Let the Dead Speak

by Jane Casey

Exhausting, that was it.

  ‘I didn’t mean to say the wrong thing. And anyway, it’s not wrong to say she can stay as long as she likes. I really think she should. I prayed about it. I asked for God’s guidance.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But you probably think that’s strange.’

  ‘Not at all.’ I meant it. My mother had garlanded my childhood with novenas and holy days and special intentions, with holy water and decades of the rosary and prayer cards for specific pious purposes. I was very familiar with the concept of praying for guidance. And it reminded me of something that had caught my attention the previous day. ‘Your husband mentioned that he’d invited Kate Emery to your church. Did she ever come?’

  I thought for a moment that Eleanor was going to faint. Her face went white, her lips bloodless. She put out a hand to the back of the chair beside her. ‘He did what?’

  ‘He said he invited her to your church,’ I repeated, but diffidently.

  ‘There’s no way he would have done that. He’d have told me if he had.’

  ‘That’s part of the deal, isn’t it, Eleanor? You invite poor sinners to join you in Christ.’ Morgan reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’

  She pulled herself together with a visible effort. ‘Even if he had, she certainly wouldn’t have come. She had no interest in anything spiritual. Quite the opposite.’

  ‘She did come.’ Morgan looked uneasy. ‘I think it was when you and Bethany were away with your mum. A couple of months ago.’

  ‘What? Why didn’t Oliver tell me?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And how do you know about it? You weren’t there, were you? You’ve never gone to a service.’

  ‘She came over here before they left. Oliver drove her.’

  ‘But that doesn’t make any sense. She was a sceptical person. She would only have come to mock us.’

  ‘Well, she never went back, did she?’ Morgan turned a page in the newspaper. ‘So it can’t be that much of a big deal.’

  I was going to have to talk to Oliver Norris again, and the white-haired preacher. I suppressed a tiny sigh at the thought. ‘Right. Was that everything?’

  ‘The car.’ Morgan spoke without looking up. ‘Why did you want to examine it?’

  ‘Routine enquiries.’

  He glanced at me. ‘So you’ve been examining all the cars on the road, have you?’

  ‘Not all.’

  ‘Why Oliver’s?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Did you find anything?’ Eleanor was trembling, I noticed, her knuckles white as she dug her fingers into the chair back.

  ‘I can’t tell you that either.’

  ‘If they’d found anything, they’d have taken the car away,’ Morgan said, losing interest. ‘There was nothing to find.’

  He was right about that. The car had been immaculate, the boot recently vacuumed. The material that lined it was still slightly damp, according to the SOCO who had gone over it for me.

  ‘Who cleaned it out?’ I asked.

  ‘The guys at the car wash near the dump. Oliver took it there after we got rid of the garden rubbish. They’re Polish or Russian or something – not very much English, anyway. But you can speak to them if you like. They’ll tell you it was muddy and full of leaves. They charged him extra for cleaning it because it was so filthy. There’s always some reason why they need to charge extra, but they do a good job.’

  The SOCO had sprayed the entire car including the inside of the boot with Luminol, a chemical that made traces of blood fluoresce under the right light. She’d promised me that, despite the cleaning, she’d have found traces of blood if they’d been there to find. And if there had been as much as a speck of blood, I would have arrested Oliver Norris then and there. I couldn’t explain why I disliked him so much but I wasn’t ready to write the feeling off just because his car seemed to be clean. Not when his wife was under so much stress she was coming apart at the seams. Not when his brother was fishing to find out if Norris was a suspect.

  I left the two of them in the kitchen and headed upstairs with the intention of persuading Chloe to leave Oliver Norris’s house as soon as possible. I could hear voices and followed the sound to the bedroom where I’d seen Chloe the previous day. As I got closer there was a sudden burst of laughter, quickly stifled in a flurry of shushing. I tapped on the door gently.

  ‘Wait!’ There was a scuffle from inside, and then a voice said, ‘Come in.’

