‘I did not come here to justify our relationship. I came here to help you find Nancy and to explain.’
‘Why did you run away?’
‘I was making a phone call to Nico—Mr Scott-Somers when Nancy was taken. It was completely my fault and I was so scared about that, I fled. When little Charlotte arrived home without us, she told the staff that I had lost her and a man who looked like a bear had taken Nancy. They didn’t believe her, of course. She was always running off; it was just her way of making people notice her. She was not as attractive as her sister, who always got much more attention. Mrs Scott-Somers was not a very maternal woman. Anyway, no one believed Charlotte; perhaps Mr Scott-Somers did little to change the view that she had run from me. Everyone thought I had gone away because I was scared of the family, you see, that way it took the attention off me.’
‘And in doing so put a hefty charge on some very small shoulders,’ said Jessie.
‘No one was thinking straight.’
‘Clearly.’
Once again Clementine raised her chin defiantly. ‘Your opinion of me matters very little. I simply want to do my duty.’
A little late, thought Jessie, but she didn’t say anything.
‘He told me I must not come back. He was angry, of course. With me, with himself. I thought when things had passed, when the man was in jail, eventually we could …’ Wishing for it hadn’t made it happen, she couldn’t change the past. ‘But, as you know, they found me, the prosecution. I was subpoenaed, I had to go even though I had promised I wouldn’t. I meant what I said to Nancy that day in court: I was sorry. I would have done anything to make it up to her. My English was good enough to know what I was saying – they twisted my words, I did not know about the law then. I do now. That case should never have been thrown out of court. I don’t know who that lawyer was, but he pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes that day.’
‘He was paid for by Mr Scott-Somers.’
Clementine Colbert looked genuinely surprised.
‘It took me a little while to figure out that he was trying to protect himself. Not his family. Certainly not Nancy. Expensive divorce, and all that,’ continued Jessie.
Mr Scott-Somers’ mistress was completely serene when she spoke again. ‘No, it was me he was trying to protect. You don’t have to believe me, but what we had was real. What could we do after that terrible day in court? Nancy was ruined, she had terrible nightmares, wet her bed, became completely withdrawn, and poor little Charlotte was completely subsumed by it. All because we had been too timid to do anything about our relationship earlier. There is no right time for these things, is there?’
Jessie wasn’t feeling in a sympathetic mood.
‘I went home to Paris, I studied hard, I got a job, I worked at getting over him.’
‘Successfully?’
The woman opposite her did not respond, she glanced at her empty wedding finger, then looked Jessie firmly in the eye.
‘I came back for his funeral. I decided to stay on in London. It is easier to grieve alone. When I saw the news, I came here. I don’t care what they are saying, Nancy could not have killed anyone.’
‘How can you be so sure? You haven’t seen her since she was eleven.’
‘Nicholas and I promised never to see each again. And we fulfilled that promise, though now I cannot understand why. No one benefited from the punishment we imposed upon ourselves. If I could just go back to that one day …’ Again the futility of her words was not lost on Jessie. ‘We wrote when things got unbearable. A letter can breathe life into you, if you let it. This is why I know things about the family. I know that Nancy had suicidal tendencies. She wanted to kill herself, but she couldn’t. Like me, she believed, you see. She believed in God – why wouldn’t she? She’d been told she was an angel enough times. So you see, she couldn’t kill anyone.’
‘What about Mr Scott-Somers? After all, Malcolm Hoare ruined his life, your life, his daughters’ lives …’
‘No, Detective Inspector, we did that.’
Jessie escorted the missing piece of the puzzle to the exit. ‘What was so important, Madame Colbert, that you had to ring Mr Scott-Somers that day?’
Jessie watched the shudder pass through the woman’s petite frame and immediately regretted asking.
‘I was pregnant,’ she said, nodding, as if she still could not believe it. ‘I miscarried in the seventh month. They told me they found nothing wrong with our son.’ She gave Jessie a challenging look. ‘The wrath of God, you think?’ Jessie said nothing. ‘I miss them both,’ said the Frenchwoman. ‘All the time.’
