Authors: Elena Forbes
23
Donovan waited in the car outside L’Angelo, while Chang went in to see if Alex Fleming was there. The road was clogged with shoppers and tourists visiting the nearby Portobello Market. The handful of cafés dotted along the street seemed to be doing a roaring trade, and through the glass frontage she could see that L’Angelo, too, was full. The restaurant was set back from the road under a heavy black awning and looked expensive, with huge vases of flowers, pale walls and subdued lighting. Chang was at the bar, talking to a young woman in a white apron. Donovan scanned the other waiters, who were rushing between tables, but she couldn’t see anybody matching Fleming’s description.
Part of her regretted saying that she would stay in the car and leave it to Chang, but she felt exhausted. She had been up half the night finishing Joe Logan’s book, which she had been unable to put down. On a normal Saturday it wouldn’t have mattered. She would have slept in, gone to the gym and would probably be meeting a friend for lunch, or doing some shopping with Claire. Instead, the alarm had gone off at six-thirty and she had struggled into the office, making the eight o’clock briefing by the skin of her teeth. What they had learned since from Tim Wade had been interesting background stuff, although hardly the breakthrough they had been looking for. But the picture he had painted jarred with what she had read in Logan’s book, which seemed to have more than a passing element of autobiography about it. There were other elements of the book that were almost alarming. She knew it was supposedly fictional, but the gap between the two niggled her. She pulled out her phone and called home, waiting at least a dozen rings until Claire finally answered. Donovan heard the sound of running water in the background.
‘It’s me. Can you hear OK?’
‘Hang on a sec,’ Claire said. ‘Let me turn this off.’ The noise stopped. ‘Sorry, Sam, what did you say?’
‘It’s about Joe Logan. We’ve just found out the names of some of his friends. Tim Wade, Alex Fleming and Paul Khan. They were all at Bristol, and Wade and Khan both did law. I wondered if you had ever come across either of them?’
‘No. Sorry. Like Logan, they must have been there before my time.’
‘Khan’s been murdered too. I need to find somebody who was there at the same time who might have known them. Please, can you have a think?’
‘OK. I’ll call you back in a minute.’
As Donovan hung up, she glanced over at the restaurant again, just in time to see the waitress Chang had been speaking to walk across the room and disappear through a door at the back. Maybe Fleming was somewhere out of sight. Chang was sitting on a stool, studying his BlackBerry in a relaxed fashion. A minute later, a woman in a black trouser suit appeared from the back with the waitress and came over to Chang. She saw them exchange words. Reading the body language and Chang’s expression, it seemed that Fleming wasn’t there, after all.
Chang came sauntering out of the restaurant, hands in pockets, looking pleased with himself. He opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. ‘Fleming’s not there now, but he’s working the evening shift later on today. The manager said he’ll be there somewhere between four-thirty and five. Apparently, they come in early to get something to eat before the shift starts. It all smelled pretty good to me and I’m starving. Should we wait? We could grab a sandwich somewhere nearby.’
‘No, we’ll come back later. Let’s pick up something to eat on the way. I need to get back to the office and speak to Mark.’
‘What’s up?’ he asked, glancing over at her as he put the car into gear.
‘It’s Logan’s book, that’s all. Some things just don’t add up.’
‘I thought it was just a novel.’
‘Maybe, maybe not.’ She switched on Heart FM and turned it up loud to stop him asking any more questions. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
They had just stopped for sandwiches and coffee at a little café on the Barnes side of Hammersmith Bridge when Claire called back. ‘I’ve found someone for you to talk to, don’t know why I didn’t think of it when I had you on the phone. Her name’s Fi Marshall, or Fi Langford as was. She was in her final year when I was a fresher and she also read law, although I got to know her because we were both in the drama society and she produced a play I acted in. She was pretty social and she says she knew both Joe Logan and Paul Khan really well. She’s obviously heard what’s happened and she sounds really shocked. I’ve just spoken to her and she’s happy to talk to you. She lives in the back end of Fulham and she’ll be at home for the rest of the day if you want to go and see her. I’ll text you her phone number.’
