by Gytha Lodge
The gravel driveway held only a metallic red Qashqai and a bike rack with one small pink bike in it. Which hopefully meant they had arrived before the party had kicked off.
‘Ready for another one?’ Jonah asked Hanson, once they’d emerged from the car.
She gave him a wry expression. ‘Totally. Can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.’
They approached the house, which bore signs of recent and extensive work. Jonah wondered whether this had once been a seventies bungalow, like a lot of the other homes in the village. Whatever the original building, the finished product was both large and elegant.
He rang the bell, and was rewarded by the sound of thundering feet on stairs. Hanson made an uncomfortable noise, and muttered, ‘They are definitely not expecting the police.’
It was a relief when the door was opened by a sandy-haired young woman in a polo-necked jumper instead of any children. The young woman was in the midst of saying, ‘Probably the postman,’ when her eyes took them in properly, and she hesitated.
‘I’m so sorry for coming unannounced,’ Jonah said, giving her a slight smile, ‘but might we speak to Step? I’m DCI Sheens, with the Hampshire Police.’
He saw her give a shiver, and then nod. She turned to say, ‘Just someone for Daddy. Let’s finish the banner.’
As she let them in, Jonah had a glimpse of a small girl in a blue ballet outfit and a slightly older boy dressed as what looked like a witch before their small forms disappeared back upstairs.
‘Step!’ the woman called towards the back of the house. ‘For you!’
She hovered in the hallway, watching them, before suddenly saying, ‘Karen,’ and holding out a hand. Jonah shook it. Karen looked as if she wanted to ask them something, but then decided against it.
A few moments later, a young dark-haired man appeared. He was something of a surprise. His name alone had made Jonah picture Italian flamboyance. Instead he had what Jonah would have described as slightly bland good looks. He was carrying a box full of brightly coloured plastic balls, his expression patient. The whole impression was of a family man.
Step looked slightly puzzled. ‘Sorry, is it …’
‘They’re the police,’ his wife said in a falsely cheerful voice. She glanced at Jonah, and said, ‘Do you want me …?’
‘That’s absolutely up to you,’ Jonah answered.
‘You’d probably better stay with the kids,’ Step said, and gave her a nod. His accent was totally English. Jonah guessed he was at least a second-generation immigrant of Italian parents.
‘We just need a quick conversation about Alex Plaskitt,’ Hanson said.
‘Alex?’ Step gave her a blank look. ‘Why …’ He suddenly seemed to remember himself. ‘Sorry, why don’t you …?’
He turned as if to lead them into what looked like a sitting room, and then hesitated.
‘Probably quieter in the kitchen,’ he said, and walked instead into a room with warm red flagstones on the floor and light-coloured farmhouse furniture everywhere else.
He settled himself at the large wooden table, putting the box of balls down carefully on the floor. While Jonah and Hanson pulled out chairs, he looked on calmly. Patiently.
‘I’m very sorry to have to break the news,’ Jonah said, ‘but Alex was found dead in the early hours of this morning.’
There was a long moment while Step seemed to process this. And then he said, ‘Oh, Jesus.’ He looked away. ‘How did it happen? Was he robbed?’
‘It seems not,’ Jonah told him. ‘As yet, it’s unclear what happened. We wondered if you could help by telling us about yesterday evening.’
‘Sure,’ Step said. ‘I … God, it might all be my fault.’ There was little emotion in his expression, but Step paused again as if working this through internally. ‘I went home and left him. I knew he was a bit drunk, but I … maybe he was too drunk to look after himself.’
‘Can you tell me where the two of you went?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Step said, lifting a hand towards his head and then letting it fall. ‘A gig. A friend’s band was playing at the Porterhouse. And then we went to Blue Underground.’
‘That’s a bar?’
‘A club,’ Step told him. ‘On London Road. Further up past the Wetherspoons?’
