Two Lovers, Six Deaths

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  Swift felt fatigued by these misunderstandings and fractured lives.

  ‘So, coming back to Dominic, you don’t know of any dispute between him and Lisa, any reason why he might have been depressed?’

  ‘No, don’t think so. She said once that he had found something out or he had been told something that worried him.’ She had reached for a bottle and cotton wool and started removing the nail varnish on the offending toe. A strong smell like paint stripper competed with the lavender.

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Ahm, around last November I think.’

  ‘Any idea what it was about?’

  She leaped up, made a selection from the cosmetics on the shelf and deftly reapplied a coat of varnish. The abandoned cotton wool looked as if it had been used to staunch blood.

  ‘Lisa didn’t say. She said it was personal, like Dom was on a journey. He had found out this thing and he didn’t want her to tell anyone. She did seem a bit excited about it. There, that will do. Don’t want the customers thinking standards aren’t high!’

  Trying to keep this woman focused on a conversation was like herding cats. ‘Do you think Dominic ever regretted getting together with Lisa and leaving his family? To be honest, they don’t seem to have had much in common.’

  ‘Not that I know of. I mean, he was all over Lisa, he really was. He bought her lovely stuff, took her on holiday. She showed me fantastic jewellery and clothes he’d got her. He was in deep, was Dom. Wish I could find a man to dote on me like that!’

  More like out of his depth, buying things he couldn’t afford. ‘Okay, thanks. I’ll leave you my card and if you think of anything else, do contact me.’

  She rose quickly and quietly and moved behind him, rubbing her hands over his shoulders and the nape of his neck. Her fingers felt sure and strong. The sensation was not unpleasant.

  ‘You should have a massage. You’re very tense across here. I could sense tension in you the moment I saw you. Your energies are trapped. We have a slot right now.’

  I’m probably tense because I can’t breathe properly, he thought. ‘Thanks, maybe some other time.’

  ‘Do you want to offload any of your cares or worries or make a wish for the future?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  She stepped to the water feature. ‘This is our well of wishes and worries.’ She pointed to a slot in the lower container. ‘You can write down your troubles or your hopes and put them in here. It’s based on very old wisdom, you know. It’s a form of healing.’

  He recalled being taken to a holy well near his grandmother’s house in Connemara when he was a child. He had closed his eyes and wished for a mountain bike while his mother murmured a prayer for his dying grandfather. Isabella was holding out a notepad. It was hokum, but then that played its part in life too. Why not, he thought. She went to the shelves and moved bottles around while he wrote, health and happiness to Branna, folded the paper and put it through the slot.

  A man wearing jeans and a white T-shirt was on the deck, taking a phone call. He seemed agitated and he beckoned to Isabella, pointing a thumb down. A curvaceous girl with long legs and hair dyed a startling cherry red sat in one of the chairs, reading a magazine. She glanced up at Swift appraisingly, unwrapped a stick of chewing gum and put it in her mouth. Isabella offered him a couple of brochures as he left, saying he should give them to his friends.

  Swift walked back towards King’s Cross, breathing deeply, glad of the fresh air. He stopped to buy a coffee and sat on the grassy steps nearby, wondering what Merrell had discovered that was worrying him. Several people had now confirmed that something had been troubling the man, affecting his mood, and it seemed to be more than debt. The information could be significant but it was as insubstantial and hard to grasp as dust motes. His thoughts turned to Lisa and Isabella, two airheads running a business. He wondered how successful it was. There had been no customers during the time he was there and Isabella had seemed to lack the focus to run such an enterprise. He thought of Kris, a stab of pain engulfing him. She had set up her own business, making and selling beautiful fifties style clothes and other artefacts from the decade. She had been a pragmatic and imaginative self-starter, working as a waitress to fund her enterprise: no money from a rich father. If he had not met her, she would still be alive, sitting in her little top floor flat surrounded by rolls of material, poised over her sewing machine, listening to Polish radio. Sadness flooded him. He closed his eyes, regaining his composure.

