‘Anyone can let their garden go, Shaun. What if the person who answered the door might have posed her some sort of threat?’
‘That’s what I said. She said she always stood a few metres away from the door, and she carried a can of defence spray, just in case. But she’d never had any problems, she said.’
‘All right. You’re …’
‘She said … she told me, that up in Scotland she’d worked for a bank, but she’d been fired, for something she didn’t do. She said she’d been a victim of office bitchiness and she was tired of that whole scene. She said she was saving up to do a proper course in garden design so she could work for herself, in the open air. It would be her dream come true, she said.’
‘OK. You’re a bit of a garden enthusiast yourself, aren’t you, Shaun?’
Shaun flushed with pride. ‘Yes. I love my garden … working hard … seeing the results of my efforts … It’s very calming, it takes me out of myself … And you should see it at the moment – all the flowers coming into bloom …’
‘And you and Katie would talk about this mutual interest of yours, naturally?’
‘Yes. It was one of the main things we talked about, actually.’
‘Who mentioned it first?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was a simple question. Which one of you mentioned your love of gardening first?’
‘I don’t remember. Me, maybe. Actually – yes – I was telling her about where I lived, my house, and from there I started talking about the garden, and that’s when she said that was the sort of work she did …’ he broke off. ‘You’re not suggesting she was making it all up?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m merely trying to establish the facts. OK. Did she talk about anyone else she knew in London, any friends she’d made?’
‘Not really. She said there was this top looking bloke in the flat two above her, but he had a wife – that made me a bit jealous. And there was this old guy opposite her who had the hots for her, we had a bit of a laugh over that. And there was a guy in the building opposite who tried to chat her up by the rubbish bins.’
‘Did she tell you this man’s name? What he looked like?’
‘Only that he was short, and bald.’
‘All right. What about her ex-boyfriend, Gordon Renfrew? Did she talk about him?’
‘She said it was a relief to get away from him, he was so boring to live with, but that’s what you got for going with someone who was nearly thirty. She said how her parents had died when she was still a teenager, she’d got used to looking out for herself and she liked it that way. And she said she had a sister, out in Australia, who she sent the occasional duty email to, but telling her as little as possible – she said even from that distance her sister could be suffocating, trying to act like a substitute mother.’
Neil drew in his breath. ‘That was a bit spiteful, wasn’t it?’
Shaun shrugged. ‘I’m an only child, I can’t really comment. But families don’t always get along, do they?’
‘No. All right, Shaun. Your neighbour, Mrs Morrissey, says you went round her place at three on Saturday the fourteenth, to take her shopping.’
‘That’s right. I’d told her I wouldn’t be able to make it, but I thought I might as well. It gave me something to do, to take my mind off what had happened.’
‘So from five o’clock on the Friday night till the time you went round to Mrs Morrissey’s, is there anyone who can verify your story? Vouch for you that you never left the house? Did anyone phone you, or drop round?’
‘Anyone who might have done knew I was going away, so no.’
‘When was the last time you spoke with Katie in the chat room?’
‘It was the Monday night. We usually spoke a couple of times a week, but she suggested we didn’t talk again until we met. It would heighten the anticipation, she said.’
‘OK, then.’ Neil stood up. ‘Interview terminated at eleven twenty-six a.m.’
Shaun stood too. ‘So I’m free to go?’
‘You’ll be bailed pending further investigations. That means …’
‘So you still don’t believe me? You still think I killed her?’ His lips trembled and Neil found himself thinking, ‘Oh, God, please don’t start crying again.’
But instead Shaun drew himself up straight and said, ‘You’re making a mistake. And you’ll realise you’ve made a mistake. And then you’ll have to say sorry. You’ll have to apologise for what you’ve put me through.’
I hope so, thought Neil, but all he said was,
‘The conditions of your bail will be explained to you. Please abide by them, Shaun. Please don’t go and do anything stupid.’
***
‘Is Katie a keen gardener?’ Neil asked Sheila later that day, and told her what Shaun had told him.
‘Well, she used to help Mum out sometimes, planting bulbs, digging in fertiliser, but I wouldn’t have said she had any particular enthusiasm for it.’ Sheila sighed. ‘You know, Neil, you could tell me that she’s the Prime Minister’s mistress, that she is a spy for MI6, and I’d have to accept it. I thought I knew her. But when I read back over her emails this year I can see she hasn’t really told me very much at all. I asked her questions, sometimes, trying to get some more information, especially about what she was earning, but she always ignored them, except to tell me to chill out, that she was doing fine.’
Neil looked away for a moment. They were sitting at a tiny table in a room roughly twenty feet square that was her bedroom, lounge, dining room, kitchen. The bathroom she shared with a dozen other people was down in the basement, he could hear the gurgle of water in the pipes as someone ran a bath. It must be a far cry from the place she was living in in Sydney. As tactfully as he could, he said,
‘Do you think … without meaning to … you might have come over as a bit … over-protective? It’s hard sometimes to get the tone right in an email.’
