Deep Waters (24 page)

On the night in question, she’d gone to his place. She hadn’t told anybody: she’d just gone. Things had progressed, and the upshot of it was that she didn’t get home till morning. Under normal circumstances, no one would have even known she’d been out.

‘It were the first time,’ Brenda said, almost shyly. ‘The first time I’d been with a man, since Kev Betts, all them years ago.’

And it had been wonderful, Callie could tell from the soft expression on Brenda’s face. Her cheeks were pink; a smile played round her lips in spite of herself.

‘You’ll think I’m a silly old fool. All them years without a man. But when the twins were little, it just wouldn’t of been right. And I just didn’t have no time for it, anyway. Like I said about church. I worked all day, all the hours God gave, and at weekends there was the housework and the shopping and the washing and
ironing
. No time for nothing else. But he’s lovely, is Eric.’

What Callie couldn’t understand, immediately, was why Brenda had been so secretive about it. Why hadn’t she just told Jodee and Chazz that she had a man in her life, and gone out
with him openly? Surely they wouldn’t have minded; they would have been pleased for her. After all, Brenda couldn’t be more than fifty—still in the prime of her life. Why shouldn’t she enjoy a full social life? A love life, come to that.

She had to ask. ‘Why didn’t you want Jodee and Chazz to know?’

Brenda’s cheeks flamed from pink to red. ‘I were…
embarrassed
, like,’ she said softly. ‘At first. And then time went on, and it got harder and harder. Made it seem like I was keeping it from them. But I
was
going to tell them. That night. Or that morning, when I come home. I’d made my mind up to tell them, straight out, about Eric.’ Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes and ran down her flushed cheeks. ‘I didn’t have no chance, did I? Not that morning. And not since, neither. Now it’s too late. I just can’t tell them now.’

One of the things Lilith was good at—and one of the factors in her success as a journalist—was altering her persona, depending on the foibles of the person to whom she was talking. She always aimed to be a perfect mirror for their needs and personality quirks, playing up to their weaknesses and their vanities, telling them what they wanted to hear, rendering them desperate to talk to her—whether to set the record straight or to make themselves seem more important in the eyes of the world. People told Lilith things they’d no intention of revealing to a living soul, let alone a journalist. It was a sort of seduction, and it had always given her an enormous buzz when she pulled it off.

Often this process took place on the fly, without any
opportunity
for advance planning but relying on her acute instincts. When it was possible, though, Lilith liked to plot her strategy before an interview.

This was one such instance. It was too important to leave it to chance.

Hereward Rice had agreed to see her, so already she was over one major hurdle. Now she just had to figure out
why
he’d agreed,
what he was hoping the outcome of the interview would be, and then shape her persona accordingly.

She’d never actually spoken to Hereward Rice, apart from asking a question or two at a press conference, but she’d observed him in action on a number of occasions. He was clearly a man with a larger-than-average quota of vanity and self-regard: that was evident in his carriage, his manner of speaking, and the way he presented himself, from his Savile Row suits to his crisply waving salt-and-pepper hair. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, he had rather a weakness for the ladies; in court he often addressed women—especially young and pretty ones—with exaggerated courtesy, even gallantry.

That, then, should be the key to it. Play up to his ego and make him think she fancied him.

Lilith had enough time before the scheduled interview to stop at her flat and change clothes. A slightly shorter skirt, a sheerer blouse, higher heels. She mustn’t overdo it, she realised: nothing too blatantly sexy or tartish. Just a discreet projection of classy femininity, with a hint of availability. She pulled a few tendrils of her blond hair out of the tidy French roll and arranged them round her face to look a bit more approachable.

‘Oh, Hereward, my boy,’ she said to herself in the mirror, after she’d refreshed her make-up and changed to a soft pink lipstick. ‘You don’t stand a chance.’

He was ready for her at the time set for the interview, in his office tucked at the back of the Coroner’s Court. He seemed relaxed, in control of the situation.

‘Miss Noone,’ he said, rising from the chair behind his quite substantial desk and extending a hand. ‘What can I do for you this afternoon?’

Lilith took her time. She shook his hand, accepted the seat he indicated. ‘Thank you for seeing me,’ she said demurely. ‘I know how busy you must be.’

He nodded in acknowledgement of a simple truth, and Lilith realised in that instant that Dr Hereward Rice’s vanity was more
than skin deep: he knew himself to be an important man, and a powerful one.

‘I was hoping you could clear something up for me,’ she said. ‘It’s crucial to get all my facts right. I’ve come into possession of some information, and I’m hoping you can confirm it for me.’

‘I’ll help if I can, of course.’ His voice was cautious, if
courteous
. ‘Though you must realise, Miss Noone, that much of what comes across my desk is highly confidential.’

‘It’s about Muffin Betts.’

His eyebrows raised just a fraction. ‘Anything that I’m at liberty to say about that case is already a matter of public record, Miss Noone.’
Don’t waste my time
, the tone of his voice warned her.

‘Yes, but…’ Lilith cast her eyes down, then raised them again to meet his. ‘This is difficult,’ she said. ‘People’s reputations are at stake. I’m sure you’d be as horrified as I to see someone’s reputation destroyed over a…misunderstanding. When it could be cleared up with a quiet word. From an anonymous, protected source.’

Hereward Rice’s hand made an impatient gesture. ‘What, exactly, are you asking me?’

