Authors: Marni Graff
Chapter Forty-Six
“Nearly all of the seven dwarfs of pregnancy have shown up by now: Sleepy, Queasy, Spacey, Weepy, Gassy and Moody. The only one who hasn’t checked in is Happy.”
—
Sarah Bird,
The Mommy Club
4:50 PM
Nora walked with Simon around the corner from the Belcher Studio, and they sat in Browns enjoying tea. Simon added a plate of toasted crumpets, which he buttered, slathered with honey, and ate with typical relish. There was nothing wolfish about the way he ate; it was more his spirit of enjoyment that Nora found amusing.
“I’ve never seen anyone who can shovel it in like you and not gain a pound,” she said enviously, cleaning her glasses on her linen napkin.
“Genes,” he mumbled through sticky crumbs, wiping his fingers on a napkin.
Nora thought of Kate, also long and lean. “Were both your parents tall and thin?”
Simon nodded as he washed down the last bite of crumpet with the rest of his tea. “Mom was no slouch, but Dad was taller than me. I’ll show you some pictures when we get back to Ramsey Lodge.”
“I’d like that,” Nora said, shifting in her seat with the beginning of a slight backache. “What did you think of our interview? I’m dying to see your sketches.”
Simon put up both hands in protest. “Not our interview, defi
nitely yours. I was merely the observer, not the one with the huge pair of bollocks.”
“Assistant,” she corrected, looking around to see if anyone had heard him. “But still, didn’t you find him astonishing?”
“I found him incredibly self-centered and melodramatic, which reminded me of May Rogan, and rather an old nanny in some ways. The sketches were mostly of the street outside.”
“Yes, he was all of those things, Simon, but we did find out who Wheeler is.”
Simon set his cup down hard on its saucer. “We are not going to bother an Oxford don with your questions today. Besides
…
” He consulted his watch. “You should get a nap in before we check with Val and decide what to do with her tonight.”
Nora shook her head at his insistence. “You are really rather sweet, Mr. Ramsey, and I love you for thinking about not leaving Val alone.”
*
After they paid the check and returned to the Volvo, Simon slid behind the wheel, and for once Nora didn’t question him. She looked tired, and a nap seemed in good order. In fact, if he didn’t get them home soon, she might fall asleep in the car. She was trying to keep her eyes open when something roused her.
“Simon, do you think Bryn Wallace used cocaine?”
“I don’t know, Nora, but Val would.”
“Yes, Val would know,” Nora said. “I’ll have to figure out how to ask her directly without upsetting her.”
They pulled up in front of Nora’s flat, and Simon shut off the car. A small gasp escaped Nora. “What is it?” Simon asked.
She looked at him fully, engaging his eyes and taking his hand, which she placed on her stomach. “I felt the baby move, Simon. A tiny thump, a real kick.”
He kept his hand where she had put it. He could feel the warmth radiating from it, willing the child inside to announce her presence again. And then he felt it, a flicker of definite movement that made Simon catch his breath.
“There! Did you feel it?” Nora asked. Her face radiated pure joy.
Simon’s heart flipped over with longing for this to be his child, their child. “Yes, Nora, I felt her. Strong little gal, isn’t she?”
“There you go, calling him ‘her’ again,” Nora teased.
Simon leaned closer to Nora in the car. “Nora, thank you for letting me be a part of this. I don’t want you to do this alone. Maybe, just maybe, I can keep my eye on you—and the girl.” He laughed at her chagrin, rubbed her belly affectionately, and kissed her on the forehead, wishing wholeheartedly it could be more.
*
Nora dozed on the brass bed in her bedroom. It had been months since she’d slept in her old room, and it didn’t feel familiar or comfortable anymore. This flat wasn’t her home. Where was her home?
Home used to be Connecticut, and in some ways always would be, at least in her memory, the place where her family had been intact before her father’s death. Nora was acutely aware she was fortunate to have had the stable upbringing she’d experienced.
Her mother had always been caring but never Nora’s confidant, too filled with nervous energy for the sweet mother-daughter chats Nora longed for. Amelia Tierney Scott was currently enjoying an unexpected second marriage after nine years of widowhood. Nora was grateful her mother had not parked on her doorstep after learning of her daughter’s pregnancy, although Amelia had insisted on receiving monthly photographs. The Scotts loved to travel, and the grandmother-to-be had already informed Nora she planned to arrive with Roger for the birth of her first grandchild. Nora was certain the sights in the Lake District would keep them occupied as she bonded with her infant. It would all work out, she thought with a sigh. The birth was still too many months away for her to obsess about it now.