  He checked his email on his phone. He had received one from Nora Morrow: Hi Ty, how you doing? Fancy a drink some time? I’ve been dumped, other than that, fine.

  Nora was a DI in the Met. He had met her while working on a previous case and had enjoyed her company. They’d had one date but things had not worked out because at the time he was helping Ruth through a miscarriage. Then Nora had got together with someone and the door had closed. It was months since Swift had seen her. Since Kris died, he had been staying in at night, listening to music, avoiding company. He had spent most of his time in Lyon on his own. Memories of her ambushed him; her nimble fingers, her laugh, the way she tapped the side of her nose when she was deep in thought. He knew Nora’s understated style and thought she must be feeling raw and in need of a friendly ear. They could share a bottle of wine and sympathy. He replied: Lovely to hear from you. Sorry about the dumping. I have those same scars. Let me know when you can meet.

  He finished his coffee and gave the Body Balm brochures to a couple of young men sitting nearby, telling them it was the place to go if their energies were trapped.

  CHAPTER 6

  It was hard to gauge how old Malory Meredith was. Early seventies, probably. She was slightly built, with shoulder-length hair the colour of parchment and wearing a woollen sheath dress of a multi-hued patchwork design with a roll-top neck. Her purple leather ankle boots had six-inch heels. Her eyes were a piercing blue, ringed with blue eye shadow and her lips shone with a shimmering pink gloss. Her hands trembled around her coffee, little involuntary spasms causing tiny spillages on the saucer. Her wrists and fingers were skin and bone. Swift found her remarkably beautiful in a frayed way.

  Her flat was laid out in the same way as Lisa’s, but filled with far too much furniture. Trinkets, vases and porcelain covered the shelves. Chairs and nests of tables were scattered about, many with piles of clothing, books or pictures perched on them. There were cabinets stuffed with china and jewellery. Badly hung, misaligned paintings covered the walls. Heavy brocade curtains made the living room resemble a dim cave where burglars had stashed their pickings, to be sorted out later.

  Swift couldn’t see anywhere to sit at first so stood by a tallboy heavy with dangerously stacked china, while Ms Meredith made coffee. It took her ages and when she reappeared, teetering on her heels, he took the dangerously rattling tray from her unsteady hands. She cleared magazines from an elegant walnut armchair for him and removed a couple of books from an intricately carved gold and black chair. It had a long back, a tapestry cushion embroidered with fleur de lis and what looked like a coat of arms on the top. She sat in it opposite him, as if enthroned.

  ‘You’ve come about darling Lisa,’ she said. Her voice was light and soft.

  ‘Yes. Thank you for contacting me. Your neighbour upstairs said you knew Lisa well.’

  Ms Meredith slowly picked her cup up, thought better of it and replaced it. ‘She came and introduced herself to me the day she moved in, years ago. Brought me a bottle of very fine Sancerre, too. She was like a breath of fresh air. I knew at once that we would be good friends. I miss her terribly. She called in every day and we would chat. We had lunch every Wednesday. Just crackers and cheese on trays with a bottle of wine. We had so much in common, you see.’

  There was a tiny crack in the bottom of Swift’s cup. Coffee puddled into his saucer and he gave up trying to drink it.

  ‘What kinds of things did you share?’

  ‘Oh, so much really. For a start, we were both only
children and daughters of doting fathers. We had both been models. She reminded me of my youth. She was vivacious and full of sparkle. There was never a dull moment when she was around.’

  Swift suspected that Ms Meredith had quite a few dull moments nowadays. She had an air of solitude. She reached for a square yellow box with the logo Striped Tiger and selected a cheroot, which she proceeded to light. The scented smoke it produced explained the trace of aniseed in the room.

  ‘Lisa used to buy me these online,’ she told him. ‘I don’t have a computer. I don’t know what I’ll do when I run out.’ She looked at him as if she expected him to offer to procure them. When he didn’t respond, she continued. ‘We’d both had man trouble and of course she had a lovely singing voice, similar to mine.’

  ‘You’re a singer?’

