A tiny vein was twitching in her cheek. She gave another little yawn. ‘You’re quite the philosopher.’
‘Just got some miles on the clock. You know, you remind me of Harry. He is cloaking his confusion in hostility. You’re putting on a cool, sophisticated act. It’s pretty transparent.’
‘If you say so.’ She frowned and looked away, as if she were searching for something.
‘I’ve heard that you gave your father grief about his previous liaison with Lisa. You must have been upset about that, particularly as it split your parents up. Despite your nonchalant manner, I think you wouldn’t have much liked the idea that he was being tangled in her web again. Daughters can be possessive about their fathers, or so I’ve heard.’
‘Have you? Maybe it is true. But don’t believe everything people tell you.’
‘How about Lisa and Harry? Was he involved with her?’
She froze and threw him a look of disgust. ‘No, he wasn’t. Harry’s a decent bloke, he wouldn’t have behaved like that.’
‘I’d agree with you there. But something’s eating him up and I think it’s more than the two deaths.’
She took a breath. ‘I’d love to sit and chew the fat with you about our friendships and our personal affairs but you have to go now, I have an appointment.’ She rose in a fluid movement and walked towards the door. Swift watched her dress sway and slide.
‘When I talked to JoJo he had an appointment to get to and now you’re the same.’
‘I suppose we’re both busy people.’
‘Or evasive. Your dad was very proud of your successful career. What is it you do?’
She pressed her lips together. ‘I’m in sales. Good luck with your enquiry.’
There was defiance in her eyes. She watched him walk to the lift before she closed the door softly. He could smell her heavy, resinous scent on his clothes as he went down the stairs to the foyer. He suspected that Cressida was indeed in sales, of the high class, expensive variety and not the sort her father would approve of. There was a small alcove with a bow window by the entrance on the ground floor. He stepped in there, watching the front of the building and practising deep breaths in and out while he waited. His ribs were a little easier. He followed up with gentle calf stretches and a few neck rolls. After five minutes he saw a chauffeur-driven black Bentley draw up outside. The chauffeur, in grey uniform and peak cap, got out and opened the rear nearside door. A well-padded, middle-aged man in a suit exited, looked at his watch and exchanged a few words with the driver, who nodded and doffed his cap.
Swift waited while the man pressed a buzzer and was admitted. Once he was in the lift, Swift ran upstairs to the top floor, holding his chest. The lift door was opening as he arrived. He watched as the man was welcomed to number 11.
The Bentley was still outside, the chauffeur replacing the cap on a water bottle. Swift wandered round to his door and tapped on the window.
‘Haven’t got a light, have you?’ he asked when it glided down.
‘Sorry, don’t smoke.’ He was in his sixties, fit looking, smart, clipped moustache and quick eyes. Ex forces, Swift reckoned.
‘Oh okay. Lovely car. I used to be a chauffeur, drove a Mercedes. Worked for a Middle Eastern family. Trips to Harrods, mainly.’
The chauffeur smiled. ‘I’m with an agency.’
‘Interesting work, I bet. Something new every day.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I think I’ve seen you here before. I do maintenance.’
‘Maybe. I bring a gent here around this time every week.’
‘Oh. Business meeting of some kind, I suppose.’
The man tapped his nose. Swift leaned closer.
‘That’s what he implies, but I sniff a knocking shop.’
‘Crumbs! In this place?’
‘You’d be surprised. There are quite a few in upmarket addresses like this, dotted all around London. Posh totty for executives and the like — discreet, high class, expensive. If you can afford it . . . out of my budget range plus the wife would kill me. Put it this way, after exactly two hours my gentleman always comes out with a smile on his face and humming a little tune, so I don’t think he’s visiting his granny.’
‘Well, you learn something every day,’ Swift said. ‘Best get on or I’ll get the sack. See you around.’
