Two Lovers, Six Deaths

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  He held it out to her. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  ‘Yeah. You too. Been on the river?’

  ‘Of course. All seasons, all weathers.’

  The bottle arrived with tiny bowls of nuts and pretzels, and they clinked glasses.

  ‘Slaínte,’ Nora said, taking a large mouthful and closing her eyes. ‘It’s been a shit day. This is bliss.’

  They shared an Irish heritage. Nora was from Dublin and Swift’s mother came from Connemara. She had seemed familiar to him from their first meeting, with her strong face and quick wit. They sat in a companionable silence for a few minutes, and then Nora unshelled some pistachio nuts and held them out in her palm.

  ‘I heard that you’re going to be a daddy. Is that right?’

  ‘Who told you that?’ He ate a couple of nuts. Their saltiness went well with the wine.

  ‘Mark Gill. I met him at a conference.’

  Mark was an old friend of Swift’s who had worked with him in the Met. ‘Well, he’s right. I’m expecting a girl in June.’

  ‘And the mammy is the woman you were once engaged to, right?’

  ‘Ruth, yes. It’s complicated.’

  ‘Everything’s bloody complicated. I heard a bit about what happened to you. Is it true that that poor Polish woman you were seeing was murdered just as your cousin got married?’

  ‘Yes. Her name was Kris. She failed to turn up to the wedding. I went to her flat and found her. She had been strangled . . . I, I miss her.’

  ‘And now, let’s see. Yer man who Ruth is married to was behind the murder?’

  ‘How do you know all this? From Mark?’

  ‘Mainly. But I know Alexa Markham, too. She was on Kris’s murder investigation, right? She has just been promoted. Good woman, that one.’

  ‘Right. Well, that about sums it up. You seem to know all about me.’

  ‘I’m a good detective, I do my homework,’ she said softly. ‘Well, Ty, you’ve been through the mill and no mistake. Where’s Ruth now?’

  ‘Back with her husband in Brighton. The baby’s fine, that’s the main thing.’

  ‘We have to find ways to comfort ourselves, don’t we? Find little positives amongst life’s debris.’ She poured them both another glass and popped a handful of peppery pretzels in her mouth, dusting her hands off.

  ‘And how do you find your comfort, Nora? Not just from a bottle and nibbles?’

  ‘Oh, you know, at the gym, reading sad books, chocolate, of course and sitting on buses. All sources of consolation.’

  ‘Buses?’

  ‘Mm. I just get on any bus and see where it goes. It’s very relaxing, I can recommend it. I have seen all kinds of fascinating sights from the top deck. I got a 36 from Park Lane last Sunday. Double decker therapy, I call it.’ She hitched another chair up and put her feet on it. She had a knack of making herself at home.

  ‘You said you were dumped. What happened, was it that blond guy I saw you in here with?’

  ‘Yep, Alistair. It was all going so well. Then he told me he had been offered a job in New York and he had accepted it. He didn’t think a long distance relationship would work etc. etc. I think he liked me but not my career. So, there we are. He’s in the Big Apple now and I still get to take the 36 bus to New Cross.’

  ‘His loss, Nora. Cheers to you and hope he gets whatever he deserves.’

  She nodded. ‘As my grandmother would have said, “May he find the bees but miss the honey.” She had a good store of curses, one for every occasion. Are you hungry? I’m starved and they do good fish and chips.’

  They ordered food and another bottle of wine. Her grandmother’s curse reminded him of the well at Body Balm and he told her about it and his reason for going there as they ate and drank. He had not drunk so much since Kris died and he was enjoying it and Nora’s company too much to slow down.

  ‘I recall that Merrell case,’ Nora said, her voice heavy with the wine. ‘That’s a meaty one to get your teeth into. Any suspects so far, apart from Merrell himself?’

  ‘I’m wondering about his son who is twitchy and might have taken against his glamorous stepmother. Merrell and Lisa, the stabbed woman, were both in financial trouble and I think Merrell had discovered something about being adopted but I don’t know what yet. Lisa might have been having an affair. She’d had an abortion. Then there is a JoJo Hayworth, Lisa’s husband, who seems to have been money grabbing and troublesome. I’m working on it. It feels as if I’m trying to grasp running water at times.’