  She smiled a sad smile. ‘Well, I used to be, until I had throat cancer and the pipes failed. I did a few musicals and backing work, some studio stuff too. I sang with Dusty Springfield once.’ She hummed hoarsely, placing fingertips against her neck and he recognised Son of a Preacher Man.

  ‘Great singer — Dusty. Did you ever hear Lisa sing with the band she worked with?’

  ‘Not my kind of music but she threw herself into it. I used to listen to her practise scales. She had a pretty voice, soprano. She was self-taught but so enthusiastic. Always full of ideas, liked to try out new things. Oh, we would have a glass of wine and talk for hours! Time used to fly. She would suddenly say, “Now Malory, you’re a terrible influence on me, I could stay here all day.” Then she’d give me a kiss and speed away.’

  She had sat back and was rubbing at the face of her jewel-encrusted watch, which looked expensive. Her eyes were quite rigid, he noticed. She rarely blinked.

  ‘Tell me about the kind of man trouble Lisa had.’

  She took a sip of coffee, manoeuvring the cup carefully to her lips. He held his breath. She placed it back down. Her left hand shook more than her right and she held it on her lap.

  ‘You know, very beautiful men and women have a certain natural arrogance. I had it myself when I was young. I don’t mean that they are necessarily disagreeable or narcissistic. It is just that because they are so attractive they are used to people admiring them. They know people are looking and they are accustomed to getting what they want. Lisa was like that. She knew the world would fall easily at her feet but she was disappointed when it refused to stay there. I know many people will speak ill of her to you, that she was a marriage breaker, a loose cannon, she caused unhappiness. And yes, she was and she did, but she was also susceptible emotionally. She had a hollowness inside that made her seek love and approval. She craved affection and that is a handicap in life. She wasn’t just a predator, whatever people say. She was vulnerable too. Her beauty caused chaos. Yes, that would be true to say. Just as mine did in my time. Someone once said, “Beauty and folly are old companions.” I agree.’

  He waited to see if she was going to offer more information but she was focusing on her watch again, rubbing the glass face with her fingertip. Her cheroot lay burning in an ashtray in front of her so that he was seeing her through a bluish haze.

  ‘You’re a very attractive man,’ she said then, gazing at him with those bright eyes. ‘You have a certain enigmatic quality, a stillness. I’m sure you’ll have been involved in some chaos.’

  He appreciated her directness. ‘I have. Maybe love always engenders chaos. But there’s good, creative chaos and bad chaos.’

  ‘And you don’t always know which way the cards will fall. I like you, yes, I do. It is an instinctive thing, isn’t it? You don’t meet many people in life who you genuinely like. That’s what I’ve found.’ She relit her cheroot and sat back.

  ‘Thank you. I understand that Lisa had quite a few men falling at her feet, including Dominic Merrell.’

  ‘Oh, dear Dominic. Such a pleasant man but such a mistake.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘As soon as I met him I knew it wouldn’t go well. He was easily led and she was so forceful. You could see that he was mesmerised by her. Also, he was really too conventional for Lisa. I didn’t think he would hold her attention for long but she convinced herself that she needed someone like him, someone reliable and trustworthy. A number of men had let her down and JoJo, her husband, liked gambling. He would gamble on anything that moved and he persuaded her to part with huge amounts of money to fund his hobby. He was a man with trouble written all over him, but of course that is probably what attracted her. JoJo was a strong personality, more forceful than Lisa in some ways, pretty overbearing sometimes. I think that after him, Dominic’s gentleness and malleability appealed. She was having some sort of problems with JoJo not long ago. She said he was doing her head in. He was here one day when Dominic was at work and she came down afterwards, very upset, saying they’d had a huge row.’

  ‘They hadn’t been together for a while though. Did she indicate what the row was about?’

  ‘No, but she was agitated.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Just after New Year, I think, sometime around then anyway.’

  ‘How did other men let her down?’

  ‘Well, Richard and Perry both said they would leave their wives, but they got cold feet. Perry moved in for a couple of weeks but then went back home.’

  ‘But Dominic did leave his wife.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose that meant he truly loved Lisa. Or didn’t love his wife enough. Or was an utter fool. Possibly all three.’