The chauffeur started the engine and purred away. Swift sat in the car for a while. Cressida was a link of some kind in all of this, but she had to be a suspect too. If she had thought that her father was seriously thinking of returning to Lisa she might have been angry enough to pick up a knife. He had glimpsed a deep unease. Something was eating away at her, despite her admirable, practised control. But there was a steely look about her too that made him think he wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of her.
* * *
There was no reply when Swift rang the Merrell’s doorbell on Friday evening. It was almost dark and there was a light on in the hall. The curtains were pulled across the front window. He tried the brass knocker on the door with no result. He rang Harry’s mobile but it went to answerphone. He looked through the letterbox but there was no sound, no Sid panting or barking. He could smell a faint trace of curry, suggesting that dinner had been eaten. The hallway looked neat with its filled shoe rack, coats on hooks and small wicker table with a bowl for keys.
He walked round to the garage. The door was closed but he tried the handle and it turned. He lifted the door up and was reaching for his pocket torch when someone sprang forward, shoved him forcefully and bolted. He lost his balance and fell against the scooter, banging his right arm and his head. He yelled as his bruised ribs felt the fall. He lay dazed for a few moments, then used the Vespa to right himself and ran out to the street. He didn’t know which way his attacker had turned. He chose the right, towards the main road and ran to the top of the street. No sign of anyone. He leaned against a lamppost for a moment, and then ran back to the garage, torch at the ready.
Harry was sitting slumped across his drum kit, his face resting to one side on the cymbals where he had fallen forward, his mouth open. A double-edged bladed knife with a curved handle was sticking out of his back. Swift felt for a pulse but there was no flicker. His beanie hat wouldn’t keep him snug now but his skin was still warm. His attacker had struck recently and had probably heard footsteps, delaying an escape. Swift looked for the light switch and used a tissue to turn it on. Blood was sprayed brightly across the drums and on the concrete floor in a random pattern. Its familiar coppery taint was in the air. Swift looked at where the knife had penetrated, knowing it must have pierced a lung and possibly his heart. Harry’s hands dangled downwards, with no evidence of defensive wounds. His drumsticks lay on the floor near his feet. It looked as if he would have had no idea that he was in danger. Either he had not heard someone enter the garage behind him or he had known them and had been playing his drums when attacked.
Swift stepped outside and closed the door. He rang emergency services and walked up and down on the pavement, trying Georgie Merrell’s mobile. It was switched off and he couldn’t leave a message. He felt chilled, shocked. Images of Kris lying dead on the floor played through his mind. Another young person dead, another promising future ended with a knife.
Two police cars arrived. A slim Asian man in a well-cut suit and sparkling white shirt beckoned Swift with a finger while issuing instructions to a subordinate. A uniformed officer set about taping off the road on both sides of the house. Porch lights were switched on as neighbours looked out of their front doors.
‘You’re Swift? You rang in?’ the dapper man asked.
He recognised the curt tone. ‘Yes.’
‘DCI Kharal, leading this enquiry.’
‘Yes, we’ve spoken before. I’m a private detective, employed by Mrs Merrell.’
Kharal looked as if he had sucked a lemon. ‘I’m going to look in the garage. Wait here. Where are the family?’
‘I don’t know. They’re out somewh
ere.’
He waited while Kharal and a colleague donned protective clothing and went into the garage. Ten minutes later, a forensics team arrived and set up their equipment. Swift glanced in. With floodlights and masked and gowned figures, it looked like a makeshift laboratory. Kharal was staring at the floor, then the knife. He looked up, saw Swift watching and ordered the door to be closed. Swift walked away and leaned against the Merrells’ gate. He went back over the brief conversation he’d had with Harry on the phone. He had acknowledged being at Lisa’s with his scooter and he thought that his father had seen him. He had gone there because he had to help ‘her.’ Then he had slurred ‘ess.’ Swift repeated the word silently, then felt as if a light had beckoned him. He thought of a silky red dress. Not Lisa — Cressida. If Harry knew that Cressida had killed Lisa and she had found out he was about to talk to Swift . . . had she stabbed both of them? He thought it possible but somehow it didn’t hang together. Why would Harry have stayed quiet for so long?