Jonah knew London Road well, at least as it had once been. He had spent months doing circuits of the pubs up there at seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. Back when his friends had been in feverish pursuit of university girls, and had abandoned their traditional stomping ground around the quay in order to track them down. There had been clubs back then, too, each of them attempting to seduce those same university girls just as feverishly, because where the women went, the men would follow. And so the road had been awash with laminated boards from nine o’clock onwards. Two Malibu and Cokes for a quid. Two-for-one Blue Lagoons. Free entry for ladies before eleven.
That part of it probably hadn’t changed, even if the prices had.
‘How long were you there?’ he asked Step.
‘We went at about ten thirty, and I was there until … twelve? Maybe just before?’ Step swallowed hard. ‘I had to get back. It’s Lisa’s birthday today. We had a lot of prep to do for the party.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ Jonah said, quietly. ‘What was Alex doing when you left?’
Step lifted his head. ‘He was dancing. In the – in the eighties room.’
‘With anyone?’
‘No.’ Step shrugged. ‘He generally just dances by himself. He loves it. He’s a great dancer.’ And then Step tailed off, halted by the inevitable clash between tenses; between someone who is and, quite suddenly, someone who was.
‘He definitely wasn’t talking to anyone else?’
Step thought for a while and then said, ‘No. No, he was definitely on his own.’
‘Had he … talked to anyone earlier in the evening?’
‘Not at any length,’ Step said, with a shrug. ‘Brief chats with the bar staff, that kind of thing. Nothing that would make me think … that implied he might have argued with anyone.’
‘There was nobody in the club who seemed to recognise him?’ Hanson asked.
Step shook his head, slowly. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Jonah nodded, his eyes roaming the orderly kitchen before coming to rest on Step again.
‘Can you tell me what Alex was like?’ Jonah asked. ‘Was he patient? Boisterous?’
Step fixed him with a slightly bright-eyed gaze. ‘You mean do I think he brought it on himself?’ Step shook his head. ‘He was a profoundly gentle person. And a kind one. Even when he was trashed, he was always a good guy.’
‘Did he get drunk a lot?’ Hanson asked.
‘Every so often.’ Step gave a shrug. ‘Like most guys in their late twenties. Probably less than most, really. He believed too much in his health.’
Jonah gave him a nod. ‘How’s his relationship with his husband been recently?’
‘Good,’ Step said. ‘It’s never been anything other than good. Issa and he were … They were close from the moment they met. They look after each other.’
‘There’s nobody Alex has had any disagreements with recently?’ Hanson tried. ‘No involvement with any groups that might have wanted him dead?’
‘No,’ Step said, shaking his head more quickly. ‘He was likeable, and definitely law-abiding.’
‘Thank you,’ Jonah said. ‘I’d really like to know anything else you think might help. People he might have met up with. Messages he sent. Anything.’
‘Of course,’ Step said, and then he leaned forwards, so that his elbows rested on his knees, and asked, ‘You don’t have any ideas, do you? Who it was?’
‘We’re doing our utmost to find out,’ Jonah said, as soothingly as he could.
‘OK. OK.’
During the drive home, Jonah found himself wondering about that last question of Step’s. Questions like that could come from wanting a loved one’s killer brought to justice. Bu
t they also might come from a fear of being found out.
‘It’s a little weird,’ O’Malley muttered, as he and Jonah stood looking in at Louise Reakes from the observation room. ‘I don’t know if she’s called him now, but when I mentioned it she looked like the thought made her ill. It made me wonder about him. Maybe he did know the guy. Maybe Alex was a friend of his. Could be nothing, but could be some kind of criminal involvement, if she’s scared of him. Ben’s looking him up on the system to see if there’s anything.’
Jonah nodded, considering. ‘I guess criminals can live in suburban bliss, too. I’ll talk to her.’
‘I’ve told her you just wanted to drop in before she goes. We’ve got the statement. I didn’t push her.’
Jonah smiled. ‘I can do the pushing. Anything else?’
