BLOOD SECRETS a gripping crime thriller full of suspense (20 page)

* * *

As he reached home, his phone rang. It was Mary.

‘Oh Ty, what can I say? Cedric told me. Come round and we can talk properly.’

‘Thanks, but I won’t. It’s very late and I know you’ve got an early flight in the morning. I’m in a cab, on the way home.’

‘I could come to you.’

‘No, that’s okay, Mary. I want to be on my own. Your day has been overshadowed enough as it is.’

‘That doesn’t matter. What have the police said?’

‘Not much. Kris was strangled and there’s no sign of forced entry. Judging by rigor, I think it happened late last night. I have to talk to them again tomorrow. Naturally, they wanted to know where I was last night so I told them I was with Cedric in his flat having supper and playing dominoes with him and Milo from eight until gone midnight yesterday.’

‘What about Kris’s family?’

‘The police are going to locate them. Her parents live in Lodz. She had a brother in New York.’

‘Ty, if you want me to stay around we can postpone the honeymoon . . .’

‘Absolutely not, Mary. I’m okay. I want you to go away and enjoy yourselves. Please don’t contact me until you get back. There’s no need and no point.’

‘Yes, all right, I know. I know you won’t want fuss. It’s just that, you know, there was Ruth and now this happening to Kris. Grief can sneak up on you. Not everything can be resolved in a rowing boat.’

‘Yes, I know. It will help me to know that you’re happy. I’m going to sign off now. Ring me when you get back.’

She knew better than to try and talk to him further and said goodnight. Back home, Swift fetched two bottles of red wine, opened one and turned on a single lamp in the living room. He downed a glass quickly and refilled. He sat in silence, staring at the wall. Cedric tapped on the door after a while, holding a bottle of whisky.

‘Come in,’ Swift said. ‘I’ve got wine going if you want a glass of that.’

‘I’ll have some of this stuff.’

Cedric fetched a glass and poured amber liquid. They sat opposite each other, both still wearing their wedding outfits. Cedric loosened his tie and stared down at his drink for a while.

‘Was this a random attack, Ty?’

‘I suppose so. I don’t know as yet, but judging by the way I found her, I don’t think Kris was raped.’

‘I’m so, so sorry.’

Swift didn’t reply, just nodded and drank. Outside, a dog barked and a car’s brakes squealed.

‘Not the wedding day Mary and Simone were hoping for,’ Swift said eventually.

‘No.’

‘I was angry with her. I left a sharp message on her phone the second time I called, saying not to bother coming if she couldn’t be on time.’

‘You didn’t know. Don’t blame yourself for that.’

‘I really liked her.’

‘I could tell.’

They sat in silence a while longer. Swift opened the second bottle.

‘Can I get you anything, my dear?’ Cedric asked. ‘A sandwich? It’s a long time since we ate.’

‘No thanks. I’m going to get very drunk and then I might sleep. You head off to bed. It was a beautiful dress she was going to wear, classy. She must have spent hours on it.’

‘I can imagine.’ Cedric rose and touched Swift’s shoulder lightly as he left.

Swift made his way quickly through the second bottle of wine, glad of its numbing powers. He woke at six, sprawled on the sofa, his velvet jacket twisted around him. His head was thumping, his mouth parched. He thought about getting a glass of water but lay instead staring at the floorboards. Moving his limbs seemed like an enormous challenge. His last words to her had been unkind, even if she had never heard them. The last thing she had said to him was good luck.

* * *

Kris’s parents were at the police station, two glazed-looking people in their fifties. Her father’s eyes were reddened with tears, her mother’s dry with anguish. They spoke little English, and an interpreter had been provided, a young man who sat on the edge of his seat, alert and watchful. It was hard, communicating grief through a third party in the sterile, airless little room with worn fabric chairs. Two pot plants languished on the narrow window ledge and there was a burn mark on the carpet. Swift explained that he had known Kris for a while and they had become close. He talked about the wedding and the dress she had made. Her mother took his hand and held on to it throughout the meeting, as if it were a lifebelt. Her fingers were cool and he thought of Kris’s chilly hands between his.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘She was talented and lovely.’