He needed to go back over the information he had gathered but now a car was coming slowly up the road and parking just beyond the police tape. Georgie, Adam and Sid got out. She looked distracted. A police officer walked towards her. Sid was straining on his leash and Adam looked up at his mother, then at the police officer. Adam picked up the dog and held him tight as his mother fell to her knees on the road, her bag and car keys flying. She began to howl.
Harry’s body was taken away at around eleven p.m. Kharal questioned Swift in Georgie’s living room, while she and Adam were comforted by officers in the kitchen. Kharal twirled a chair around so that its back faced Swift and sat astride it, looking self-conscious. His eyes were bright in his narrow face. His dark hair was slicked back. His tone was aggressive and cocky, his voice strident. Promoted too fast, knows it and is trying to compensate, Swift thought. He explained that Harry had contacted him, saying he needed to talk and had made an appointment.
‘A neighbour of Lisa told me she heard an engine outside in the early hours after the party, around the time Lisa was killed. Harry owns a scooter. He said he was there but he didn’t kill her.’
‘What? Was he sweet on her or something — like father, like son?’
Kharal was excavating his right ear with the tip of his little finger. Swift rarely took an instant dislike to people but he was prepared to make an exception with Kharal.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Any idea what he wanted to tell you?’
‘None.’ He decided not to mention Cressida. Kharal could do his own work.
‘Why didn’t you tell the police about this?’
‘You had your confession. I wasn’t sure it was important.’
Kharal smoothed his tie between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Have your important enquiries given you any idea who wanted to stick a knife in young Merrell’s back?’
‘No.’
‘There’s something pretty weird going on here. Bloody hell, first the father, now the son! Bad luck or something nastier? Has someone got it in for the whole family?’
‘I don’t know. There must be a connection.’
‘Haven’t got very far, have you?’
‘Apparently not.’
Kharal registered the provokingly mild tone and looked surly. ‘And you didn’t see who pushed you?’
‘It was dark and he came at me from the dark.’
‘He?’
‘I think so. Tall, strong, quick on his feet. It could have been a woman but I got the impression it was a man. It was all over in a moment.’
‘So, you think the dad was guilty or innocent?’
‘Probably innocent. But I’m still working on the details.’
‘Who thumped you?’
‘Different case, nothing to do with the Merrells. DI Nora Morrow is aware of it if you need to check.’
‘So many police buddies,’ Kharal snapped.
‘Are you pissed-off because you’re not one of them or do you just wake up grumpy?’
Kharal stood abruptly, instructing him to attend and make a signed statement the following day. They went through to the kitchen where Kharal told Georgie that until he knew the reason for Harry’s death, he was concerned for her and Adam’s safety. He asked if she had somewhere she could stay but she insisted dully that she wanted to remain in her own home. Kharal looked annoyed but backed off from pressurising a grieving woman. He said that he would arrange for twenty-four hour protection, with a police car stationed outside the house. Swift offered to stay with Georgie for a while, if she wanted him to. She agreed, saying she would rather the police left her alone if they had finished.
It was well after midnight by the time the door closed behind them. Georgie’s eyes were dry but pouched and narrowed, as if her face had been squeezed. Adam was in bed but she said she wanted to check on him. Swift put the kettle on while she went slowly upstairs. The kitchen was orderly, with a small homemade breakfast bar and a couple of stools against one wall. He guessed that Merrell had made it. There were mauve pansies in a pot on the window ledge alongside a little group of pebbles, a glass jar of marbles, a phone charger, a china bell, a black-and-white cat made of plasticine and a brass horseshoe. A cookery book was open on the work surface at a recipe for fish pie. There was a white to do board attached to the fridge and beside it a small laminated card:
5 Essential Commands for your Dog
Sit
Come
Down
Stay
Leave it
The calendar on the wall featured Georgie’s animal illustrations. He looked at the awful Friday that had just passed and saw, 7pm, Sid for training at community centre. The dog was not around and Swift guessed that Adam had been allowed to take him to his bedroom. He found a blue-and-white teapot and warmed it with boiling water before putting tea bags in. It was what his father had always done and rituals were a comfort when sorrow came calling. He cupped his hands around the teapot. His chest was throbbing again and he took a couple of painkillers.