  It wasn’t Chloe’s voice, I thought. Bethany’s.

  I put my head round the door. The two girls were lying on the floor. Chloe’s face went as blank as a sheet of paper when she saw me. Bethany’s expression jumped from wariness to surprise.

  ‘Sorry. I thought it was my mum.’

  ‘I wanted another word with Chloe.’

  ‘We didn’t think it was – we thought – you went to talk to my mum. We thought you’d left.’ Bethany scrambled to her feet, shaking out her long, loose dress, and I saw she had been lying on a mobile phone. She saw me looking at it. ‘It’s not mine. I’m not allowed one. It’s Chloe’s.’

  I looked down at Chloe, who was still lying on the floor. ‘Can you sit up and talk to me, please, Chloe? And Bethany, do you mind leaving us for a few minutes?’

  Bethany flashed me a hostile look, then turned to her friend. ‘Do you want me to stay?’

  ‘That’s not an option, I’m afraid.’ I held the door open. ‘As I said, I won’t be long.’

  She trailed out past me, muttering under her breath. I smiled at her, unmoved, and shut the door firmly. She might dress like something from the nineteenth century but she was a normal teenager under it all.

  ‘What do you want?’ Chloe sat down on the chair she’d occupied the previous night, pulling her legs up again so she could hide behind her knees.

  ‘Did you get the medication I brought over last night?’

  A nod.

  ‘I didn’t find the envelope you were asking about.’

  Her face went taut with tension. ‘It must be there. It has to be.’

  ‘We took some papers from your mother’s study on the second floor. I’ll check to see if it’s got caught up with them. Is it important?’

  A nod. ‘I need it.’

  ‘Then I’ll check very carefully to see if we have it.’

  She managed a smile.

  ‘I have a couple of questions to ask, Chloe. Why did you come home early from your dad’s house?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ She was more focused today, less blank. No more helpful, I noted.

  ‘I’m going to talk to him tomorrow.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I’d like to know your side of the story before I hear his.’

  ‘He doesn’t know.’

  ‘Know what?’ No answer. I tried again. ‘Was it something someone said? Or something they did?’

  No answer.

  ‘Why doesn’t your dad know about it?’

  ‘He wasn’t there.’

  ‘He’d gone out?’

  ‘No, I mean he wasn’t there.’ She looked up. ‘He was away.’

  ‘But you were there to see him.’

  She shrugged. ‘It was business, he said. Important.’

  ‘When was he away?’

  She thought about it. ‘He left on Friday morning. He came back on Saturday evening.’

  I made a note. ‘Do you know where he was?’

  ‘No. He didn’t say.’

  ‘OK. You know, I understand that you don’t want to talk about what happened in your dad’s house, but it was something that really upset you, enough that you didn’t want to stay there even after your father came back, and that makes me think it’s something the police should know about.’

  Her eyes went wide. ‘No, no. It was … family stuff.’

  ‘An argument?’

  Her eyes slid away from my face. ‘Yeah. I said some things I shouldn’t have. I got in trouble with my stepmother. I don’t think she likes m
e very much.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. I might have tried to convince her she was wrong but I knew there were a lot of wicked stepmothers out there. I’d reserve judgement on the second Mrs Emery until I met her. ‘Was there anything else you wanted to tell me? Has anything else occurred to you that you think I should know?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Do you have any message for your father? Anything you’d like me to pass on to him?’

  ‘No.’

  Time to see if I could get a reaction. ‘If he asks about you coming to live with him for a while—’

  ‘He won’t. I’ve told him. I’m not going. I’m never going.’ She was shivering.

  ‘Have you spoken to your father?’

  ‘No. I’ve sent him a text.’ She looked up at me. ‘Can you tell him I really mean it? Tell him to stop calling me and sending me messages too. I don’t want to talk to him and I don’t want to see him. Tell him that. Tell him.’

