Let the Dead Speak

by Jane Casey

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’ I said to him.

  ‘Gareth Selhurst.’

  He said it as if I should recognise him, his voice resonant, his barrel chest inflating with pride. An actor? I didn’t know and couldn’t ask. I’d never seen him before.

  ‘Are you a neighbour? Or family?’

  ‘I live nearby.’ He gave a vague flourish, not indicating any particular direction. ‘And we are all family here, my dear. All part of God’s family.’

  ‘Amen.’ Eleanor Norris had whispered it.

  ‘Gareth is the lead elder of our church,’ Oliver Norris said. ‘He’s here to support us.’

  Not an actor: a preacher.

  ‘I wanted to offer my help,’ Selhurst said. ‘In case there was anything I could do. Sometimes prayer is a great comfort.’

  ‘Do you know Kate Emery and Chloe Emery?’

  ‘Yes. Not well.’ He smiled blandly. ‘They don’t worship with us, but the door is always open.’

  Not worth interviewing, I thought, and immediately wondered if that was what I was supposed to think.

  ‘I’ll try not to take too long, Mr Norris.’

  ‘I want to come with you. I want to hear what happened,’ Bethany said. She sounded like a spoiled brat and looked like a child. Fifteen, her mother had said, but I’d have guessed she was thirteen at most. She was tiny and thin, with heavy, squared-off glasses that hid most of her small face. Like her mother she wore a long-sleeved top. No make-up. No nail varnish.

  ‘You can’t come, Bethany. The police need to speak to me on my own. Anyway, you don’t want to hear about what happened.’

  ‘If I don’t know, I’ll imagine worse things. I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll be terrified.’

  ‘Bethany.’ Gareth Selhurst shook his head at her. ‘It’s not your place to tell your father what to do.’

  ‘No, I know, but—’

  ‘Stay here and pray with us. Talk to God.’ Selhurst stretched out his hands, cupping the air. He closed his eyes, his expression blissful. Morgan Norris was shaking his head, his arms folded. Not a member of the flock, I guessed.

  The girl put her hand down onto the chair beside her and I realised the cat was there, a cloud of grey fur knotted into a tight ball. She stroked the cat, watching her father’s face, seeing the little shudder of revulsion he couldn’t quite hide.

  ‘Why don’t you like me touching Misty, Daddy?’ She sounded more like a child than ever. ‘What’s wrong, Daddy? She’s very friendly. She’s purring.’

  Under the tan, Norris had gone very pale. To me, he said, ‘Let’s go into the sitting room. We won’t be disturbed there.’

  The sitting room was dark when we went in, and Norris fussed about putting on lamps, clearing armchairs of folded shirts so Georgia and I could sit down.

  ‘Sorry. My wife was doing the ironing in here earlier but she got distracted when I came back with Chloe. Left the place in a bit of a mess.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry. There’s no need to tidy up.’ And stop blaming your wife for the mess she made while she was ironing your shirts. I could feel myself bristling with dislike, spiky as a sea urchin. I hoped it didn’t show.

  He abandoned the shirts on the ironing board and threw himself into a chair, one hand to his mouth. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Are you all right, Mr Norris?’

  He nodded but his eyes were closed and I could see a tremor in his fingers. ‘It’s been a bit of a shock.’

  ‘Do you know the Emerys well?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He blinked rapidly. ‘I mean, how well do you know your neighbours? When we moved in Bethany made friends with Chloe, which was fine, of course. We didn’t mind them spending time together.’ He said it as if other people would have minded, which intrigued me.

  ‘Why would you mind?’

  ‘Oh, because of Chloe being the way she is. She’s – I forget the politically correct term. Simple. Mentally not all there. Beautiful girl but a few sandwiches short of a picnic.’ He looked from me to Georgia. ‘I’m not saying it to be offensive. You’ve spoken to her. The lights are on but there’s no one home.’

  ‘So Chloe and Bethany are friends. What about you and Mrs Emery? Would you describe her as a friend?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He straightened up, settling his shoulders against the back of the chair, his nausea forgotten. ‘We were friendly. Neighbourly.’

  ‘What sort of a person is she?’