Georgie came down and they took their tea into the living room.
‘Adam’s fast asleep. Sid is curled up beside him. Isn’t it strange, how children can be terribly upset but still sleep soundly? I wish we didn’t lose that knack as adults.’ She looked at him, her face raw and naked. ‘My husband, and now my son. What is happening?’
He didn’t want to tell her anything that would give her false hope. She was staring into her tea as if she might find answers in the cup. He recalled a woman at police training college who said she had been taught by her great grandmother to read tea leaves. It was the first time he had heard of the art of tasseography. She had a special white china cup, very deep and she would sit in the refectory, reading the leaves for those wishing to know their futures.
‘I’m so sorry. What has happened here is terrible. I don’t know what the police have told you. Listen to me carefully now. This is hard. Harry asked to meet with me. That is why I came here and found him. He had been near Lisa’s flat with his scooter on the morning she died. All I know is that he was there to help someone but I’m not sure who. He believed that his father saw him as he was coming back from work. I think Dominic thought that Harry had stabbed Lisa and that is why he confessed. He wanted to take the blame away from his son.’
She looked at him, frowning. ‘That man, Kharal, he said something about Harry and his scooter. I didn’t really understand. But Harry . . . Harry didn’t kill Lisa, surely?’
‘No, I don’t believe he did.’ He took one of her hands and held it. It felt chilly and lifeless. ‘Georgie, I still have work to do but I think Harry and Dominic are innocent victims in all this. I don’t know who has done this to Harry or why, but I believe the two murders are linked.’
She shook her head. ‘I hadn’t seen him for days. He came back at lunchtime yesterday. We exchanged just a few words. I asked him how his trip had been and he shrugged, muttered it had been okay but wet. He threw some dirty laundry in the machine, heated soup in th
e microwave and went upstairs. I didn’t speak to him again. When he was little we chatted all the time. He had such a sense of humour. I used to call him my monkey because he would wind his arms around my neck and his legs about my waist and cling to me.’ She put her tea down, untasted.
‘What time did you and Adam go out to dog training?’
‘Six thirty.’
‘Was Harry in then?’
‘I think so. He had been playing his drums late afternoon but then it went quiet. I heard him in the bathroom around six, when I was getting changed.’
‘It was definitely Harry?’
‘Hmm? Oh, yes. Adam was in the garden with Sid, I could see them through the window.’
Swift reached into his pocket and withdrew the adoption papers and Dominic Hill’s letter.
‘I found these documents in the things you’d given Finbar Power. Dominic had found out some very difficult information. I think he knew he was adopted but not why. I don’t know what the Merrells had told him, but it wasn’t the truth. This isn’t an easy time for you to see this but I think you need to and no time is going to be good.’
He sat and watched her reading. He topped up his tea. It tasted stewed and bitter but he drank it. Hers sat untouched. When she had finished she laid the papers in her lap.
‘My poor husband. The more you tell me, the more I feel he was a lost soul. This . . . this previous stabbing and hanging. It’s a mirror image of Lisa and Dominic.’
‘Exactly. I’m still working out why.’
She leaned forward, chin in her hands, her bony wrists protruding from her jumper. ‘There are just the two of us now. Once we were a family, the house was noisy and happy. Now . . . two.’
‘Yes. You have had a lot to endure. Do you think you should try and get some rest?’
‘What’s the point? I won’t sleep. I can’t make sense of any of this. My poor, poor boy. My poor Harry.’
Two Lovers, Six Deaths Page 15