by Casey, Jane
‘You don’t get to see her much, I take it,’ Derwent said.
‘Not enough.’ The smile this time was a wavering one and I thought I had made the mistake of underestimating the strength of the woman’s feelings for her daughter, simply because of her poise. ‘There’s no amount of time that would be enough. I’ve missed her since she moved out a few years ago. Missed her every day.’ As if aware that she was revealing more of her true feelings than usual, she forced another smile. ‘It was ironic that Vita came to me for help, really. It was the first thing I said to her when she got in touch. I have never, never understood Philip. Nor have I understood the decisions he’s made. I’ve always thought he must have sincere regrets about what he left behind when he left us, but he’s never shown them to me. Then again, maybe he doesn’t know what regret is like.’ The smile hadn’t moved, and there was something chilling about it, something fundamentally unsympathetic. It was pleasure that justice had been done at last.
‘Maybe he will know better now.’
We left Miranda Wentworth to her perfect, barren little world, in my case with a sense of tremendous relief. Derwent seemed determined to have been charmed.
‘Lovely woman. You can see Savannah takes after her.’
‘She looks just like her dad.’
‘That’s jealousy talking, Kerrigan. You shouldn’t think you can compete. You don’t need to.’ He patted my knee. ‘No one cares about what you look like.’
‘You’re not just barking up the wrong tree – you’re in the wrong forest.’ I glared at him. ‘It is a simple fact that Savannah looks like her dad. Same build. Same features. Same everything. She’s obviously a very attractive woman, but she gets her looks from her father.’
‘Shame Miranda didn’t marry again. Probably couldn’t think about that with a young daughter to bring up and her health troubles.’
‘Don’t forget, she’d have lost out on the lovely alimony too.’
‘Money isn’t everything, Kerrigan.’
‘It is to these people. I don’t understand the attraction of it. It didn’t make any of them happy, it seems to me. Kennford seems to have hated the house, given how he furnished his study and the fact that he doesn’t stay there if he can avoid it. He wasn’t in a good marriage. Mind you, I don’t think he walked out on a better one.’
‘Where are we going now?’ Derwent levered himself up in the driver’s seat, trying to loosen his trousers. ‘I’ve spent so much time cooking my balls in this fucking car this week, my little swimmers are probably poached.’
‘I don’t want to talk about your sperm count.’ I shook my head. ‘Did I need to say that out loud? Why would you think I wanted to know about your balls?’
‘So you can sympathise.’ He was still braced against the back of the seat, legs straight. ‘It can’t be good for me to have my circulation cut off like this.’
‘Poor you.’
‘Try it with more feeling.’
‘That’s all you’re getting.’ I fanned myself with the map. ‘God, it’s hot.’
‘Getting hotter,’ he agreed.
‘Well, we need to go back to Wimbledon, I’m afraid.’
Derwent groaned. ‘Mind you, it’s high ground. It might be cooler over there.’
‘Dream on.’
‘Who are we talking to?’
‘Millie Carberry.’
‘Who?’
‘Lydia gave me her name. She said she’s in school with them and was one of Laura’s best friends. She was supposed to be with Millie when she died. I thought she might be able to tell us something about the mystery boyfriend.’
‘She’s a teenage girl. They take an attitude to a vow of silence that puts the Mafia to shame.’
‘You don’t know that. She might be in the mood to be helpful.’
Sceptical was not the word for the look I got in return.
Derwent had his predictable moments. I could tell, for instance, that when we arrived at Millie Carberry’s extremely nice detached house in Wimbledon Village to find her still in bed at half past two in the afternoon, he was gearing up for a lecture on the Youth of Today and their shortcomings. I could also tell he was itching to swipe the beanie hat off the youth who opened the door to us, sleepy-eyed and yawning, and turned out to be Millie’s brother, Seth. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, but I thought he had probably just got out of bed himself; his clothes looked rumpled and soft with sweat. The other thing that occurred to me was that he might have been stoned. He was very far from being with it. I sniffed unobtrusively but couldn’t smell anything underneath the Jo Malone Red Roses room spray that filled the air.