Sheila sighed again. ‘It was so much easier when she was living with Gordon and we could talk to each other over the computer … face to face … It was so much more immediate, not like writing an email and then having to wait – sometimes for days – for a reply.’
‘So when Katie lived in Glasgow, that’s how you would communicate – by video chat?’
‘Well, we’d email each other, too, but yes, sometimes like that – probably once a month.’
‘And how did she seem, when you talked to her face to face like that?’
‘Fine. She’d be fine. Happy, smiling, cheerful … though it was never really private. Often Gordon would be in and out of the room. He’d come up to her and stroke her hair, kiss her on the cheek, say a few words to me. It annoyed me a bit but she didn’t seem to mind.’
‘OK. What about the emails she’d send from Scotland – I know this is stretching the memory – but were they different to the ones she’s sent this year? Is it only since she came to London that she’s been this uncommunicative?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure. But I’ve got every email she’s ever sent me, even before she moved in with Gordon. I can go through them if you want, if you think it might be important.’
‘It might be helpful, yes. If you would.’
‘Helpful. It might be helpful. So you can form a picture, some sort of idea …’ She stood up suddenly and went over to the bed, sat with her arms folded, a petulant look on her face. ‘I don’t understand this. I thought, once you found that man, that everything would be resolved, one way or another. But instead, you’ve let him go, and we still don’t know what’s happened to her.’
‘Sheila, I know this is hard for you. But we had nothing to hold him on. There’s no evidence that he and your sister have even met.’
‘What do you mean? Of course they’ve met! They met at a pub …’
‘They met online, in a chat room …’
‘A chat room? What the hell was she doing meeting men in a chat room?’
‘Sheila …’
&
nbsp; ‘No! I’ve had enough! All these bombshells you keep dropping on me, showing how little I know my own sister. I don’t want to hear any more!’
‘In cases like this, all sorts of information can come to light …’
‘Oh, listen to you! Always so tactful, so polite … but it’s just textbook, isn’t it? It’s not like it’s personal. It’s just a case for you to solve – or not, and then you’ll move on to the next one. You don’t really care.’
He tried to smile. ‘If I took every case personally I’d have a nervous breakdown within a month. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t care, that I don’t have enormous sympathy …’
‘I don’t want your sympathy! I want you to find out what happened! But you don’t have a clue, do you? You don’t have a clue what’s happened to her! I’ll never find out!’
‘On the contrary, I have several ideas, theories, and with each new piece of information …’
‘Then don’t come back here until you know, until you can stand in front of me and tell me what happened.’
‘All right.’ Neil got to his feet. ‘That is entirely your choice, of course. How much longer are you in the country?’
‘Four weeks.’
‘Four weeks. OK.’ He walked towards the door, then turned back, hesitating.
‘Sheila, I will respect your wishes. But there is another possibility you need to prepare yourself for.’
She made an exasperated gesture. ‘Murder … suicide … what else could there be?’
‘It could be that Katie has chosen, voluntarily, to disappear. And if that should be the case, and we locate her, it might be that we can only tell you she’s alive and well, not where she is.’
‘Well that’s just … that’s just totally unacceptable.’
‘I’m sorry, but that’s …’
‘The law? Don’t give me that crap …’
‘That’s her right. I’m sorry, Sheila. If you need me, you know where I am. Take care now.’
He went straight to Ruth Harrison’s house.
‘Detective Hammond! How lovely to see you again! Come in, come in.’
Once inside, she said,
‘Can I make you a cup of coffee?’
‘A glass of water will be fine, thank you.’
‘Oh, but I make a truly wonderful cup of coffee, Detective.’
He smiled. ‘All right then. That would be nice.’
While Ruth was in the kitchen, Neil studied the numerous photographs which were arranged on a sideboard. It seemed her whole life was laid out before him – Ruth on her wedding day, breathtakingly beautiful, her husband a large, almost ugly, rather serious looking young man. Ruth holding a baby in her arms, that same baby growing into a girl, then a young woman – plain, solidly built, taking after her father. Grand-children – three of them, two girls and a boy. Lastly, a photograph of four generations – Ruth, her daughter, her grand-daughter and a little girl of about two or three.
Ruth came in. ‘Ah, my beautiful family.’ She set the cups down and joined him, picking up this last photo. ‘This grand-child lives in Canada, this was taken when she was over for a visit a couple of years ago. And this one is now twenty-one and studying in Paris. And this one married an Irish girl and moved to Galway. So we’re very scattered, but still very dear to one another. I’m very blessed.’
‘Yes. I’m part of a close family, too. It’s very … it gives me a great sense of comfort, and stability.’
‘Do you have children, Detective? I’m sorry – I don’t remember your rank.’
‘It’s Chief Inspector, but call me Neil. No, not yet. We’ll start trying next year, that’s the plan.’
‘And if one should come sooner?’
‘That would be absolutely all right, too.’
‘For your wife, as well?’
‘I … I think so.’ He felt suddenly uncertain. Would it?
She looked at him appraisingly. ‘It’s really best to be on the same wavelength about these things, you know.’
They sat together on the couch.