  ‘It might be the unlikely and unusual, just for once: perhaps a random stranger stabbed her, someone who wandered in during the party.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I have the feeling this is close to home but in a number of ways. This is multi-layered.’

  They talked on until late. The fish and chips were terrific, hot and crispy, accompanied by pungent garlic mayonnaise.

  ‘Why does food taste better when you’re drunk?’ Nora asked.

  ‘Maybe because judgement is blunted. But this is great, drunk or not.’

  Three bottles of wine down, Nora yawned and smiled blearily at him, pushing her hair out of her eyes. His head was singing and she was out of focus.

  ‘You were going to ask me out last time we were in here, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. Then Alistair arrived.’

  ‘And the time we went rowing, that was a kind of date but then someone phoned you. Was that Ruth?’

  ‘Yes. She’d just had a miscarriage.’

  ‘And now I’m footloose again but you’ve got Kris on your mind and an immin . . . imminent birth and a sort of long distance ménage à trois, so I guess you’re preoccupied.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Am I slurring as much as you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They laughed and he took her hand. ‘We keep mis . . . mistiming.’

  ‘Yeah. Oh God, I’m pissed as a newt. Better get a taxi.’

  She told him he had been a tonic and kissed him on the lips, a warm, soft, winy kiss as she climbed into her cab. He hailed one shortly after and slumped back into the seat. Outside his house, the driver had to shake him from a deep slumber.

  ‘This isn’t air b an’ b on wheels, mate. Wakey-wakey!

  He woke at four a.m. with a raging thirst. He couldn’t remember getting into bed but he could recall Nora’s warm lips on his.

  * * *

  Swift arrived in Canterbury in Cedric’s car, a burnt orange Mini Cooper convertible. Cedric drove it so rarely that it still smelled of new leather. The day was mild, with storm clouds overhead and a warm, squally wind. Mrs Hayworth lived in a shabby street of terraced houses with narrow pavements and dustbins standing by each front door. It lacked trees, greenery or any other redeeming feature. What must stylish Lisa have made of this? The house was rendered and painted white, with a front door of chalky blue. There was a low brick wall fronting it. At least a dozen ceramic butterflies of different sizes were attached to the house front, a blaze of yellows, pinks and blues, some with spots like polka dots. It was a striking sight and certainly threw the neighbours into drab relief. Swift rang the bell. He was looking forward to meeting the owner.

  She was heavily made up, with thinning, purplish hair coiled in a French pleat, a white and orange floral print cardigan, faded blue jeans with cloth roses sewn on and white plimsolls. She told him to call her Cora, addressed him as my love and led him through a butterfly-themed hallway into a back room that had been knocked through into the kitchen. There was a smell of bacon mixed with air freshener. There were more butterflies on the walls and covering most of the surfaces. They were made of ceramic, glass, pottery, fabric and paper.

  ‘I adore my butterflies,’ she said unnecessarily.

  ‘They’re certainly striking.’

  ‘You sit down, my love. Come from London, have you? Want a cuppa?’

  ‘I’m okay for now, thanks. Is your son here?’

  ‘He’ll be back soon. He took Tammy to the play park. I�
��m surprised she remembered who he is.’

  This was said with a certain satisfaction. She had a hard face, although she did not seem unkind and he suspected she had been worn down by life. Her skin was deeply lined beneath the tan make-up and it had settled into the furrows on her forehead. Her mouth was a thin line. She looked like a woman who had given up hoping for much.

  ‘Your son doesn’t see much of Tamsin, then?’

  ‘No, nowadays he’s hardly ever here. Always off to different places with his work, he says. Poor little mite Tammy is. Never saw much of her mother either. At least it means she doesn’t miss her now she’s gone. I suppose it’s just as well she’s got me, my love.’

  ‘It can’t be easy for you, looking after a little one. You’re on your own?’

  ‘Oh yes, my hubby died ages ago. Too right, it isn’t easy. I thought I’d done my child rearing, had a bit of time to myself at last. Then Tammy came along and I was lumbered.’ She glanced around, as if someone might be listening. ‘Lisa didn’t want her, you know. She was all for an abortion.’