She judged that it was time to get on with it, and put her question to him baldly, without elaboration. ‘Is it true that the post-mortem on Muffin Betts showed that she had been shaken before her death?’

There was a quick intake of breath and the coroner leaned back in his chair. ‘Where would you have heard such a thing, Miss Noone?’

‘It’s true, then?’

‘I didn’t say that. I asked where you’d heard it. None of the post-mortem results have been made public, and won’t be until the inquest resumes.’

‘The Bettses told me. Jodee and Chazz and Brenda. One of the police officers—their family liaison, I believe—was asking them questions about it. Or so they said.’ Lilith played with one of the loose strands of hair and looked at him appealingly. ‘They’re not…educated people, you understand. They might have
misunderstood, got entirely the wrong end of the stick. That’s why I’m asking
you
for confirmation. For clarification, really.’

He cleared his throat and gave her an appraising look. ‘You must realise that I can’t possibly be quoted on this. Not officially.’

‘Of course not. Not unless you want to be. I know how to protect my sources.’

‘And you’re definitely going to go to print with this story?’

‘Journalism is a very competitive business,’ she said. ‘If I don’t, someone else will.’ Not strictly true, but it seemed to be working. She smiled at him appealingly. ‘That’s why I’ve come to you, Dr Rice. Straight to the source. To make sure I get it right, before anything makes it into print.’

‘Well…’ He tented his fingers together and considered them for a moment. ‘In that case, Miss Noone, I can confirm the essence of your information. There were some…irregularities… that came to light in the post-mortem. A clear indication of prior shaking.’

Lilith had done her homework on the internet. ‘Would that be subdural haematoma?’

‘Neck fracture,’ he said. ‘Healed. That’s how we know it didn’t happen immediately before the child’s death, but a few weeks previous.’

‘But it’s possible,’ Lilith said carefully, ‘that the injury actually caused Muffin’s death?’

Hereward Rice smoothed back the crisp waves of his hair and replied with equal care. ‘I would say it’s possible, though by no means certain, that the injury contributed to, if not caused, her death. That’s one of the things we’ll be determining at the inquest, of course.’

The phone on his desk rang; Lilith frowned in frustration at the interruption as he reached for it.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said to her, then spoke into the phone. ‘Hereward Rice.’

Lilith crossed her legs in a way she knew to be attractive, but realised he wasn’t even looking. He turned his back to her as he
carried on the conversation. ‘DI Stewart? I didn’t expect to be hearing from you again so soon.’

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her attention truly caught. Perhaps, she told herself, this interruption would prove a useful one after all.

‘Di Stefano? That’s an intriguing one. What’s your interest in it, exactly?’ There was a pause; Lilith strained to hear the other side of the conversation, without success. ‘Oh, I see,’ Dr Rice said. ‘Well, I’ll tell you what I can. Mr di Stefano died yesterday in hospital. Evidently a heart attack—as you know, usually a death certificate would be issued without question for a hospital death like that. But one of the nurses who was looking after him thought there was something suspicious about it, and notified the doctor, who rang me. So I’ve ordered a post-mortem. As far as I’m aware, the family’s been notified and it should be taking place some time today.’ Another pause. ‘Not at all. I’ll have more information in a day or two. Probably nothing in it, but if there is, you’ll be among the first to know. Professionally.’ He gave a dry chuckle.

Hanging up, the coroner swung his chair back round to face her and rose to his feet. ‘Sorry, Miss Noone,’ he said. ‘Now, before you go, do you mind if I ask
you
a question?’

She was being dismissed, Lilith realised. She’d taken up enough of his valuable time. ‘Go ahead,’ she invited as she stood. Would he be bold enough to ask for her phone number?

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘Do the Bettses deny that they shook their baby?’

Caught out, Lilith hesitated for just an instant; she didn’t want to give anything away, but it seemed only fair to be honest with him after he’d played along with her. ‘Absolutely. They all insist that they never did anything like that. Chazz, Jodee, Brenda. And,’ she added for reasons she wasn’t at all sure of, ‘I believe them.’

His smile widened, displaying a number of even, white teeth and a hint of genuine humour. ‘Well, then, Miss Noone,’ he said. ‘I can guarantee that, in six weeks’ time, you and I will meet again at what should prove to be a most interesting inquest.’

By the time Mark—sitting in Serena’s kitchen, drinking coffee—heard back from Neville, Serena had had an official phone call from the coroner’s office, informing her that a post-mortem was to be held that afternoon, and that she was entitled to have her own medical representative present. She declined the offer, and her request for clarification was met with bland bureaucratic language. The coroner’s secretary could tell her no more than that a post-mortem had been ordered.

‘But why?’ she asked her brother. ‘I still don’t understand what this is all about. A heart attack is a heart attack. And it was a heart attack. I was there, remember?’

Neville’s call provided little enlightenment. ‘A nurse was
suspicious
about something,’ Mark repeated to Serena cautiously. ‘I suppose that’s all it takes to set the wheels in motion. They have to be so careful these days to cover all the bases, tick all the boxes.’

Serena shrugged. ‘Then I suppose it’s nothing to get excited about. Just a formality. They’ll find out it was simply a heart attack, and that will be that.’

‘We won’t even have to tell Mamma,’ Mark thought aloud.

‘Or the girls.’

The next phone call was from the Headmistress of Chiara’s school. Serena took the cordless phone into an adjoining room, leaving Mark on his own for a few minutes. Returning, she avoided his look of enquiry.