I swore under my breath as pictures slipped down the screen, images I hadn’t even seen in the file. ‘Anyone could have seen this.’
‘Anyone with access to the Internet,’ Stuart agreed. Reluctantly, he edged towards the door. ‘Better go up.’
‘Yeah, I’ll wait.’
‘Well.’ He checked his watch again. ‘It’s just that my wife will be coming back, and I didn’t tell her you were going to be here.’
‘I’m good at explaining things,’ I said, not moving.
‘I don’t want to have to tell her about Angela. It’s history. Nothing to do with who I am now.’
‘I’ll be gone in five minutes,’ I promised and he looked as if he was about to say something else, but then changed his mind and left. I heard him taking the stairs two at a time.
He was back quickly, holding a red-headed boy of about fourteen months with his thumb lodged in his mouth. The child was wearing a vest and nappy and still had tears on his cheeks, which were flushed.
Teething
, I thought, remembering my nieces and their misery as the incredibly sharp baby teeth cut through their gums.
‘Is he all right?’
‘Fine.’
‘Is it his molars? They’re awfully sore when they’re coming through.’
Stuart shrugged. ‘Could be. It’s always something.’ The boy was leaning away from him and he bent down to let him stand on the floor. ‘There you go, Oliver. Find a toy. Plenty of them about.’
Oliver looked at me, then turned around to check the rest of the room. Finding no one else, he collapsed to the floor and gave an anguished howl.
‘Missing Mummy,’ Stuart said over the noise. ‘I definitely come second compared to her. Was there anything else?’
‘Do you remember anyone behaving differently after Angela’s death? Erratic behaviour, seeming upset, or changing their routine?’
‘Yeah. One person. Josh Derwent.’ He shook his head. ‘I know you don’t want to hear this, but I still think he was guilty.’
‘If he was, there would have been some evidence to prove it.’
‘He had an answer for everything. He made up a story and got away with it, but he killed her.’ On the floor, Oliver was coughing and crying alternately, snot running down his upper lip in two grey-green rivers. Stuart bent down to him and ruffled his hair. ‘Come on, Oliver. Belt up. She’ll be back soon.’
‘If you think of anything else—’
‘I’ll call.’ He snatched the card I held out to him and shoved it in his back pocket. ‘Right. I’ll show you out.’
He left Oliver in his puddle of misery and disappeared into the hall. I couldn’t just walk past him. I crouched down beside the boy.
‘It’s all right. Your mummy will be back soon. Daddy will play with you once I’m gone.’
Oliver stared at me, his face blank. I dug in my bag for a tissue and swiped it across his face, heaving slightly as I folded the soggy tissue up. There was no bin in sight so I had to put it back in my bag and I hoped like hell I’d remember it was there before I went looking for something and put my hand in it.
Stuart was standing in the hall, impatience obvious on his face. When he saw me emerge from the sitting room he opened the door. No long goodbyes, then.
As I stepped onto the doorstep, a small dark-haired woman was striding up the front path, neat in a grey suit and carrying a briefcase. She stared at me, then looked past me to Stuart.
‘What’s going on?’
‘She’s just leaving.’
‘Who are you?’ There was a cry from inside the house and her attention switched to Stuart before I could answer. She was already moving past me. ‘Was that Oliver? Is he okay? When did he wake up?’
‘Just now.’
‘Shit. I thought he’d sleep for another half-hour at least.’ She turned and glowered at me again. ‘Who are you? Did you say?’
‘Jehovah’s Witness,’ came from behind her and I saw Stuart pulling a face, like
what could I do?
‘I did try to discourage her.’
‘I don’t do God,’ the woman said to me. ‘Stu, honestly. I leave you alone for an hour and you let random people into the house. You’re hopeless.’
‘You know me. I can’t be rude.’ Over her head he widened his eyes at me.
Go away
.
I walked off without saying anything to back him up or undermine him. Behind me, I heard Stuart ask, ‘How was the interview?’ The door closed before I could hear a reply. It made sense that he wasn’t usually left in sole charge of Oliver. He really didn’t seem used to the messy end of parenting. Typical dad, loving the toys and games, hating the snot and nappies, I thought, and couldn’t suppress the thought that the fair-weather dads had the right idea. Wiping snotty noses was not my idea of fun.
I hoped Stuart didn’t get into too much trouble. If I’d been his wife I would have known he was lying, and I’d have been going through him for a short cut at that very moment. Maybe it was easier to pretend she believed him, given that they had a child. Maybe she didn’t even care that he’d been alone with a relatively nice-looking woman, or that he was prepared to try to mislead her about it.
Or maybe I was vastly overrating my personal attractiveness. It wasn’t my favourite option, but it was probably the most likely.
TUESDAY
Chapter 22
I sat in the car waiting for a traffic light to change to green and wished myself absolutely elsewhere. I’d have been nervous enough about interviewing Lionel Orpen, Detective Inspector (retired) on my own. Having to take Derwent along was positively the last straw.
‘Tell me again what he said.’
‘He told me to bring you with me. He said he wanted to see how you’d turned out, and he wanted to tell you some things about the investigation that he’d never told anyone else.’ I was beyond bored now with repeating my phone conversation with the retired police officer. Gruff wasn’t the word for his phone manner. Once I’d explained who I was, all he wanted to know was whether I knew Derwent.
‘And then?’ Derwent prompted.
‘And then he said he wouldn’t talk to me at all unless you came with me.’ I shot a glance at him. ‘Happy now?’
‘Intrigued.’ He grinned. ‘Glad to be back in the saddle.’
‘You’re not. That’s why you’re not driving.’ The car tore away from the lights and I braked, then bit my lip. The accelerator needed to be practically on the floor before the car would move and it was easy to misjudge it. Easy for me, as Derwent had said two minutes after I picked him up. A
normal
driver would have been fine, apparently. ‘Remember, you mustn’t tell anyone you were with me. I’m supposed to be doing this on my own.’