  ‘That must have been difficult.’

  ‘Hmm. JoJo persuaded her not to, said he’d like a kid. I reckon he thought it would settle her down, make her into the wife he wanted. I could have told him he had that wrong. But he doesn’t listen to me, thinks I’m old and daft. Maybe I am daft but I know a thing or two, and Lisa was a good-time girl. Nappies and night feeds cramped her style. I mean to say, a baby changes your life, doesn’t it? Then as soon as Tammy was a couple of months old, Lisa wanted to go back to work and got herself a job without telling JoJo. He came here and persuaded me to look after Tammy. Said they would make sure I was okay for money, although sometimes I’ve had to remind him. She’s a nice kid but it’s tiring at my age. I’m sixty-eight, you know. Then of course they split up and her mother only came here every couple of months. She didn’t like me calling the kid Tammy, said she would rather I didn’t shorten her name. Cheek of her! But that was Lisa all over. I thought, you want her called Tamsin, you take her home and look after her yourself. I kept my mouth shut for JoJo’s sake. That Mr Eastwood is ever so nice. He sends me money regular. He’s a gentleman. Means I can get a babysitter and go to my club or to bowls. I love my bowls.’

  He could understand that she would feel imposed on, having to employ a babysitter in her late sixties. He wondered what kind of life the child had, on her own with this reluctant grandmother. There were no toys lying around. The place was a curious mixture of traditional dark pine cupboards and shelving and worn woodchip wallpaper with a large wall-mounted plasma TV, new-looking armchairs and bright kitchen gadgets. He guessed that she used her unexpected income to indulge herself, and that Tamsin was a mixed blessing.

  ‘Did you get on with your daughter-in-law?’

  She laughed. It was a rough sound, snappy. ‘I never saw that much of her, my love. She was a flighty piece, I know that. She was all charm when she wanted something. I reckon she knew I had the measure of her so she gave me a wide berth. She never stayed more than an hour when she came to see Tammy, brought her presents, sat her on her lap for a bit, then took off again. She did the dirty on JoJo. I reckon he was better off without her although he was ever so upset when he found out. He stuck by her, even when she wanted to get rid of the baby. He’s romantic. Men are, usually. They’re more romantic than women.’

  He smiled at her. From what he had been told, both mother and son considered money pretty romantic. ‘Did you know Dominic Merrell?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really. I only met him once. He came here with Lisa. He fixed my tap for me. Nice bloke but not half as handsome as my JoJo. You could see she had him under her thumb. Tell you what, Mr Eastwood left me a few of Lisa’s things for Tammy. I had a look through the box and there was something of Dominic’s in there, from a newspaper. Well, it has his name on the top so it must have been his. It’s about some old murder so I don’t have any use for it. Do you want it?’

  A tingle of anticipation. ‘I’d like to take a look.’

  She went to a cardboard box in the kitchen and produced a photocopy of a newspaper front page. It was a tabloid paper called The Lincoln Leader, dated 14 May, 1979. The headline read Tragedy of Vietnam Vet and Lincoln Woman. Swift was about to read on when the front door opened and a child ran down the hallway, holding a carrier bag. He folded the page and put it in his pocket.

  ‘I’ve got a princess costume, Cora! Look!’

  She was tall for her age and had her mother’s curls and smile. She was dressed in a gauzy pink smock with gold and pink frills and bows and black patent boots. A plastic silver and pink tiara was in her hair and she was wearing pink nail varnish and sparkling stars on her eyelids. Swift thought she already looked like a mini, low budget princess. She saw him and turned to her father, who was following her in.

  ‘There’s a man here,’ she said, pointing.

  Swift stood. ‘Hallo, Tamsin. I came to talk to your grandmother and your dad.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ she said, sitting on the floor and opening her bag.

  JoJo Hayworth nodded from the doorway. ‘Let’s go in the other room.’

  ‘Do you want coffee, my love?’ his mother asked.

  ‘No, we’re fine. I’ve got to go soon.’