‘Who are you again?’
‘Detectives with the Metropolitan Police.’ Derwent was not inclined to run through our names more than once – that had tested his patience enough.
‘And you want to talk to my sister.’
‘We had made an arrangement to speak to her. I spoke to your mother this morning,’ I said. ‘She told me Millie would be happy to speak to us.’
‘In Mum’s world.’ Seth yawned. ‘She must have forgotten to say.’
‘Is she here?’
‘She’s at work.’
‘What does she do?’ Derwent asked.
‘She’s a banker.’ He held up his hands as if to ward off our disgust. ‘Don’t blame me. I just live off the proceeds.’
‘It explains the nice house.’
‘If you like this sort of shit. It’s the Laura Ashley catalogue Autumn/Winter 2010. That’s page sixty-four.’ He pointed in through the door to the sitting room.
‘Very funny. Can you get Millie for us?’ Derwent’s very limited patience had just run out.
He wandered over to the foot of the stairs. ‘Mills! Get up!’
There was a muffled response from overhead.
‘It’s the fuzz. You’re wanted.’
A thump, running feet and a scared face looking through the banisters.
‘Millie Carberry?’ I asked.
‘Oh my God. What time is it?’ She pushed back her hair from her face, a heavy tumble of fair curls. ‘I slept in.’
‘You’re up now.’ Derwent was actually tapping his foot, I was amused to see. ‘Come and talk to us.’
‘I need to brush my teeth.’ She wriggled. ‘Can I have a shower?’
‘You’ve got five minutes. Then we’re coming to talk to you whether you’re ready or not.’
She ran, presumably for the bathroom, and Derwent and I turned to find that her brother had disappeared. With a shrug to me, the inspector led the way to a very glamorous kitchen, all marble worktops and chandeliers. We sat at the kitchen table for five minutes, then five minutes more, listening to muffled thumps from upstairs that seemed to suggest something was happening.
‘What do you want to do?’ I asked, as there was still no sign of her.
‘Wait.’
‘You’re the one who gave her an ultimatum. You should follow up on it.’
‘I hate teenagers.’ He didn’t move.
When she finally appeared in the kitchen, Millie was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a very skimpy T-shirt. She kept tugging at the hem to keep it from riding up over her stomach. She was slightly plump, her cheeks rounded with baby fat. Her hair was bundled up in a very untidy knot at the back of her head, trailing tendrils around her face, which had undoubtedly taken at least ten of the twenty minutes we had waited to make it look so artless.
‘I’m really sorry. I completely slept in. Mum did say you were coming. Can I make you a cup of tea?’
Millie’s expensive education showed in her voice and her manners. Her brother sounded equally posh but had shaken off the politeness quickly enough.
‘No thanks,’ I answered for Derwent.
‘Do you know why we wanted to talk to you, Millie?’
She was filling the kettle anyway, her movements jerky with nerves. ‘I presume it’s to do with Laura?’
‘Correct.’
‘I can’t
believe it. What an awful thing to happen.’ She looked at us across the enormous breakfast bar, her eyes huge. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘That’s fine, Millie. We just want to ask you some questions about Laura and how she was behaving before she died.’
‘Oh, okay. If I can help.’
‘Come and sit down,’ Derwent commanded. ‘You’re miles away over there.’
She padded over and sat on the very edge of a chair, seconds away from fleeing.
‘What was Laura like, Millie? Can you give us some idea of her personality?’
‘Oh. Well, she was fun. Very sweet. Thoughtful.’ She looked earnestly from Derwent to me and back again.
‘Anything more to add?’
She pulled her feet up onto the chair. ‘Not really.’
‘We gather she had a bit of a rebellious streak,’ I said gently.
‘I don’t know …’
‘Did you know she had a boyfriend?’ Derwent, cutting to the chase.
‘No. She wasn’t allowed one. Her parents wouldn’t let her.’
‘She still had one, though.’
Millie looked confused. ‘She never said. I mean, I didn’t know.’