‘I was looking at the weather for last night,’ O’Malley said. ‘It’s tricky to be positive, but as far as I can make out from a number of sites, it snowed somewhere between one thirty and four a.m. across most of the city. We’ll probably know more if we get CCTV footage, though that won’t be local to Saints Close.’
‘Potentially useful,’ Jonah said. ‘If we could at least rule out him dying after 4 a.m., that’s a start.’ And then he let himself into the interview room and sat in front of Louise, who moved ever so slightly away from him.
‘Thank you for giving your statement,’ Jonah said. ‘There are just a few things I wanted to check.’
Louise fixed her eyes on him, and nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘Going back, first, to this question of the victim’s identity,’ he began. ‘It seems strange that the young man would have ended up in your front garden if he was unknown to you.’
Louise lifted her hands, a helpless gesture. ‘I know. I have no idea why he’d come to us, unless it happened to be the nearest house, and he was desperate. If it were me, I suppose I could see myself aiming for the porchlight, hoping for help.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Poor fucker. Bleeding out his life without … without anyone even knowing.’
‘Someone knew,’ Jonah said, quietly.
The sharp look she gave him made him reassess her. Louise might be hungover and afraid, but she wasn’t in any way stupid.
‘Mrs Reakes,’ he said in a harder tone, ‘I’m sure you’re aware that we’ll need to speak to your husband directly. It would save us time if you could pass on his contact details.’
There was a curious twist to Louise’s face as she said, ‘But I haven’t – been able to get through to him yet. Do you mind if I try again before you call? Just so he doesn’t lose his shit?’
Jonah nodded, slowly, finding the occasional peppering of profanities a little disconcerting. They were a strange contrast to her otherwise meek manner.
‘We’d appreciate it if you’d call him as soon as we’re done here. Straight afterwards.’
‘Yes,’ Louise said, and swallowed. ‘Of course.’
Jonah watched her for a few seconds, happy to let her discomfort increase. He agreed wholeheartedly with O’Malley. Something about contacting her husband concerned her. Was it possible that he wasn’t, in fact, away? That he had murdered a man at their property and then gone to ground?
‘When did you last speak to him? Your husband?’
‘Yesterday,’ Louise said. And then, when Jonah watched her without replying, she added, ‘Before April turned up. Probably … five?’
‘Can I take your friend’s full name?’
‘It was just over the phone, though. My chat with Niall. Why do you want to know?’
Jonah allowed the silence to build, considering his options, and then he decided that pushing her now, while she was tired, hungover and anxious was probably his best option. ‘Is your husband really away, Louise?’ he asked.
She gave him a genuinely startled look. ‘Of course he is. I wouldn’t have got drunk with April if he … Niall’s been in Geneva since Thursday.’
‘And this was a work trip?’
‘Pharmaceuticals conference,’ she said. ‘He’s a rep. He does this a lot. Takes GPs to nice places and spoils them.’ She suddenly gave a strange half-smile. ‘Look, he has nothing to do with what happened.’
‘Then why are you afraid of contacting him?’ Jonah asked, his eyes fixed on her face.
He saw a blush creep up Louise’s neck, and then she said, quietly, ‘Because Niall is … he can be a tad self-righteous. He’ll be angry with me for getting drunk. He’ll think this is my fault.’
Jonah gave a small, involuntary smile. ‘I think he’d be hard pressed to make a dead man in your garden your fault.’
Louise looked up at him, with that half-smile back on her lips. ‘You haven’t met my husband.’
6
Louise
The first night that really fucked things up for us was my birthday. Though it wasn’t the night itself. It was, of course, Dina. Your gorgeous, hideous ex.
God, I hate remembering it. Dina suddenly had to meet you for lunch that day. And it was incredibly clear to me what she was going to say. I suspect it was to you, too. You went along hoping she wanted you back.
And of course that was what she was going to say, whether it was true or not. It was my birthday. What better time to ruin things for both of us? I can imagine how she let delicate tears slide down her cheeks as she told you she’d made a mistake. That she missed you. It was deliberate and predictable and thoroughly, thoroughly cruel.