  He was almost as tall as Swift with thick, tousled platinum blond hair. He was as beautiful as his dead wife. He wore black jeans with a white vest under a grey herringbone jacket and navy leather brogues. A trim beard outlined his chin. He looked like the kind of man who stares insolently from the pages of colour supplements. He gazed confidently at Swift as they sat in the tiny front room, which was decorated with many more butterflies, a cuckoo clock and a boldly patterned red carpet. They each sat on a chintz-covered sofa. It was a small space and two tall men made it feel claustrophobic. Their knees almost touched and Swift angled his body to create more room. The heavy curtains blocked the light and you could hear the conversation of passers-by, the calls of children and an idling car engine. Hayworth looked incongruous in the setting, as if he might be taking part in a fashion shoot using a back-street terraced home as an ironic statement.

  ‘I’m sorry about your wife,’ Swift said. ‘As I explained in my messages, I’m looking into whether or not Dominic Merrell did kill her. Have you any views on that?’

  ‘Why should I? He said he did it. It would seem odd to hang yourself over a crime you didn’t commit.’ His voice was low, his tone genial and firm. He sat assertively with his arms stretched out along the back of the sofa, legs crossed.

  ‘Most people I’ve spoken to have said they can’t believe it of him.’

  He waved a hand. ‘I didn’t know him. I met him twice at most, briefly.’

  ‘Were you at the party Lisa held the night she died?’

  ‘I didn’t attend my wife’s parties after we separated.’

  ‘Were you in London?’

  ‘If you’re trying to check if I might have popped in on the off-chance and knifed Lisa, the answer is no. I was in Ibiza, being photographed in beach wear.’

  ‘I believe she cheated on you with someone called Richard or Ricardo.’

  His arms stiffened slightly. ‘You believe correctly. It was the reason why we split up.’

  ‘How did you feel about that?’

  ‘Angry, sad, disappointed. The usual feelings. Time passed, I got over them. What has this got to do with my wife’s death?’ His manner remained cordial but it was hard to tell if he was sincere.

  ‘It’s just part of getting a picture of her.’

  Hayworth uncrossed his legs and re-crossed them, glancing at his watch. ‘I’ve only another ten minutes max.’

  ‘I understand you used to like gambling and Lisa funded you.’

  ‘I’ve gambled some in my time.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘Casinos.’

  ‘Enough to argue over it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Someone told me that you visited Lisa j
ust after New Year and you had an argument. She was very upset.’

  ‘Did they? Well, people gossip.’

  ‘She was in trouble financially. Her business was having problems. She wanted money from you, payback for what she’d handed over when you were together.’

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me to hear that Lisa had money troubles. She liked to spend. She was always maxed out on her credit cards. It was a bone of contention between us when we were together.’

  ‘Did Lisa give you money when you parted company?’

  ‘I suppose someone has told you that too.’

  He smiled. He was pleased with himself. His arrogance was like a third person in the room. The marriage with Lisa must have been lively, two people who liked to get their own way. Hayworth displayed an inflexibility that suggested he could have withstood his wife’s appeals.

  Swift left a silence, long enough to make Hayworth blink a few times. ‘You haven’t answered me about the row or the money.’

  ‘Were they questions? We might have had a few words, probably about Tamsin. Yes, that was it. I thought Lisa should see her more often and she didn’t like that. My finances are my business.’ The geniality had faded, replaced by curtness.

  ‘And your finances stand to increase with your wife’s death.’

  ‘Her father told me she hadn’t made a will. Typical Lisa, always mañana. Worked in my favour, ultimately. I’m not sure she’d be happy to think I’m getting a chunk of her property, but there we go.’ He picked at a manicured fingernail.

  ‘I wouldn’t count your chickens about that if I were you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Her business, Body Balm, was in financial trouble and now it’s being sued by a customer who was injured. I think Lisa might have mentioned that to you when you had the row. If damages are awarded, a court might look at the property. I don’t know but I imagine it’s a possibility.’

  Hayworth pursed his lips. He looked displeased. ‘I’ll ask my lawyer about that.’

  ‘Is your career still in modelling? I haven’t heard of you.’