The interpreter spoke and they both nodded. Her father was crying again, into a large hanky. Her mother cleared her throat and spoke. Her eyes held a pleading look, as if she hoped he could explain the horror, make some sense of it.

‘Mrs Jelen says Krystyna had talked about you in emails. She sounded happy. She was hoping to take you to visit Lodz one day. Mrs Jelen asks who could have done this, who could have wanted to harm Krystyna?’

‘I don’t know,’ Swift said helplessly. ‘I can assure them that the police will find whoever did it. Please ask them if there’s anything they need, anything I can help with.’

The interpreter spoke to them. ‘They say thank you but they are alright. They just want to see their daughter’s home, get an idea of her life here. They are going to be taken there this afternoon.’

‘Tell them there is a lovely dress there that Kris had made to wear to the wedding we were attending. They might want to take it home with them. Please say as well that Kris was happy. Her business was doing really well, she liked her flat and her life here.’

Mrs Jelen listened, while her husband sobbed. She nodded at Swift, then turned to her husband, took the hanky from him and dabbed at his eyes. He drew himself up and spoke, his voice catching.

‘Mr Jelen asks if you know when Krystyna’s body will be released to them. They wish to arrange to take her home to Lodz for burial.’

‘I don’t know. Once the police have all the information they need, they will agree to the release. It’s best to talk to their family liaison officer about that.’

Mrs Jelen kissed his hand as he left and stroked his arm as if he were the one who had lost a child. Her generosity touched him. He went to the men’s cloakroom and splashed his face with cold water, holding his eyes open. He found the DI in charge of the enquiry, an Alexa Markham, and spoke to her briefly. She said that they were checking a fingerprint that had been found on the corner of the chair by the sewing machine. Whoever had been in there had attempted to clean away any traces, but she was hoping that the one unidentified print might give a lead. She confirmed that there had been no sexual assault. That was some small comfort.

‘It might have been a burglary gone wrong,’ Alexa Markham told him. ‘We haven’t found Ms Jelen’s purse or wallet and her bag had been thrown behind the sofa. The landlady’s son said he might have left the front door ajar when he nipped out for a snack around half nine that evening. That would fit with the timescale for Ms Jelen’s death so I’m working on the premise that the perp had access to get up to her flat and she opened the door.’

Swift rubbed his jaw. He was aching with sadness.

‘Presumably you’re going to contact her customers? Maybe she came up against someone who wished her ill.’

‘Yes. We’re going to focus on the male customers first. There are only two. You said in your statement that you don’t know of anyone else we should look at?’

‘No. We’d been seeing each other for just a couple of months. Kris said she’d been too busy working since she came here to make many friends. There are just the two women I mentioned, that she spoke about, but I hadn’t met them yet.’

‘Okay. We’re still door-knocking but so far no one in the area saw or heard anything. Early days, though. I’m sorry for your loss and that your cousin’s wedding has been tainted by this. I met Mary once, at a conference. She’s an inspiring speaker.’

‘It should have been such a happy occasion. Kris was looking forward to it immensely.’

* * *

It was a bitter day, the wind slicing in from the east. The low sky was filled with charcoal-smudged clouds. Swift walked aimlessly for a while, hardly noticing where he was heading. He wanted to go and knock on doors near Kris’s flat himself, do something to help find her killer but he knew that he needed to leave it to the Met for now. If he interfered at this stage, he might confuse any witnesses, muddy the scene. He stopped for a coffee. He was hungry but couldn’t eat. The barista placed a round of shortbread on the saucer and Swift snapped at him, asking for it to be removed. The young man looked taken aback at his brusqueness.