  I didn’t see Bethany straight away when I came out of the bedroom. She was sitting on the stairs, a few steps down, crouching like a cat. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hi,’ I said, surprised.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘It’s about Chloe.’ Bethany glowered at me. ‘You need to leave her alone.’

  ‘I can’t, I’m afraid. It’s a murder investigation. I don’t get to leave people alone.’

  Pure shock on her face. I’d thought it was common knowledge that we were treating the case as murder but it shouldn’t have surprised me that the Norrises had kept the girls away from the news. If Bethany had no phone she almost certainly didn’t have internet access either.

  ‘Murder. So you think—’

  ‘We don’t know anything for sure yet. Don’t say anything to Chloe about it.’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘No, Bethany, please.’

  ‘I’m not going to lie to her for you.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to lie, I’m simply asking you not to use the word I used.’

  Her expression was venomous. ‘You people always underestimate her. When are you going to tell her if I don’t?’

  ‘When I know for sure what happened.’ I sat down on the top step. ‘Look, if it’s a murder investigation it gets all the resources the police can throw at it. You know the forensic team have been working here since Sunday. You’ve seen the uniformed officers in the area, and the detectives. If it wasn’t a murder investigation we’d find it very hard to commit so many people to finding out what happened. We’re going to work as hard as we can to find out what happened in Chloe’s house and why. And it helps us to assume the worst but that doesn’t mean Chloe has to think that way.’

  ‘I still think you should tell her.’ That small stubborn face; I remembered her winding her father up about Chloe’s cat. A born troublemaker.

  Or someone who still believed in right and wrong. I faintly recalled what that was like.

  ‘I will tell her when it’s the right time. This isn’t the right time.’ I waited for a second. ‘Bethany, do you know what happened at Chloe’s dad’s house? Do you know why she came back early?’

  ‘No idea,’ she said instantly.

  ‘I think you have a very good idea.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I think Chloe’s told you exactly why she couldn’t stay there.’

  ‘You can’t make me talk to you.’ She stood up. ‘This isn’t even a proper interview. And I don’t have to tell you anything.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ I was determined not to show frustration with her, or disappointment, mainly because I knew she was looking for a reaction. ‘Thanks for your time, Bethany.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Unless you have anything else to say.’

  She shook her head and went past me again, heading for the bedroom where I’d left Chloe.

  ‘Bethany?’ She looked back at me. ‘Not a word, remember?’

  The door slammed behind her.

  Making an exit, teenager style.

  10

  Derwent slept all the way to Oxfordshire, snoring uninhibitedly in the back seat. I didn’t really mind, not that he’d asked me. It gave me some time to think about Chloe, and her absolute reluctance to say what had driven her away from her father’s home. It had to be something that she was ashamed of. Something she wanted to keep secret. The question was whether it was something she had done or something someone had done to her.

  Emery lived outside Lewknor, a small village between High Wycombe and Oxford, slap bang in the middle of an area of outstanding natural beauty. The traffic was light and we made good time, sliding down from the high ground of the Chilterns to the rolling green countryside that was still unspoilt, still postcard-perfect. When the satnav told me we were a couple of hundred metres away from the house I found a place to stop. It was a narrow road where the houses were a long way away from each other and surrounded by high walls or tall hedges. This was private, moneyed territory, the sort of place where you could convince yourself nothing bad ever happened.

  ‘Hey. Wake up.’ I reached back and shook Derwent’s knee until he came back to himself, his eyes screwed up against the light. ‘We’re here.’

  ‘Shit.’ He winced. ‘My mouth tastes like something died in it.’

  I threw a packet of chewing gum at him and he caught it in his left hand even though I could have sworn he wasn’t looking. There was nothing wrong with his reflexes, anyway.

  ‘Have we got any water?’ He leaned forward so his forehead pressed against the headrest.

  ‘We don’t. I do.’

  ‘Please, Kerrigan.’