Instead she had Bryn Wallace’s murder to preoccupy her, which made her think of Declan Barnes. Nora had mixed feelings about the inspector. She’d seen there was goodness in him and respected him for doing his job, but she couldn’t forgive him for the way he’d treated Val. So why was she wasting precious energy daydreaming about the handsome, well-dressed detective? Nora sighed and rolled over. Her raging hormones must be in full gear. Any woman with good eyesight would be attracted to Barnes, and she was just in overdrive.
She was annoyed for feeling intrigued by Declan, almost drawn to him, when in Simon she had the best mate possible, one she even knew she was compatible with sexually. As she relied more and more on Simon, the chemistry between them grew. Simon was thoughtful and considerate, maybe a bit possessive, but no one was perfect.
At times like this she had trouble sorting out what was real and what was illusion. She would have liked to have her father’s opinion. He had been the voice of reason, always willing to listen, to point out the pros and cons of a situation, never making decisions for her but helping her to see clearly the way to the right path.
Wide awake now, Nora sat up and stretched. She pictured her father hovering over her shoulder, and she silently asked him his opinion about the two men to whom she felt attracted. Five seconds later she smiled ruefully when Simon knocked gently on the door.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“I was never so amazed in my life as when the Sniffer drew his concealed weapon from its case and struck me to the ground, stone dead.”
—
Robertson Davies,
Murther and Walking Spirits
5:15 PM
Watkins stood up as Declan approached the panda car where Louisa Rogan sat, a stricken look on her pale face. Declan followed his sergeant a few feet away from the car to confer.
“You’re not going to believe this, guv,” Watkins said. “The screamer is Val Rogan’s stepsister.”
Declan looked at the blonde head he could see peeping up from the back seat. “What the hell was she doing here? No, don’t tell me—she was going to solve Bryn Wallace’s murder to clear her sister.” His irritation rose as Watkins nodded. “What the hell is it with all of these women messing about in my case?”
“The girl, Louisa, was supposed to meet her mum for tea at 4. I told McAfee to call the mother and pick her up, since she’s a minor.”
“Good thinking, Watkins. Just gone 5,” Declan said after consulting his watch. “The mother must be frantic by now. All right, let’s see what we’ve got.”
Declan made his way back to the front of the apartment building and leaned over the railing; Charlie Borden was already working. He wouldn’t have chosen pathology, even if he had gone into medicine the way his mother had hoped. He remembered the disappointment on her face when he had announced his intention to join the police force. His mother had struggled to mask her feelings, murmuring, “Very nice, dear, I’m sure.” Eventually she had taken it in her stride. When he would show up for dinner in his uniform, her smile lit up the neighborhood. He missed her, even though she had been gone for six years. Still, he was glad she was not around to see the evil he encountered every day as a detective.
Declan straightened up as Charlie finished dictating and put his machine away. “Can’t get me home early one night, Dec?” Charlie asked. “I was all set to watch a rerun of
Ground Force
this evening.” The pathologist repacked his bag. “Good thing I set the DVR.”
“Didn’t know you liked those poncey shows, Charlie. What’s happened to you?”
“Too much death and not enough sex, if you must know. The wife’s off visiting her mum for the next few days.” Charlie walked up to the steps. “This looks like an accident on the face of it, except two witnesses say he was pushed. I understand the victim had form for exhibiting himself to minors. Any chance an angry parent was getting back at him?”
Declan rubbed the back of his neck where he could feel tension taking hold. “Anything’s possible. His name’s Tommy Clay. One witness says Clay and another man stood here talking when the other bloke gave Clay a shove and took off. Whether he meant to kill Clay or just get away from him is anyone’s guess.”
Charlie nodded. “Doesn’t sound like self-defense, though, no open fighting, no defensive marks on his hands. I’ll see what turns up when I get him on the table, but right now it looks like the fall to the concrete caused massive skull fractures. There would have been intracranial hemorrhaging. I’ll get him in tomorrow.”
“Text me with the time. Thanks, Charlie.”
Borden waved and set off. Declan turned back to the body, watching the flash of the SOCO’s camera. Seeing the grotesque position Clay’s body had taken after its fall, he was struck more strongly than ever by the notion that Bryn Wallace’s body had been arranged.
So many intertwining paths. Surely there was a connection between the two murders. Declan knew from experience that links often were not seen at first or even at second glance. Watkins joined him.
“The mother’s arrived, Dec.”
“Now maybe we can get some answers. Come with me, Watkins.”
As they approached the panda car holding Louisa Rogan, Declan saw the mother squeeze in beside the girl and try to soothe her. Louisa had the wide-eyed, hollow look of someone in shock. She had stopped crying and was sniffling into a tissue. “Mrs. Rogan, is it?”