‘You were her best friend, though. Lydia told us that. You must have known.’
She shook her head vehemently. ‘I promise you, not at all. I didn’t have a clue.’
‘You must have noticed her sneaking off to meet him,’ I suggested.
‘No. Not a thing.’ She looked wounded. ‘I thought she was studying.’
‘Were you supposed to see her on Sunday night?’
‘Sunday? When she died? No.’
‘Lydia told us a different story. She said you had an arrangement to go to the cinema. A Robert Pattinson film.’
Millie blushed, presumably at the mention of the actor’s name. She answered readily enough. ‘That was Saturday and she cancelled.’
‘Lydia said it was Sunday.’
‘She must have been wrong.’
‘Laura had told everyone she was going to be out with you – and you had no idea? Aren’t you friends with her on Facebook?’
‘I’m not allowed to use it. Dad doesn’t like it.’
‘That’s practically child abuse these days, isn’t it?’ Derwent sounded sceptical.
‘He read an article in the Daily Telegraph about identity theft that freaked him out.’ Millie rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, it’s blocked on my home computer but I use it at school, so it’s not too much of a problem. It’s just that I miss out in the school holidays. I have to go to the library to use the Internet, and all the computers are sticky, and it smells of wee.’ She grinned cheekily and Derwent smothered a laugh in a very unconvincing cough.
‘But you’re sure, it was definitely Saturday you were supposed to go out?’ I checked.
‘Yes, but she cancelled.’
‘Did she do that a lot?’
‘Yeah.’ Millie squeezed her knees to her chest. ‘I mean, I didn’t mind, but she liked to change arrangements when it suited her.’
‘That would fit with using you for an alibi so she could meet her boyfriend,’ Derwent pointed out.
‘Oh my God. You’re so right.’ She put one foot down and kicked at the table.
‘What’s the matter, Millie?’ There was obviously something she wanted to say. I glanced at Derwent, who leaned forward.
‘The best thing you can do for Laura now – the only thing you can do to help her – is to tell us the truth, Millie. What’s wrong? What do you think we should know?’
When she eventually replied, her voice was pitched at a nearly inaudible level. ‘The thing is, I know Lydia said I was Laura’s best friend, and it was probably true, but she wasn’t easy to get to know. I’ve got other friends who I’d say were closer. But she kind of didn’t, so I can see what Lydia means.’
‘So we shouldn’t be surprised she had secrets from you, is that it?’ I asked. ‘And that you didn’t mind it?’
‘I’m not surprised, that’s all I can say.’ She bit her lip. ‘Laura kept things to herself. She wasn’t big on sharing. I know things weren’t that happy at home, but she never really told me what was happening. Maybe she was afraid I’d spread it around school, but I never said a word to anyone. She didn’t trust me.’
‘But she trusted you more than anyone else.’
‘I suppose.’ Millie blinked at us. ‘I just don’t think that means very much at all.’
Chapter Ten
IT HAD BEEN three years since Christopher Blacker was cleared – belatedly and on appeal – of raping one of his students, but it might as well have been three days. Nothing had faded in him – not the burning sense of outrage at the unfair treatment he’d received, not the anger at the poor representation that had sent him to prison for a year until his appeal was heard. And not the fear that brightened his eyes as he opened the door of his flat just wide enough to let us in. It was understandable. A conviction for statutory rape – even one that had been found to be unsafe on appeal – was a heavy burden to carry.
The flat was a dingy space overlooking a busy road in Acton, little more than a single square room with a narrow hallway and tiny bathroom. It wasn’t quite a studio; one corner of the main room had been partitioned off to make a tiny bedroom. I glanced in as I passed, seeing a single bed and a row of hooks on the wall instead of a wardrobe. A cardboard box in the corner functioned as both bedside table and as storage for more clothes – underwear and T-shirts, by the look of the piles I could see. It reminded me of nothing more than a prison cell.