I’ve never quite been able to admit to you how much I hate Dina. How could I, when you cycled so regularly through fury at her and sudden loyalty? When it was OK for you to call her a horrible human being, but absolutely out of the question for me to do the same?
That day justified every thought I’d had about her. It was abundantly clear after you’d met her that you were halfway to being hers again, and my birthday party became a hollow, bitter experience when it should have been fun.
I drank more than I’ve ever drunk before. I started early on, with April. I had never valued more her freedom to sack off work and drink whenever she felt like it. And although I didn’t tell her why I was so determined to get shit-faced, she drank with me through the afternoon anyway, and managed to make me laugh a few times in spite of everything.
I kept going once we all met up for cocktails. While you hunkered over your phone at the bar instead of mingling with my friends, I drank. I waited for Drunk Louise – her – to take over so I didn’t have to feel. But that happy-go-lucky, irresponsible version of myself somehow stayed away, no matter how hard I chased. It was the first time she’d let me down.
So I kept chasing her. I chased Drunk Louise so hard that I eventually vomited into the toilet for twenty minutes.
When I emerged afterwards, stumbling and probably smelling of vomit, you looked horrified. Appalled. Like you were wondering what you’d been thinking. I wasn’t the wonderful, fun Drunk Louise: I was a mess. I was so ashamed, and so very much aware that April was now watching, too.
I honestly thought I’d lost both of you.
But then my best friend took my hand, and turned to face you. ‘What the hell are you doing, Niall?’
You looked genuinely taken aback. ‘Me?’
‘Yeah, you,’ she said. ‘You have a girlfriend you don’t deserve. She’s gorgeous and talented and smart. And on her birthday you’ve been standing at the bar and messaging your ex-wife. I’m not surprised she wanted to get blind drunk. I’d have done the same, only I would have dumped your lousy ass first.’
For a moment you just stood there looking at her with your mouth slightly open. And then you looked away, gathering together what I fully expected to be anger. I thought you were going to tell us both to get lost.
But when you turned back again, it was as if something had given way in you instead. You looked so guilty, and so sad. I think that expression was what saved us just then. What let us carry on.
‘I’m – I’m really sorry, Lou. She’s just …’ You shook your head. ‘It’s all messing with my head,
but I’ll sort myself out.’
‘You need to know something about Dina,’ April added. ‘You need to realise that she would throw you under a bus without even thinking about it. She’s actually tried to do it already, Niall. It’s me who stood in the way.’
And I saw the way your expression changed. How your mouth dropped slightly and your eyes fixed on her.
‘What do you mean?’ you asked.
‘What the fuck do you think I mean, Niall?’ she asked, with a raised eyebrow.
I watched your expression as you looked down at your phone, and then slowly put it away. And after that, when you folded me into a hug, and told me you were being an idiot, all my anger and distrust seemed unimportant. I let it all go, and let you look after me.
But the damage had already been done, I think. The slide had already started. I began to obsess over what you’d been saying to Dina and, unable to cope with those feelings, I drank. I couldn’t think of any other way of dealing with them.
On top of that, my fear that you didn’t really like my sober self grew. Everything you told me that you loved about me was really about Drunk Louise. The fun. The laughter. The way I made your life better. I knew it was Drunk Louise you’d fallen in love with.
So the more time we spent together, the more she bloomed. And although I’d got to know April better by then, in sober times as well as drunk, I developed a profound fear that she might decide I was boring, too. Which meant that I never turned up sober to see either of you.
I was aware, though, of a growing disconnect between Drunk Louise and me. I would occasionally be alarmed at things she’d done. Like the time she talked you into getting sexy in an office at your work Christmas party. Like when she and April stole a bottle of champagne from an unattended hotel bar in London. And there were increasing blanks in my memory, too. Whole hours or parts of evenings where I didn’t know what she’d done, and felt nervous about finding out.