He sat in a quiet corner, pushing images of Kris and her parents from his mind. It was best to keep busy and focus on Teddy. Activity helped keep sorrow at bay during the day. He rang the Saltby’s house and heard Steven Saltby’s flinty tones.

‘I want to speak to your wife again. Is she there? Her workplace says she has flu.’

‘She’s gone. I told her to get out and take her devil’s spawn with her.’

‘You mean Joshua?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where have they gone?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t want to know.’

‘When did they go?’

‘The evening you were here. That’s it. I don’t want to have any more conversations about them.’

The line went dead. Swift wondered briefly how a man in a wheelchair was going to cope on his own without a handmaiden but didn’t let it bother him. If Dorcas Saltby and Graham Manchester were as close as siblings, she and Joshua might well be staying with him. He decided to head to Alexandra Palace. He was feeling too drained to take public transport so he hailed a taxi. He closed his eyes briefly as it weaved through the afternoon traffic. He couldn’t bear to think of Kris lying cold and alone. She had hated the cold so much. He forced his eyes open and looked out of the window at life spinning onwards.

Graham Manchester’s house was in a small new development of box-like dwellings. They were detached, but only just. The show home was still for sale. Freshly planted spindly trees and tiny shrubs struggled upwards in the chilly soil. There was a raw smell of recently turned earth mixed with the burnt aroma of tarmac. He rang the bell of Manchester’s house but there was no answer. He rang again, then looked through the front window into an empty living room. He walked past a dustbin and around the narrow passage at the side of the house to an unlocked metal gate and through to the back. There was a tiny square of patio and an equally small lawn. Through French windows he could see a kitchen cum dining area. A couple of mugs and a saucepan stood on a worktop and three chairs were pulled out at angles from the table. There was no sign of anyone. He returned to the front and rang the bell again, then quickly looked upwards. It was a trick that often worked and it did on this occasion. He saw Joshua Saltby’s pale face fleetingly at a bedroom window before he stepped back out of sight.

Swift rang the bell once more and rattled the letter box, shouting through it.

‘Joshua, I know you’re in there. I’ve just seen you upstairs. I want to talk to your mother. I’m not going away until you speak to me. Is your mother there?’

He waited, then yelled again. ‘Joshua! Come on, I don’t bite. Just come to the door, will you?’ He banged on the wood with his fist. ‘The neighbours will start complaining soon. Come on.’

He waited, then banged again and rang the bell, keeping his finger on it. He saw a blurred figure through the frosted glass, coming down the stairs. Saltby opened the door. He looked thinner, shabby and exhausted, in crumpled pyjamas and bare feet. His hair lay flat against his scalp. His eyes were bruised-looking and vacant. There was a strong, rancid smell of body odour. The contrast to the smart, assured pastor could not have been more marked. He stared at Swift, swaying slightly. He spoke in a whisper.

‘What have you come here for?’

‘I want to speak to your mother.’

‘She’s not here.’

‘Where is she?’

He shook his head, swaying again. ‘Don’t know.’ He licked his lips. His tongue looked dry and coated. ‘I’ve got a terrible headache. I don’t feel too well. Sort of dizzy . . .’

He turned away and stumbled, slipping down to the floor. He made no effort to get up. Swift stepped in beside him and shut the door. The house was unbearably hot and stifling. He bent down to Saltby, who was lying on his side and shivering in the heat. He felt his pulse. It was weak.

‘Joshua, have you taken something?’

‘Thirsty.’

Swift fetched a glass of water and helped Saltby to sit up against the wall.

‘Drink this slowly.’

Swift put the glass into his hand and sat opposite him, watching him drink, gulping as if it hurt his throat. Then he helped him up and supported him into the living room and sat him on a sofa. He was already responding to the liquid, holding his head up. Swift brought him more water and waited while he finished it.

‘Have you taken something?’

Saltby rubbed his temples. ‘He gave me sleeping tablets. Diazepam.’

‘Who? Graham?’

‘Yes. Made me take them. He said he’d hurt me if I didn’t.’