The rest of the flat wasn’t much better. The carpet was old and thin, threadbare in places, patterned in red and black. A makeshift kitchen in the corner had a sink, a half-size fridge and a hotplate but no oven. There was room for a two-seater sofa, which Derwent sprawled himself across without asking permission. Blacker sat down at the table by the window, his back to the light. I wondered if that was accidental or on purpose, a habit he had learned to hide what he was feeling from police officers. It didn’t matter much anyway; the net curtains that hung at the window were dark grey with dirt and let in very little daylight. Derwent turned on a lamp that stood beside him, which marginally improved the situation.
‘It’s pitch dark in here. How do you manage to read that lot?’ He nodded at the shelves that lined one wall. They were loaded with paperbacks. I skim-read the spines and saw that most of them were second-hand, old editions of classic non-fiction books that were dog-eared and faded.
‘I manage.’ He unbent a little. ‘The wonder of electricity helps.’
‘Stick the main light on, Maeve,’ Derwent commanded. Blacker didn’t protest so I flicked the switch. The bulb wasn’t particularly strong but the extra light was enough to see my notebook, and the damp that was puckering the paper around the window. I looked at Blacker with interest. My first impression of him had been coloured by the stress that was making his thin frame vibrate, but now I saw that he was attractive, or would have been if he hadn’t been so gaunt. He had dark, curly hair that was long enough to cover his collar, heavy straight eyebrows over toffee-coloured eyes and a sensitive mouth. He wore jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing thin forearms covered in black hair. His hands were long, with elegant, tapering fingers.
‘May I sit here?’ I indicated the other chair at the table.
‘Yes, of course.’ Blacker leaned across and began to gather up the papers and books that were stacked up in front of me, his movements jerky and hurried. A cereal bowl lurked under the last pile of loose pages and I handed it to him without looking too closely at the contents. ‘Sorry. I use this table for work and eating. Sometimes at the same time.’
‘It’s fine.’ I put my notebook down on the table, wishing I could give it a good scrub first. There was a constellation of old crumbs by my elbow and I could hear more crunching under my notebook when I leaned on it.
‘It’s not usually this messy in here. I work from
home sometimes so I have to keep it neat.’ The words tumbled out of him at top speed. ‘It’s just that I don’t have any students at the moment.’
‘Students?’ Derwent’s tone was challenging and I shot him a warning look. We needed Blacker to trust us, not to clam up. He wasn’t officially a suspect; we didn’t have any grounds to arrest him if he refused to talk to us. He was well within his rights to kick us out, in fact, and I had expected him to refuse to see us right up to the point where he’d beckoned us in.
‘I still teach. But not in a school. I couldn’t go back after what happened.’ He clamped his hands together between his knees. ‘Legally, I could have. I tried. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.’
‘Too traumatised?’ Derwent drawled.
‘You can joke about it if you like.’ Blacker’s voice sounded strained. ‘Probably seems funny to you. But I got flashbacks. Panic attacks. Couldn’t breathe, let alone teach.’
‘Just from being in a school?’ I asked gently.
He nodded. ‘I don’t do well with large groups of people any more. I didn’t fit in, in the staffroom – I thought everyone was judging me. It was worse in the classroom. Every time someone whispered, I panicked. I thought they knew what had happened.’
‘Did they?’
‘It was a different school. Different part of London. And I wasn’t using the same name, with the head teacher’s permission, so they couldn’t have found out by searching the Internet.’ He swallowed. ‘It was just paranoia, really, but that didn’t make it any easier to cope. I ended up leaving. Walked out one day. The kids weren’t bad, but they could tell I wasn’t able to deal with discipline problems, and things just got worse and worse. It was like being bullied, every class. Thank God, they never found out about the court case. They just turned on me because they were bored and I was an easy target.’
‘What did they do?’
‘Talked. Shouted things when my back was turned. Passed notes. Wrote things on the whiteboard before I got into the room. Two of the boys who sat on opposite sides of the room brought in a rugby ball once. They spent the class throwing it back and forth, over their classmates’ heads. I pretended I hadn’t noticed. I couldn’t deal with a fight.’