then. A small glass of red. Thank you.’

  Natalka gets them both large glasses. When she comes back to the table, Harbinder looks at her expectantly. ‘Now what did you want to tell me? Was it about the men who are watching you? The ones in the car?’

  ‘Did you trace the number plate?’

  ‘I’ve put our Intel team onto it.’

  Natalka knows that Harbinder is watching her, waiting. She senses that Harbinder would be a hard person to fool. DS Kaur might live at home with her parents but she has a toughness about her that Natalka respects. After all, she’s been dealing with a murder enquiry all day and she relaxes by reading about killer rats.

  ‘Back in Ukraine,’ says Natalka at last, ‘before I came to England, I was studying maths at university in Kiev. I was good at algorithms and coding and I was short of money. So I got involved with something . . .’

  She stops, wondering how much to say. Eventually Harbinder prompts her, ‘What did you get involved with?’

  ‘A cryptocurrency,’ says Natalka. ‘Like Bitcoin. I set it up with two friends. It wasn’t illegal and we made lots of money at first. But then war was coming and I wanted to get out. So I took the money and I escaped to England.’

  ‘You took the money?’

  ‘Only a bit of it,’ says Natalka. ‘About ten per cent. All I needed to get to university in England. I had the authentication codes, you see, and API tokens.’ She can tell Harbinder doesn’t understand. ‘It’s hacking, really. I suppose you could arrest me for it.’

  ‘I suppose I could but I can’t see my boss wanting to get involved with cryptocurrency fraud in another country. Tell me about the two friends. Are they the people you think are watching you?’

  ‘No,’ says Natalka. ‘There were others involved. Bad people. Like the mafia. That’s what war does. It helps bad people make more money. Well, some of them were involved in our cryptocurrency. I think they’ve followed me to England.’

  Harbinder looks a bit bemused but at least she doesn’t seem incredulous. ‘Why would they wait so long?’ she says. ‘You’ve been in England a
long time. You went to university. You got married.’ She does sound as if she finds this hard to believe.

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Natalka. ‘But Peggy said she saw two men waiting outside her house. Then I saw them outside my lodgings. It can’t be a coincidence.’

  ‘Do you think they could have been involved with Peggy’s death? With Dex?’

  ‘I don’t know, but the way Dex was killed . . . You said he was shot in the head. That sounded professional. It sounds like them.’

  ‘Do you have any names?’

  ‘No,’ says Natalka. ‘You don’t know the names of these people.’

  This is true. The people who had invested in their company went by aliases, joke names, none the less sinister for being ridiculous. And, even if Natalka did know their real names, would she give them to DS Kaur? She seems sympathetic but presumably she has a boss who might start asking awkward questions. And speaking of questions, maybe she should ask a few of her own.

  ‘Who do you think killed Dex?’ she says. ‘Have you got any leads?’

  ‘You know I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘I was the one who came to you about Peggy. I was the one who gave you this case.’

  Harbinder laughs. ‘You make it sound as if I should be grateful to you.’ She pauses, looking at her wine with half-closed eyes. ‘One thing I suppose I could tell you. I got a call from Julie Monroe, J. D. Monroe. She’s one of the authors who credits Peggy in her acknowledgements.’

  ‘I remember,’ says Natalka. ‘“PS: for PS.”’

  ‘That’s right. Well, yesterday Julie received an unsigned postcard. On it were the words, “We are coming for you”. ’