  ‘No one I have spoken to thinks that he killed Lisa. What’s your view?’

  ‘I think any of us could kill, given the right circumstances. There have been various experiments suggesting that. But I find it hard to believe of Dominic and I can’t think of any reason why he would do it.’

  ‘He found out she was unfaithful?’

  ‘If she had been, and that was always a possibility with Lisa, I think he was the kind of man to desperately cling on to her rather than do away with her.’ She looked at him. Her unblinking eyes were unnerving. She was a shrewd woman.

  ‘I think I agree with you about that. I have been told that Dominic was depressed at times, and that there was something he had found out. Did Lisa say anything about that?’

  ‘Around Christmas she told me that he had found out a secret to do with his family. I could see that she was bursting to tell me the whole story but she didn’t, which was quite a feat for her. She was not one of nature’s clams. It seemed to be something serious. She was lit up about it and I could see she was struggling to button her lip.’

  ‘Lisa had a daughter, Tamsin.’

  ‘Yes. Not a wanted child, you know, not really. Not a planned pregnancy, and I could see Lisa wasn’t convinced about it. But JoJo was keen and then Lisa took up the idea. But once the baby was born, she quickly got bored with the routines and drudgery. That was Lisa, you see. Enthusiastic one minute, bored the next. She went back to work as soon as she could. She wanted a nanny but they didn’t have enough money. There were big rows about that. Then JoJo came up with the idea of his mother looking after the baby. That child was in Canterbury before you could blink. I’ve never been a mother, but I’m not sure I could have parted with a tiny baby quite so easily.’

  She closed her eyes and Swift drifted into his own thoughts about Ruth and Branna. Then he realised that Ms Meredith was looking at him, an eyebrow raised.

  He sat forwards, focusing. ‘Did you attend any of Lisa’s parties?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t go out, you see. I was mugged some time ago and I haven’t wanted to leave this flat since. I must have been asleep the day you called. I can see that you have noted the tremor in my hands. It started after I was attacked. I prefer being inside now. I regretted not being able to attend Lisa’s funeral. I sat here and raised a glass to her.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. You must miss your friend from upstairs.’

  ‘Yes. Well, there we are. I do miss the sound of her footsteps an
d that energy, that brio she always brought in with her. Would you like to meet Bertram? Lisa loved him. She’d pick him up and pretend to nibble his ear.’

  ‘Bertram?’

  ‘Come, come with me.’ She took his hand in her cool grip and led him to a small room with a window overlooking the back garden. ‘He’s in here because this room is always quiet and shady and he mustn’t have direct sun or heat.’

  A large two-tier hutch was in the room, filled with hay, earthenware bowls and various tubes, pipes and cardboard boxes. A furry beige and cream creature with bright eyes was nibbling a piece of melon.

  ‘Bertram, meet Mr Swift,’ Ms Meredith said.

  ‘Tyrone, please. Is he a guinea pig?’

  ‘Well, then, call me Malory. Yes, that he is. Now we are all on first name terms. Lisa bought me Bertram after I was attacked, and all the equipment too. She had this picture of him done for my birthday. Dominic’s wife was the artist and that is how Lisa met him. So the world turns.’

  Swift looked at the framed picture on the wall. It was well executed, naturalistic. The portrait that shattered a marriage.

  ‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘Lisa was very fond of you.’

  ‘It was mutual. And I am so fond of Bertram, too. He should really have a companion but I couldn’t deal with two animals. The tremor would get in the way too much.’

  She opened the cage and picked him out gently, holding him close to her body with a hand beneath him. He looked around contentedly.

  ‘He comes and sits on my lap in the evenings when I watch a film. He prefers westerns. Would you like to hold him?’

  ‘I’d love to but I can be allergic to animal hair so I’ll pass, if you don’t mind.’

  She rocked Bertram gently. ‘I realise I’m a bit of a cliché — old woman talking to pet.’

  ‘I don’t think you believe that, Malory. I don’t. We all find our consolations as we can. Mine is rowing on the river.’