‘I just can’t get my head around what’s happened,’ Fi Marshall said, waving a large, paint-spattered hand in the air as she showed Donovan into the tiny sitting room of her flat. ‘When Claire called and told me you were looking for someone who knew Paul and Joe, I said I was only too happy to help.’ She flopped into an armchair, her feet up on the edge. ‘Do sit down.’ Fi was very tall, nearly six feet, Donovan reckoned, with shoulder-length brown hair and a broad, good-natured face, which was finely freckled with yellow paint.
‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice. I hope I’m not interrupting,’ Donovan said, choosing the sofa. She had left Chang downstairs in the car, eating his lunch. The smell of paint was overpowering and she now wished that she hadn’t bolted hers on the way there.
‘No probs. Phil’s hard at work in the spare room and it’s great to have an excuse to take a break. I’ve been doing the ceiling and my neck’s bloody killing me.’
‘I’m trying to get some background,’ Donovan said. ‘I’ve just finished Joe Logan’s book
Indian Summer
and I was wondering how much of it’s actually true.’
Fi gave her a broad, toothy smile. ‘The ten million dollar question. I’ve had so many people ask me. As you’d expect, some bits are and some aren’t. Joe obviously made up all the stuff about the funeral and the trip to Ypres, although that’s really just the hook to hang the rest of it on, isn’t it?’
‘I was particularly curious about Jonah’s death. Did he commit suicide, or did someone bump him off, do you think? The narrator says right from the start that he’s the only person who knows what really happened but he never tells us.’
‘You’re wondering if maybe Joe had some dark and dangerous secrets.’
Donovan nodded. ‘Exactly.’
‘Well, I don’t think you’re supposed to know what happened to him or to Peter. I think Joe liked the ambiguity. Of course in real life Peter is Tim, so there is no actual mystery.’
‘Tim Wade, you mean?’
‘The one and only.’
Donovan hadn’t seen Wade being interviewed. Minderedes had described him as an arrogant prick, although Minderedes was defensively chippy when he thought he was being patronised. The portrayal of Wade’s – or Peter’s – character in the book was much less black-and-white and more interesting.
‘Were you all happy to find yourselves in Joe Logan’s book?’ she asked, wondering if Wade had been able to see elements of himself in the character.
‘Tim was hopping mad, but then he’s always taken himself very seriously. Now he’s a QC, he doesn’t want to be reminded of how many magic mushrooms and hash brownies he used to put away. God forbid you ever mention it to his face. You know that old Bill Clinton quote about not inhaling marijuana? Well, that’s Tim all over. Clinton’s quote about sex also applies. I’m very fond of Tim, but he’s a bit of a hypocrite and always has been.’
‘The book’s quite true to life, then?’
‘Let’s say Joe had the measure of Tim better than anyone. Joe was very perceptive about people.’
‘Tell me about the house. It seems an extraordinary place.’
‘That bit was real enough. Even though it was falling to pieces, Ashleigh Grange was a fabulous place, like something preserved from another age.’
‘Who owned it?’
‘Paul’s uncle. He was a property developer who’d made a packet out of dodgy student lets in Bristol and Bath. He bought the estate thinking he could get planning permission to turn it into a hotel, with a health club and golf course, but he bit off quite a lot more than he could chew. The planners were a nightmare, and the local ramblers association was up in arms because the whole place was criss-crossed by public rights of way. Most of that part went over my head at the time, but I’ve often wondered what happened.’
‘Was the place anything like in the book?’
‘The main house is Victorian gothic, with turrets and towers and stuff, not lovely classical Palladian the way Joe painted it, but the rest is more or less the same.’
‘So, there’s a lake with an island . . .’
‘Yes, and the most beautiful little church and graveyard for the family who once lived there. I used to love reading the inscriptions, although some of them were so sad. There were several babies and young children buried there and I used to wonder what had happened, what the stories were behind it all. There was even a little patch for all the beloved doggies. I’d often take a book and a drink and go and sit by the water to read. It was the most peaceful place when Paul didn’t have the music on full.’
‘Did they live in the main house?’
‘No. We weren’t supposed to go anywhere near it. Apparently, it was unsafe, although I think Paul’s uncle just said that because he wanted to keep us out. He let Paul and the other guys have the head groom’s cottage and part of the stable block in return for keeping an eye on it all. The main house was boarded up, although we found a way in, and Paul knew how to disable the alarm in case it ever went off by accident. It was extraordinary inside, like a time capsule. It reminded me of Miss Havisham’s wedding banquet in Great Expectations. You know, everything decaying, all spread out on the table just as it was the day she was jilted. We used to roam all over it, from the cellars to the attics and we held séances, although everyone got so spooked out one time we had to stop. Think of Turn of the Screw and you’ll get the picture. It was absolutely foul in winter, real bone-aching cold and damp, and endlessly muddy. Crashing there was a last resort, unless you were absolutely wasted or couldn’t get a lift back to town, but in the summer it was the most fabulous place for parties.’