  ‘Pleasant. Energetic. She ran her own business, you know. She was involved in local issues. She knew everyone. Friends with everyone, that kind of thing.’

  Past tense all the way, I noted. ‘Did you go to her house?’

  ‘I’ve been in her house,’ he said carefully. ‘I helped her with things like a tap that wouldn’t stop dripping and a light fitting that needed replacing. When she needed a man’s help, Eleanor volunteered me.’

  ‘Do you like that kind of thing, Mr Norris? Would you say you’re a bit of a handyman?’ I was looking around at the room where we sat, where two light bulbs had burned out of the fitting in the ceiling and a large chip was missing from the plaster on the corner of the chimney breast.

  ‘No. Not really.’ A smile. ‘But when the wife tells me to go and help out a neighbour, I go. Couldn’t let her down.’

  ‘So you help lots of the neighbours.’

  ‘If they need help,’ he said evenly. ‘Kate was on her own.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘Is. Was. I don’t know. Did they find a body?’

  ‘A body,’ I repeated.

  ‘I assume they’re looking for a body. I didn’t see one in the house.’ He shifted in the chair. ‘I didn’t go looking for it.’

  ‘You walked around quite a lot, I gather. The crime scene technicians found a few of your footprints in the hall.’

  ‘I was in a bit of a panic. I didn’t think. I saw all the blood …’ He was back to looking green. ‘I don’t like blood. I’m not used to seeing things like that. I went in to see if I could help but I couldn’t see Kate. Then I thought it was probably better to take Chloe out of the house and call you lot. And that’s all I know.’

  ‘Why were you there?’

  ‘Chloe forgot her bag. Left it in my car. I didn’t want her to worry about it so I carried it across the road for her. As soon as she opened the door I saw that something was wrong.’

  ‘What did you see that made you think that?’

  ‘You’ve been in the house,’ he said with a flash of anger. ‘What do you think I saw? Blood. A lot of it.’

  ‘How did you know what it was?’

  He shrugged. ‘What else could it have been? Ketchup? It looked like an abattoir in there. And my stomach went, I can tell you. I was heaving. I couldn’t even speak. It was like an instinct. I just knew.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  He looked up at the ceiling, remembering. ‘I went in. I made myself go in, even though I didn’t want to. I didn’t realise the blood was dry at first. I thought maybe Kate was injured and needed help.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Into the hall and then on a bit further, to check. I looked into the sitting room. I looked through to the kitchen and saw blood there but no body.’ He pulled at his lower lip, affecting to be shamefaced. ‘I put my hand on the counter in the kitchen, I’m pretty sure. I might have touched a few other places too.’

  ‘Did you go upstairs?’

  ‘Yeah. I think so. It’s all a bit of a blur. I mean, I’ve been upstairs in the house before, so if you find fingerprints of mine that doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Norris.’ I smiled at him, bland as cream. ‘We have excellent technicians. They’ll be able to tell if a fingerprint was made before, during or after the attack. So it’ll be easy enough to tell if you’re in the clear.’

  He swallowed once, convulsively.

  Not so confident now, are you?

  ‘What we
re you looking for, Mr Norris?’

  ‘A body. A killer.’ He laughed. ‘Glad I didn’t find either, really. That’s your job.’

  ‘Whose body did you expect to find?’

  ‘Kate’s. Who else?’ He looked at me as if I was stupid. ‘Chloe was there. She was fine.’

  So he didn’t think of Kate as a possible aggressor. I didn’t know enough about her to make that judgement.

  ‘Go back a bit for me,’ I said. ‘When was the last time you saw Kate Emery?’

  ‘I don’t know. During the week some time.’ He frowned. ‘I saw her on Friday evening, I think.’

  ‘Friday evening. Are you sure?’

  ‘No. That’s why I said I think it was Friday.’ He wasn’t bothering to try to charm me any more, which was a relief.

  ‘What was she doing?’

  ‘She was in her sitting room looking out of the window.’

  ‘You’re sure it was her.’

  ‘Yeah. I was walking past on the other side of the road and I waved.’

  ‘And you think this was Friday evening.’