The mother patted the girl’s hand and got out of the car. “Are you the person in charge of this fiasco?” she challenged, the ire plain on her attractive face.
“Detective Inspector Barnes. This is Detective Sergeant Watkins. How is your daughter holding up?” His concern momentarily softened the mother’s look.
“She’s had a tremendous shock. I can’t see why it was necessary to leave her sitting in the back of a police car being gaped at as though she were a common criminal.”
“I quite agree, Mrs. Rogan, but as your daughter is a minor, we required your presence to move Louisa to better quarters. Perhaps you would accompany your daughter to the station, where it will be more comfortable and we can get her some tea?” He thought he had snuffed that one nicely when a familiar voice rang out loudly from the barricade.
“What do you think you’re doing to my sister, Barnes?”
Declan looked over to see Val Rogan impatiently trying to cross the police line. He motioned for the constable to let her in, and she ran over to the car. “I was just asking your stepmother to allow us to question Louisa at the station, where she can be more relaxed.”
Val’s golden eyes blazed at him. “I’d hardly call your station relaxing.”
“Your sister is a material witness to a murder, Miss Rogan, and like it or not, she needs to be questioned and her statement taken. If you’d like to accompany her and see that I don’t mistreat her, please do so.” Declan was becoming impatient with the entire Rogan family. He turned and stalked off to the MGB.
In his mirror he watched Mrs. Rogan slide into the panda beside Louisa while Val ran back to her own car. He negotiated the crowd of onlookers and police vans and turned for St. Aldate’s, the other two vehicles close behind.
Chapter Forty-Eight
“Interviews always make me nervous.”
—
Auberon Waugh,
Consider the Lilies
5:50 PM
It was Val’s idea to call Jeff Nichols, who responded gracefully and agreed to be “a presence,” as he called it, when Louisa was questioned. They waited for him in the stuffy hallway at St. Aldate’s, sitting on the station’s hard wooden benches. Val noticed that Lou, who had avoided her mother’s questions by pretending to doze against May’s shoulder, had in fact fallen into a light slumber. Trauma was exhausting, Val knew.
The heat of the last few days accentuated the sour mix of aromas in the station that Val remembered clearly. May wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I still can’t believe she went there, of all places.” Recrimination directed at Val was evident in May’s tone.
“You aren’t trying to blame this on me? We never discussed it—you might remember I only saw her in your presence today.” Val was indignant. “Maybe she was curious, maybe she was … I don’t know, trying to escape you for a few hours. It’s not uncommon for teens to want to be alone at times, May.”
“I’m not concerned about Louisa spending time without me, Valentine. It’s what she gets up to without my supervision that worries me. She’s fifteen. You can’t understand because you’re not a parent.”
Val considered this. “That’s probably true,” she acknowledged. “I’ve seen Bryn through Janet’s eyes these last few days, and the tie between them is enormous.”
That Val would agree with her seemed to be the last thing May expected. She was startled into speechlessness, and the two women sat lost in their own thoughts until Val spoke up. “May, I had nothing to do with Lou going to Bryn’s flat today. I didn’t suggest it or even hint at it. I don’t see what gain there could be, and I would never put Lou in any kind of jeopardy. I love her.”
The words “and not you” hung unspoken between them. Years of resentment sprang up in Val’s mind as they stared each other down.
Then May looked down at Louisa and unexpectedly shrugged the tension away. She gently swept Louisa’s hair off her face as the girl dozed and said, “Do you remember your mother at all, Valentine?”
Val had been expecting to be corrected for using Lou instead of Louisa. “I don’t know—I mean I have some vivid memories I pull up from somewhere, almost like snapshots of frozen moments. I guess what I remember best is her smell. It was the sweet scent of the almond soap she used, or maybe it was her shampoo, mixed with her perfume, a spicy, flowery scent. She always wore the scent L’Interdit and told me the story over and over, how Givenchy created it for Audrey Hepburn—” Val choked at the recollection and fell silent, concentrating on the swirled pattern on the tiled floor.
The sound of ringing telephones and murmured voices in the background filled the space around them. Suddenly May blurted, “I’ve always thought you rather looked like Audrey Hepburn.”
*
“Louisa Evelyn Rogan,” the girl dictated clearly into the tape, bolstered by the presence of Jeff Nichols sitting beside her and her mother and sister sitting behind her. She listened to the in
spector who had given Val such a hard time as he dictated for the tape’s benefit: “Also in the room are DS Douglas McAfee; Miss Rogan’s solicitor, Jeffery Nichols; her mother, May Rogan; and her sister, Valentine Rogan.” Everyone in the room shuffled and settled back in their chairs. Louisa was reminded of the lull before the curtain rose on a new play.