‘So, who was actually living there full time?’
‘There were five of them, the magnificent five, they called themselves, or something silly like that. Maybe it was the famous five. Paul, Joe, Tim, Danny . . .’
‘Danny?’
‘Danny Black. He was another lawyer. And Alex.’
‘Alex Fleming?’
‘Yes. He was an old friend of Tim’s. They were all in their final year.’
‘We know about Alex Fleming, but I didn’t know about Danny Black. Do you have contact details for him?’
‘I do indeed. It’s funny – I had Tim on the phone only last night wanting his number.’ She frowned. ‘Why are you so interested in all of this? It’s a heck of a long time ago.’
‘As I said, we do a lot of background research. The last time Joe Logan and Paul Khan spent any real time together seems to have been at university.’
Fi nodded as though it made sense. ‘Do you have any idea why they were killed?’
‘It’s not clear at the moment.’
‘Were they killed by the same person, do you think?’
‘We’re treating them as two separate investigations, but the fact that they knew each other is obviously something that has to be looked into.’
Fi nodded slowly again. ‘It’s odd, the two of them . . .’
‘Yes. Now what can you tell me about Mary?’ Donovan asked quickly, wanting to get Fi off the subject of the two murders. ‘What happens to her is another unsolved mystery – or at least why she drowns is.’
‘Mary? She was supposed to be based on me.’
‘On you? I didn’t realise that.’ She couldn’t hide her surprise. Physically Fi, with her broad shoulders and long, muscular limbs, was nothing like the rather shadowy, ethereal Mary. The way Donovan had pictured the dead girl was almost pre-Raphaelite, floating in the lake like Millais’ Ophelia. Also, Mary seemed quite a weak and vacillating character, whereas Fi struck her as down to earth and practical. She couldn’t reconcile the two and wondered if Fi had got it wrong.
‘Why would you? As you can see, I’m alive and kicking, larger than life in fact. I must have put on a good two stone since university. Comes of sitting behind a desk all day and taking next to no exercise. I used to have long hair down to my waist, you know.’ She gave Donovan another wide grin as though she herself found it an odd idea. ‘Anyway, Joe said he based her on me to start with, then the character sort of took over, like she developed a life of her own, if that’s possible.’
‘If Mary’s you, why . . .’
‘Kill me off? I don’t know. Again, poetic licence, I guess. The whole guilt thing that runs through the book stems from what happens to her. I suppose he needed a device, and it works don’t you think?’
‘Yes, it’s very powerful. Particularly the scene when she drowns.’
Fi sighed and hugged her knees tightly. ‘Well, like me, Mary couldn’t swim. He got that bit right, at least. They all used to go swimming in the lake and take boats out, even at night, with candles and stuff, but I’d never go. Water scares me, particularly when I can’t see what’s at the bottom. They used to make fun of me but I paid no notice. I suppose Joe just took parts of me, but gave me a fictionalised ending. I hope to God I never drown.’
She looked at Fi questioningly. ‘Why does Mary decide to go to the lake? She tries to get Jonah to go with her but he doesn’t want to, and in a fit of pique or something she goes off by herself. I got the impression she and Jonah were more than just friends, at least on his side.’
Fi shook her head and smiled. ‘I’m not quite sure why Joe put that in. He never fancied me, I know.’
‘OK . . . In the book you see her walk out the door, leaving them all behind sitting around drinking, and next thing they know someone else goes out and finds Mary floating in the water dead. She’s fully dressed, so why is she in the water? There’s no explanation. Did she hit her head, did she slip . . . ?’
Fi shrugged. ‘That’s the detective in you coming out. It didn’t bother me, not knowing precisely. It’s just one of those sad, inexplicable things, like when a toddler drowns in a pond. It’s just an accident. The point is the effect it has on everyone else, in particular Jonah. It’s what tips him over the edge. I asked him why Mary had to die, but he told me it worked better that way.’