The press were camped behind temporary barriers outside the Scott-Somers’ house. The family – what was left of it – were holed up inside their gilded cage. Amanda Hornby had opened the floodgates, the protective fence was down and Mr Scott-Somers wasn’t alive any more to exert his personal kind of pressure. Those in power might be loyal to their benefactors, but this was a question of murder. Every aspect of the Scott-Somers’ life, from disgruntled ex-employees to tailors to the bevy of ex-husbands that Charlotte had accrued and discarded, were speculating, cogitating and agitating. As Niaz and Jessie approached, the swarm of leather jackets and long lenses turned their way and the battering of questions started.
‘Who killed Malcolm Hoare?’ ‘Is he haunting Marshall Street Baths?’ ‘Where’s Nancy?’ ‘Is she haunting Marshall Street Baths?’ ‘Where’s the exorcist?’ ‘Did they get him bumped off?’ ‘What about the explosion?’
Jessie turned away and ran up the steps. The door opened.
‘Hey, Jess, did you and P.J. have a lover’s tiff?’
The door closed.
They stood in the cool marble vestibule and for the briefest of moments Jessie felt the reassuring warmth of Niaz’s hand on her back. Strength, thought Jessie, comes from the least likely of places. Terence Vane showed her into a plant-infested ‘breakfast’ room. It had a glass ceiling that was wound open by a long metal rod. Coffee was being served. The women drank it strong and black. Mrs Scott-Somers half-turned towards Jessie and spoke over her shoulder.
‘See you’ve met our friendly press corps?’ she said, a strange smirk in her voice. BBC News 24 was playing on a television mounted on the wall. Jessie’s own photograph was floating ominously over the muted newsreader’s lapel. Next came a picture of P. J. Dean and his murdered wife Verity Shore. She knew the shot; it was from Hello! Yet another of those ‘confirmation of our love’ pieces. Jessie didn’t need to hear the voice-over, she knew well enough what was being said. It would be the Ritz photograph next; followed, no doubt, by P.J. in the limo. The story was on a loop, but she was not enjoying the ride. She turned to face Mrs Scott-Somers.
‘We have traced the money,’ she said.
Nancy’s mother stiffened. Her sister appeared to stop breathing.
‘She gives every penny to charity,’ Jessie announced.
‘What?’ Mrs Scott-Somers was completely thrown.
‘Quarter of a million pounds a year!’ said Charlotte incredulously.
‘It is donated to a number of charities which vary in profile and size.’
‘What does she live on?’ asked Mrs Scott-Somers.
‘Perhaps she has a job and lives off the earnings, though I should add she isn’t a registered tax payer.’
‘She’s dead,’ said Charlotte.
‘No, she isn’t dead.’
‘She must be. Nancy isn’t capable of getting a job.’
Jessie thought she detected a note of envy in Charlotte’s voice. Was the idea of a small, unencumbered, independent life the one jewel that the heiress could not afford?
‘The list of recipients changed quite recently, and only Nancy could instruct those changes.’
Charlotte was shaking her head. ‘I dreamt about it, Detective. She was alone, in the dark, surrounded by dead cats.’
‘That was your sister’s childhood nightmare. Not yours,’ said Mrs Scott-Somers impatiently.
Jessie watched Charlotte pick up the phone. ‘Terence, Bloody Mary please.’
‘For pity’s sake, it isn’t even noon.’
Charlotte ignored her mother. ‘Things go missing – I don’t care if you believe me or not – little items of no monetary value. A photo of me disappeared for a whole year, then suddenly, there it was, back in the same place. What spirit would take those things if it weren’t Nancy?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past you to hide these things yourself, Charlotte.’
‘So you concede that things do go missing?’
‘Witness, Detective, the selective hearing. We’ve had more weirdoes with crystals pass through this house than Stonehenge. The other day I caught her with a ouija board trying to talk to my husband. Our priest was furious. He said you invite the devil in when you play with his toys.’
For once Jessie agreed with Mrs Scott-Somers.
‘Let’s keep to the matter at hand. Can you assure me, Detective, that Nancy hasn’t been taken in by a religious cult?’
‘Until we find her, I cannot completely rule that out, but sects tend to appropriate their “disciples” money, and we’ve found no evidence of that yet.’