“Miss Rogan, please start with this morning and describe your activities for us,” Inspector Barnes said.
She told him about the day’s brunch, instinctively understanding he was covering this useless bit to get her to relax. Nora had said he was quite intelligent, even if he had gotten off on the wrong track with Val, and she agreed. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, like a movie star, but he was easy to look at and carried himself like someone important. He would also be a strict father, she judged, wondering if he had any children.
“When did you decide you wanted to go to Magdalen Road?”
“I knew when I came here I wanted to help Val. It was when I was trying on the new dress my mother bought me that I figured out how. I didn’t want to spend my whole day going from shop to shop. I wanted to be out there trying to prove to you that Val could never have killed Bryn.” She said this with increasing assurance, then dropped back to a lower tone. “I thought if I could just look about the place, maybe talk to people who knew her or had seen someone else that night … it was a place to start.”
“And how did you convince your mother this was a reasonable thing for you to do?” Declan asked.
May gave a minor start; Val cleared her throat. The detective’s stern glance in their direction stilled them both.
“I told her I was going to tour the Bodleian Library and then spend hours at Blackwell. I wanted to do that, too, but this seemed more important—at the time.”
Declan nodded as if he understood, making eye contact with Louisa. “Did you set off on foot?”
“Yes, Val had given me a map to find my way around town, and I walked down the High Street, taking my time, and over the bridge, picking out things on the map as I went along.” Her tone became wistful. “The Botanic Gardens looked nice, and I almost stopped there—now I wish I had.”
“Did you stop anywhere before reaching Magdalen Road?” Declan prompted.
“I went into a grocery on the way to buy a bottle of water. The walk was longer than it looked on the map, and I got warm. And I stood for a bit on the bridge, just looking down the Cherwell.” The girl’s voice grew pensive. “There were people punting, and I watched them for a few minutes. It seemed like fun, and I thought I would ask Val to take me before I have to go home.” She shrugged. “And then I came down Magdalen Road and found Bryn’s building. I was surprised at how pretty it was and just looked at it a bit from next door.”
“And after that?”
“I went inside the lobby and read the names on the mailboxes. There was a bench, and I sat for a moment, waiting for someone to come into the building so I could follow them into the secure part.” Louisa spoke faster as her anxiety rose. “Bryn’s name is still on her mailbox,” she added.
“Why don’t you take a sip of tea, Louisa?” Declan pointed to her cup.
Jeff Nichols patted her arm and spoke reassuringly. “You’re doing just fine. All we want is to get to what you saw. Take a few deep breaths and try to think of it as a movie. Describe the scene to us.”
Louisa nodded. “I was standing in the middle of the lobby trying to decide what to do next, looking out at people and the cafe across the road. A woman walked a dog past the building. Then these two men crossed the road and came by the building. And then they stopped in front of it, sort of to the left, my left,” she explained.
“So if I were standing outside the building on the sidewalk looking at you inside the lobby, they would be on my right,” the detective clarified.
“Yes. They stood there a few moments talking, and then the shorter one turned to leave, and the taller one pushed him roughly and ran away. The short man fell over the railing to the basement stairs, and I couldn’t see him anymore.” Louisa swallowed hard. “I had my cell phone and I thought, ‘I have to call 999,’ as I ran out the door, but when I got to the stoop and looked down … ” Her face crumpled with the memory of the horror she’d seen. She covered her face with both hands.
May coughed and shifted in her seat. Declan pushed on.
“Excellent, you’re really doing well, Louisa. Forget the body and try to pull your mind back to the other man, the taller one. Can you describe him?”
The girl looked at her hands before answering. “He was definitely taller than the other man, but the lobby is up a flight of steps from the street, so I only saw the top of his head. He had on a baseball cap with the brim curled in on each side, the way some do them, you know?” She made a folding gesture with her hands.
“Yes, I know what you’re talking about,” Declan said. “How about color? Any logo on it? Or printing?”
Louisa scrunched up her face and was suddenly eager. “Yes, there was an elaborate design, sort of like entwined initials, in silver embroidery. The cap was maroon, or burgundy, in that family.”
Declan hunched forward. “Could you make out the initials, Louisa? Close your eyes and think back very hard.”
Louisa did as she was told, and everyone in the room waited for her response.
“I think a K and maybe an M or a W?” She was less certain and clearly agitated now. “I’m sorry. I just had a glance at it; I didn’t know it would become so important.”
Her mother couldn’t stop herself from interjecting, “Of course you didn’t, darling.”
“DI Barnes, perhaps a good night’s sleep would improve Louisa’s memory, don’t you agree?” Nichols spoke with quiet authority.
“Just what I was about to suggest,” Declan said graciously, terminating the interview.