  ‘I’m fairly sure. I know I was looking forward to getting home from work and having a cold beer to start the weekend, if my thieving brother had left any in the fridge.’

  ‘Your brother Morgan?’

  He nodded. ‘I only have one, thankfully.’

  ‘Does he live here?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s been staying with us for a while. Between jobs, apparently.’ Norris snorted. ‘No sign of him doing anything about getting one. He gave up a perfectly good job in an insurance company to go travelling for three years and got the shock of his life when he came home and no one wanted to employ him. Thank goodness he had us to fall back on.’

  ‘You don’t sound very happy about it,’ Georgia commented.

  ‘It’s been months,’ Norris said simply. ‘Too long.’

  ‘And you can’t kick him out? I would.’

  Norris flashed the teeth at her, instantly encouraged, trying to make friends again. ‘It wouldn’t be right. God has his reasons for sending him to live with us. Gareth says we have to pray for his soul, even if I’m sure it’s a lost cause.’

  ‘Gareth seems to be a big influence on you,’ I commented.

  ‘He’s the leader of our church.’

  ‘What church is that?’

  ‘The Church of the Modern Apostles. It’s an evangelical, charismatic church. Living Christianity. It’s a growing movement, you know. Gareth planted the church here in Putney five years ago and the congregation is increasing all the time.’

  ‘Including you and your family.’

  ‘I’m actually an elder of the church. For the last two years, it’s been my job.’

  ‘You mean Gareth is your boss?’

  He shook his head, smiling. ‘God is. But he directs me in his purposes through Gareth a lot of the time. You know, you should come along to see us worship. Share in God’s grace with us.’

  I smiled politely and referred to my notes. ‘So you think it was Friday when you saw Kate. What was she doing?’

  ‘Just standing in the window. Looking out.’

  ‘Waiting for someone?’

  ‘It’s a safe bet,’ Norris said evenly.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Chloe spends one week in six with her dad. When she was there or otherwise engaged, Kate sometimes had … visitors.’

  ‘What sort of visitors?’

  ‘Men.’

  I nodded as if I was unsurprised, as if I’d known about it already. And in fact I wasn’t all that surprised. She was a single mother, after all, and forty-two according to Una Burt. She was entitled to a private life, whatever the neighbours thought. ‘When you say men, did they visit her in groups or one at a time?’

  ‘One at a time, as far as I could tell.’ He gave a forced, awkward laugh. ‘I don’t think she was into anything as kinky as group sex, but you never know. It’s outside my experience.’

  No wonder you couldn’t wait to go round and fix her dripping tap.

  ‘Did you notice the same men visiting her more than once? The same cars?’

  ‘I didn’t notice.’ He pulled a face. ‘I didn’t like it. Dating is one thing but that sort of activity in front of everyone, in her own home – it felt sordid.’

  ‘Did you ever talk to her about it?’

  ‘I tried. I invited her to come to our church. I thought she might find what she was looking for there.’ He gave me a twitchy smile. ‘It didn’t go too well.’

  I flipped over a page on my clipboard with a snap. ‘Were you here all weekend, Mr Norris?’

  ‘Yeah. I did a lot of gardening.’ He held up his hands, which were scratched. ‘Some of the bushes fought back. Morgan helped me, he can tell you about it.’

  ‘What did you do with the clippings?’

  He frowned. ‘Took them to the dump. That’s what I was doing when I came back and saw Chloe at the station.’

  ‘I’m going to need your car keys and permission to search your car.’

  ‘I don’t see why. I mean, I don’t think that’s appropriate.’

  I looked at him, eyebrows raised, and waited.

  ‘You can look. I’m not trying to hide anything.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t know why you’d want to, that’s all.’

  ‘Just routine,’ I said. ‘Did you notice anything unusual over the weekend? Any strange visitors to the street, any unexpected noises …’ I trailed off. He was shaking his head.

  ‘I mean, I’ve been racking my brains ever since I went over to Kate’s house. Did I hear a scream? I really don’t think so. Did I see anyone strange? Again, no. Did I have any concerns about anything? Not in the least.’