‘I was beginning to think the Moonies had her.’
‘No, Mrs Scott-Somers, it appears your daughter stays away of her own free will.’
Mrs Scott-Somers’ eyes narrowed imperceptibly. ‘So how do we get the money back?’
‘You can’t,’ said Jessie. ‘We’re checking every single recipient, in case of fraud, but so far the charities that received the most substantial donations are legitimate.’
‘That money was intended for Nancy.’
‘Perhaps she didn’t want it. Money is a burden, like her angelic looks – surely you can understand why she would have given it away?’
Mrs Scott-Somers looked confused.
‘For the same reason she put on weight,’ explained Jessie.
Mrs Scott-Somers was still perplexed. So Jessie spelt it out: ‘If you were snatched off the street because you were pretty, blonde and rich, what wouldn’t you want to be any more?’
Charlotte stared at her own reflection in one of the mirrors that adorned the walls of the breakfast room. ‘Pretty, blonde and rich,’ she said quietly.
‘I took her to every decent dietician in Europe. They informed me my daughter had an eating disorder: binge-eating. I told her it would kill her if she went on, but nothing worked.’
‘She didn’t want it to work,’ said Jessie.
‘Why? It wasn’t Nancy’s fault she was kidnapped,’ said Mrs Scott-Somers angrily.
‘I wonder if anyone told her that.’
‘Of course we did. We all knew whose fault it was – Malcolm Hoare’s. And that bloody nanny, for letting it happen. Then she reappears and does it all over again in court.’ There was so much bitterness in Mrs Scott-Somers’ voice, so much anger. Had she known all along that she was a cuckold? Was she aware that her marriage, her lifestyle, her very existence had only continued as it had because of her daughter’s kidnapping? Was she in the unenviable position of having to feel grateful towards Malcolm Hoare?
‘We loved her,’ said Charlotte, turning away from the mirror.
‘You would like the one person who ruined everything.’
‘At least she cared.’
‘She was paid to care, Charlotte.’
‘You’re wrong, Mother. She did care and you know it, that’s why you never let any of the other nannies stay longer than a month.’
‘If you loved her so much, why did you run away from her and cause all this trouble?’
There were a few seconds of silence as Mrs Scott-Somers’ words sunk in.
‘I knew you blamed me.’
‘Charlotte didn’t run away,’ interrupted Jessie.
‘Yes she did,’ said Mrs Scott-Somers, no hint of conciliation in her voice.
‘No, her crime was that she’d run away before. When she arrived home and said the nanny had lost them, all you heard was “run-away”.’ Like Jonny Romano, she had cried wolf too many times. ‘Charlotte wasn’t to blame.’
‘I should have stayed with her,’ said Charlotte.
‘Malcolm Hoare was a huge man, there was nothing you could have done.’
‘I could have protected her.’
Jessie wanted to reach out to her. ‘It’s not your fault. You were only nine years old.’
‘I didn’t stop him. I didn’t shout for help. I could’ve got Clemy out of the phone-box.’
Mrs Scott-Somers hurled herself out of the plush sofa. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Your father hated the way you lied.’
Charlotte continued to stare at Jessie. ‘Everyone loved Nancy, do you see?’
Jessie nodded. She saw. If Nancy went away, maybe someone would take a little notice of Charlotte. But it wasn’t to be. Nancy came back and even more attention was lavished upon her.
‘It didn’t matter what I did, I could never compare to my sister. Even when she was fat and ugly, and I was the pretty one, it was always Nancy. I started to punish her for it. I made her wet her bed, I told her Malcolm was waiting down the corridor.’
‘You always were a hideous child!’
Charlotte turned to her mother. ‘Can’t imagine who I take after.’
‘I’m glad your father isn’t alive to hear this.’
‘I’m pretty certain he’s glad he isn’t alive either. We weren’t enough for him, Mother. All he wanted was Nancy back. But he never got her back, did he? DI Driver is right: she was never the same. Didn’t matter how good you looked or how many business trips you went on with him, or how many A-grades I got, we couldn’t make him happy, because Nancy wasn’t happy.’