  ‘I love it when you beg.’ I handed him the bottle though, watching as he emptied it in one long series of gulps.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said, surprised that he’d bothered to say it. That was how low the bar was set: simple courtesy could shock me.

  ‘What a shit day.’

  ‘We’ve had worse,’ I said, truthfully.

  He grunted. ‘Burt wants to get rid of me.’

  ‘That’s not news. She’s never liked you.’ Justifiably. Derwent wasn’t in the business of making anyone’s life easier. Una was inclined to take it personally.

  ‘Yeah. But I’m actually thinking about it.’

  ‘What?’ I twisted around in my seat so I could see him properly. ‘Not really.’

  ‘I don’t think I can be bothered any more.’

  ‘Look, I know Burt is annoying, but the boss will be back soon—’

  ‘It’s not about that.’ Derwent sighed. ‘This wouldn’t be any easier if Godley was in charge.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He looked away from me, staring out of the window as if he was going to have to sit an exam on the view.

  It was a lie, I thought. He did know. He just didn’t want to talk to me about it. And why should he? He frequently threw himself into my private life with all the delicacy of a Labrador bounding into a stagnant pond, but it wasn’t something I encouraged.

  Even so, I couldn’t ignore it.

  ‘If you ever want to talk about it—’

  He shook his head, popping some gum into his mouth. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Is it Melissa?’

  His eyelids flickered. Gotcha. ‘She doesn’t like the job.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The hours. The stress. The fact that I don’t talk to her about what we do. She says I shut her out.’ He glanced across at me. ‘She’s right. It’s deliberate.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. There are things civilians don’t want to know, even if they think they do,’ I said. ‘You’re protecting her.’

  ‘I’m protecting myself. I don’t want her to know about the things I think about.’ He slid down so his knees were jammed against the passenger seat, as if he needed the pain to counterbalance the ache inside him. I’d been there. I knew the signs. ‘You see enough of the way
s people hurt each other and you start to believe that’s all there is.’

  ‘You wanted to be with Melissa because she was the light in the darkness,’ I reminded him. ‘That’s what you said to me before you got together.’

  ‘It’s making it worse.’ He said it without looking at me. ‘I can’t stop thinking about something bad happening to her or Thomas, or both of them, and how I couldn’t live with it.’

  ‘That’s what happens when you love someone. That’s the price you pay.’

  ‘I’ll lose her because of it.’

  ‘Not if you explain—’

  ‘I’ve tried.’ His voice was harsh. ‘I can’t tell her the truth. I don’t want to make her as scared as I am.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Every night, I get Thomas’s clothes ready for the next day. I put out his uniform if he’s going to school. I put out his little jeans and a top if it’s the weekend. Socks. Pants. Every stitch he’s going to be wearing. Melissa thinks it’s sweet.’ He swallowed. ‘It’s because I need to know what he’s wearing in case he goes missing, or in case someone kills him. Every night I think about what it would be like for him to be gone. Preparing for the worst. And Melissa stands there smiling at me, thinking I’m playing Daddy.’ He took out his phone and flicked to the photos, skimming through them. ‘She thinks it’s so sweet the way I take pictures of him. She doesn’t know I’m getting a record of his face. Left profile, right profile, full face. Updated every couple of months, so if he disappears, there’s a recent set of pictures they can use.’ Thomas’s face flashed by on the screen, turned to the camera and away, smiling and serious, muddy and clean. ‘Who thinks like that? Who looks at a beautiful kid like Thomas and imagines him dead?’

  ‘I would probably do the same,’ I said. ‘It’s natural. We’ve done those investigations. It’s only that you’ve never had anyone to care about before.’

  ‘I would die for them.’ He slid his phone back into his pocket. ‘But I can’t say that to Melissa.’

  ‘You have to be honest with her or it’s not going to work out.’

  He shook his head slowly. ‘I can’t do it. She says I put up a wall between her and my job, and she’s right. But that wall is there to protect her, not keep her out.’

  ‘Have you said that to her?’