  If he was going to interview himself, that was going to save me doing a lot of talking. I made a meaningless scrawl on the page in front of me. ‘Is there anything you think I should know about Kate Emery or Chloe or anyone else?’

  He blew out a lungful of air. ‘Well. There is one thing. I feel a bit bad even mentioning it but I think I should. For everyone’s sake. I know I’m not the only one to be thinking about it and if you don’t hear about him from me, it’ll be someone else who tells you sooner or later.’

  I nodded, making my very understanding listening face. Get on with it and stop justifying whatever it is you’re about to say, you horrible man.

  ‘There’s a lad. A young lad. He must be … oh, twenty. Twenty-one. Something like that. He lives down the road. Number six. His name’s William Turner.’

  I waited for him to go on.

  ‘He was in trouble with the police a few years ago. Four years ago, it must have been, because it was shortly after we moved in. He was arrested for attempted murder.’

  ‘Arrested? Was he charged?’

  ‘No. I don’t know why.’

  ‘Who was the victim?’

  ‘A friend of his.’ Norris laughed. ‘Some friend. He stabbed him.’

  ‘What happened?’ Georgia asked, her eyes wide.

  ‘It was a fight after school one day.’ Norris shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Everyone knew he’d done it but they couldn’t prove it.’

  ‘Didn’t the victim give evidence?’ I asked, puzzled.

  ‘He wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t say a word. His family moved not long after. I don’t blame them. We talked about it, but we couldn’t afford to move twice in such a short space of time.’ He shuddered. ‘Not what you want to hear about, is it? Not when you’ve got an eleven-year-old and you’re worried she’ll be hanging around on street corners in a few years. But Bethany’s not like that, thank God. We’ve been pretty strict with her. She knows the rules and she knows not to break them.’

  ‘So, to be clear,’ I said slowly, ‘you think I should focus on William Turner because he was once involved in a stabbing.’

  ‘Not just that. The kid is weird, let me tell you. He hangs around all the time. No job, obviously. It’s no surprise. I wouldn’t employ him. He has no education and no work e
thic.’ Norris leaned forward, dropping his voice, absolutely earnest. ‘I’ve read about psychopaths and, if you ask me, he’s a textbook case. It’s one per cent of the population, you know. One in a hundred. That’s a lot. There’s more than a hundred people living in this street and I’m confident I’ve worked out who ours is.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘He watches the girls.’ Norris shook his head, disapproving. ‘I’ve seen him. He sits on his garden wall and he watches them walking up and down the road. Talks to them, sometimes. Calls out, you know. Gets them into conversation. I’ve warned Bethany to stay well away from him. Chloe too. She doesn’t have the common sense to keep her distance. Not when he’s a good-looking lad, which there’s no denying he is. He knows it, too.’

  ‘You seem to spend a lot of time thinking about Chloe,’ I observed. ‘You know her routine – you know when she’s away and when she’s here. You gave her a lift from the station. You carried her bag over to the house.’

  His face went red. ‘I don’t know what you’re implying, if you’re implying anything. I worry about Chloe. I worry about all the girls round here. And the police don’t do anything about Turner.’ He remembered who he was talking to. ‘At least, they don’t seem to.’

  ‘Looking and talking isn’t against the law. We can’t stop Mr Turner from socialising. Especially if – according to you – he wasn’t convicted of anything.’

  ‘Yes.’ Norris narrowed his eyes. ‘You don’t think I’m right to be worried either. But you haven’t met him. You haven’t spoken to him. You haven’t looked into his eyes. I have. And I know what I saw there.’

  ‘What was that, Mr Norris?’

  ‘He has no soul.’ Norris leaned back in his chair, as if he’d struck a killer blow that ended the argument then and there. In a way, of course, he had. I certainly didn’t want to prolong it.

  ‘Thanks for your help, Mr Norris. If you think of anything else we might need to know, do get in touch. We’ll probably need to speak to you again, to confirm the details of your statement. And we’ll need to get your fingerprints and DNA, if you don’t mind, for elimination purposes.’

  ‘Right. Yes. Anything to help.’ He was back to looking uneasy. ‘Though I’m sure there’s nothing that can’t be easily explained if you do find some DNA of mine floating around.’