Jessie looked to Mrs Scott-Somers to correct her daughter; that wasn’t why Mr Scott-Somers had withdrawn from his family, and it wasn’t why he couldn’t be reached. Mr Scott-Somers had made his own pact with the devil and his name was Tobias Charles Edmonds. The lawyer who enabled Malcolm Hoare to walk free. He destroyed both his children, ruined his wife, broke the heart of the woman he’d loved and probably believed he’d killed their unborn child. He had much more to mourn than Charlotte could possibly imagine.
‘The very last time she came back, she said she was coming home, that it was all over and she was going to be fine again. She said she was sorry about everything she’d put me through.’ Charlotte shook her head in disbelief. ‘I didn’t believe her. She’d been back before and said the same things. I told her we didn’t want her. I told her she was an embarrassment, that we didn’t love her and we never talked about her. I told her that, as far as we were concerned, she was dead.’ Charlotte looked pleadingly at Jessie. ‘You have to understand, I wanted to tell her to stay, I wanted to tell her I missed her, but I couldn’t. She’d left before, she’d leave again. I couldn’t take that chance, so I made her go.’
‘When was this?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘I think you can,’ pressed Jessie.
‘Why didn’t you tell me? When were all these times she came back? Why didn’t you come and get us?’
A weariness filled Charlotte’s voice. ‘You weren’t here. You never were.’
‘It’s very important you remember when this last time was,’ said Jessie.
‘Yes. When was it?’ demanded her mother.
‘I told you, I can’t remember.’
‘You can help me find her,’ said Jessie.
‘I’m not helping you find her. You want to prosecute her for Malcolm’s murder. Don’t, for fuck’s sake, pretend that you give a shit. Nancy didn’t kill him, she would never have gone to a swimming pool – she was fat! You think she’d take her clothes off in public? She couldn’t at home! She’s got nothing to do with this!’
‘I’m sorry, but I think she has.’
‘You don’t understand, do you? What everyone saw in my sister was real. She was an angel. I should know. I did everything in my power to hurt her, and sh
e never, ever did anything back. She couldn’t kill a man. She wouldn’t.’
Charlotte was the third, and least likely, person to vouch for Nancy’s innocence.
There was a sharp rap on the door and Terence entered, carrying a tray. He knew his mistress well. On the tray was a large jug of Bloody Mary and one glass.
19
The SOCOs encircled the small plot of land. Jessie glanced down at the neat row of beds. A mixture of Mediterranean vegetables were being painstakingly grown in grey, wet London under sheets of corrugated plastic. They had been there a long time. Thick green algae grew along each trough. Mr Romano’s description was out on the wire as a man possibly armed and highly dangerous, both to himself and others. Burrows handed Jessie the approved court order, she signed it and handed it back. The first spade went into the tilled earth.
‘What happened at the Scott-Somers’ place?’ he asked.
‘Some time after Christmas 1987 Nancy told her sister she was coming home, but now Charlotte is claiming she cannot remember the date. Which is highly unlikely – Nancy has only been home three times in nearly twenty years.’
‘Why do you think she is lying?’ asked Niaz.
Because, thought Jessie, after a lifetime of not doing so, Charlotte was trying to protect her sister. ‘She feels guilty. And she shouldn’t, none of this was her fault. So, we have two avenues. First: the charities. Somewhere in that long list is a clue; it’s who Nancy is now and who she was back then. They’ve changed over the years, there must be a pattern, something. It’s a puzzle for which you, Niaz, have the perfect brain.’
Niaz bowed slightly. ‘I was certainly very speedy on the Rubik’s cube.’
‘Burrows, you go back to the council. Her name doesn’t appear on any of the council lists, so she wasn’t there as a qualified instructor because she’d need to have given proof of her identity. Maybe her sister was right and she didn’t go to the baths to swim, maybe she went for another reason. Start looking at the casual workers, cleaners, assistant carers, volunteers – the sort of people who could stay in the shadows if they wanted.’ Jessie heard the roots of a young tomato plant snap as it was pulled from its resting place. ‘The sort of people who wouldn’t be noticed if they went missing.’
The Unquiet Dead Page 28