‘So what can I do for you, Detect… Neil? I’m sure this isn’t just a social visit, lovely as that would be.’
‘Ruth, I’ve come to double-check with you about the date you saw the missing woman – Katie Campbell – with her suitcase. The day you saw her speak with your daughter at the gate.’
Her eyes twinkled. ‘Why? Doesn’t it fit in with the theory you’ve formed?’
‘Well, yes and no … the thing is, there’s rather too many theories – possibilities – and not enough facts. If I’m to have any chance of solving this, I need to be absolutely certain of the facts that I do have.’
‘Then you can be sure of that one. My daughter had just returned from a fifteen day cruise along the Rhine and Danube, and the very next day she flew out to Canada to join her daughter, where she’s been ever since. So it could only have been that date.’
‘Thank you. That’s really good to know.’
‘You’re no further along towards finding this young woman, then?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘It must be terribly hard on her family.’
‘There’s only a sister, but yes, it is. She’s … yes, it is.’
She surprised him by taking hold of his hand.
‘It’s a thankless job, isn’t it?’
He met her gaze, saw the sympathy in her eyes.
‘It can be. But also a tremendously rewarding one.’
‘My husband was a policeman. His last posting was as an inspector over in Wimbledon.’ With her thumb she gently stroked the back of his fingers. It was a tender, and incredibly soothing gesture, and he felt a tension he hadn’t fully realised was there leave his body.
‘Then you understand.’
‘I understand that sometimes people expect the police to be miracle workers. I’m guessing that this sister is one of those people and communicated that to you not very pleasantly. You came here with rather a shell-shocked look on your face.’
Neil smiled. ‘Maybe you should try your hand at detective novels. But it’s just the stress of the situation, there’s no point being thin-skinned over it.’
‘That’s the spirit. Let me refill your cup and you can tell me how much police work has changed in the past twenty years.’
Later, as she walked with him to the door, Neil remembered Janey’s painting. He showed her the photo.
‘Oh. It’s an abstract.’
‘You don’t like it.’ He felt inordinately disappointed.
‘I can tell that it’s very good. I just prefer more traditional paintings.’
‘Well … she does those, too. She’s very versatile.’
‘Then would she – do you think? I’ll pay for it.’
Neil wanted to say Janey would do it for free, but he didn’t feel he should make promises like that on her behalf. ‘I’ll ask her.’ He bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Goodbye, Ruth. And thank you.’
‘It was my pleasure.’
He had been back in his office for two minutes when Graeme stormed in.
‘Where the hell have you been? Just because you’re a DCI doesn’t mean you can go AWOL.’
Neil looked at his watch and blinked in surprise. He had been with Ruth for almost two hours. Talking about his work had led to her reminiscing about her husband and he had happily indulged her.
‘I’ve been talking with a witness, Sir,’ he said evenly.
‘A witness? Or Sheila Campbell? That’s where Steve Kendall seemed to think you were. And he said it with rather an unpleasant leer on his face.’
‘Are you accusing me of sleeping with Sheila Campbell?!’
‘No of course I’m not! But I think you should be aware there are members on your team who seem to think so.’
‘I’ve never paid any attention to gossip, Sir. And I don’t think you should either. Was there anything else?’
‘Yes there was, actually. I’ve listened to the tape of your interview with T
averner this morning. Why didn’t you question him further about his encounter with Katie Campbell?’
‘You heard him. He said he’d clam up if I did. And he would have, so what was the point?’
‘All right. So what do you think? Should we shift our focus to Brighton?’
‘Well, let’s look at this sequentially. There’s no evidence to suggest Katie was ever in that house. So if she did turn up there, what does that mean? Did he watch for her from the window and when he saw her coming, go out to meet her and go with her straight back to the station? That means a completely pointless trip from her point of view.’
‘What if, while he was waiting, he realised the state his house was in and that it wouldn’t make a good impression?’
‘OK. But it sounds as if she was driving the arrangements. Would she really be dissuaded from seeing the house when she was right there?’
‘Then let’s say she was in the house for only a few minutes. There’d be unlikely to be any forensics then, would there, after six weeks? I mean, you walk into someone else’s place, you don’t automatically touch things, do you? If she just had a quick glance in every room …’
‘All right. So they take the train to Brighton.’ Neil called up a map of Brighton on his computer. ‘Here’s the station. And here’s the hotel, less than a five minute walk. If they decided to go out for dinner, or for a stroll, wouldn’t it make sense to check in first, not lug their bags all over?’
‘This is assuming they did go by train. But say, on the way down, they decided they didn’t like each other after all …’
‘It’s not something to commit murder for, is it? More likely they’d just take the next train back, probably in different carriages. And if so, why not just say so?’
‘But on the way back, he’s stewing, feeling insulted, he’s just wasted – what? Four hundred and fifty quid … so when they get back to London, he follows her, wanting to confront her, have it out with her …’
‘Like you said to me this morning, Sir, this is all just conjecture, isn’t it? We can’t just keep hounding him, every time we come up with a different version of events …’
The Woman in the Peacock Patterned Coat Page 11