‘You need someone to hold your hand, Kerrigan. Firstly, because Lionel is fucking scary. Secondly, because you let Fat Stu run rings around you.
And
Shaney.’
I hadn’t told him I’d seen Claire; I hadn’t even mentioned her name. Undoubtedly I would have got that interview wrong too, somehow. Derwent was the worst kind of backseat driver and not just in the car. I was glad to have him along if it made Lionel Orpen more forthcoming but I was seriously considering dumping him by the side of the nearest main road on my way back.
‘Remember, I’m not telling Godley you came with me today. If you let it slip, I’ll get in a ton of trouble.’
‘Relax,’ Derwent said, opening the window and sticking his elbow out. Icy wind blasted across my face, blowing my hair into my eyes.
‘Hey! Shut it.’
‘I need air.’
‘It’s like having a dog. Do I need to take you for a walk before the interview or do you think you can wait until afterwards?’
‘Very funny,’ he said, without shutting it. I gritted my teeth and concentrated on getting to Kensal Rise, where Lionel Orpen was living out his retirement in a small terraced house.
There was nowhere to park on Orpen’s street so I drove around the corner and left the car beside a small park with a playground. The day was cool but bright and the park was busy with mothers and small children, who were running around shouting at top volume. I thought of Oliver Sinclair and wondered if Stuart would be allowed to look after him on his own again after letting a strange woman into the house.
Derwent squinted across the top of the car looking pained. ‘Do they have to make so much noise?’
‘It’s a key part of having a good time when you’re little.’
Two small boys ran past us on the other side of the railings, scuffling with one another.
‘Give them fifteen years and they’ll be being arrested for fighting outside pubs after closing time.’
‘Well, that won’t be your problem any more. You’ll be retired by then,’ I said.
He pulled a face. ‘Not quite. Anyway, they’ll have extended retirement age to seventy to save on pensions. Or I’ll keep working for free. I’m not exactly thrilled at the thought of doing fuck all every day for the rest of my life.’
‘I don’t think fuck all is obligatory. You could find something worthwhile to do.’
‘What sort of thing could I do? What else would I want to do? The crossword?’ He snorted. ‘Come on. Let’s go and see how it’s done.’
Good policeman or not, Lionel Orpen was no poster boy for retirement. He opened his door and peered out at us suspiciously, two days of stubble frosting flabby thread-veined cheeks. He’d been a big man in his time but now his clothes hung off his body, apart from where a substantial gut pushed against the thin wool of his jumper. Even before I smelled the alcohol on his breath I knew he was a drinker. It was half past ten and he was weaving as he led us into a living room piled high with newspapers and books.
‘Excuse the mess. I’m writing my memoirs. This lot is the raw material. Sources, and such.’ He sat down in a threadbare armchair by the gas fire, leaving us to find somewhere to put ourselves. Derwent perched on the arm of the sofa, which was loaded with yellowing magazines and otherwise unusable. I stood near the door, not wanting to touch anything. The house smelled of mildew and I was afraid to disturb any of the piles in case something jumped out at me. A movement at the back of the room made me whirl around, my heart thumping.
‘Gave you a fright, did he?’ Orpen patted his lap and a cat threaded his way through the stacks of books, uttering low cries. It was a round-faced tom with tattered ears and a scarred nose. It jumped up on Orpen’s knee and he scratched it under the chin. ‘Poor old Rudolf.’
‘As in the reindeer?’ Derwent asked.
‘As in Hess.’
Derwent glanced at me and I could see what he was thinking.
Oh, here we go …
‘You’re wondering why I named him after a Nazi. Well, he reminded me of him. He used to be free – I fed him now and then, when he came into the garden. He had a great life, fighting and screwing and chasing rats. Then he got picked up by the do-gooders next door and taken to a rehoming centre, as if anyone would want him. He was on death row when I found out where he’d gone. I got there in time to save him but he’d been de-balled. The way he looked at me, through the bars of the cage – it was Hess at Spandau all over again.’
‘Oh. That’s—’
Orpen interrupted Derwent. ‘You didn’t come here to talk about Rudy. You came to talk about Angela. Don’t bullshit me. I spent long enough doing the job you’re trying to pretend you’re capable of doing.’
‘All right.’ Derwent shifted position on the arm of the sofa. ‘Tell us about Angela.’
‘You first. What made you join the Met?’
‘It seemed like a good career.’
‘Bollocks. The truth.’
‘I wanted to help people.’
‘You’re wasting my time.’
‘I wanted to fuck up the people who think they can do what they want with other people’s lives.’
Orpen’s eyes lit up. ‘That’s what I liked about you, Joshua. You understood what we were trying to do.’
‘You were trying to fit me up for murdering Angela,’ Derwent said with commendable restraint.
‘It was obviously you. All the evidence pointed to you. Except that you couldn’t have done it.’ He gave a rattling, wet cough. ‘We put Charlie Poole under plenty of pressure to take back his statement but he wouldn’t. Said it wasn’t fair. He wanted justice, not revenge on you for putting his darling daughter in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘He was a good man.’
‘Oh, do you think so?’ Orpen leaned back in his chair to let the cat surge up his chest and lie against his shoulder. ‘He had no love for you.’
‘Not surprising. Men tend to have trouble with their daughters’ boyfriends.’
‘He thought you were a fool.’
‘He was probably right.’ Derwent smiled. ‘I was a teenager.’
‘You weren’t the worst. Not as clever as you thought you were, but cleverer than most.’ Another cough. ‘I knew you joined the army, you know. I kept in touch with your social worker. Found out when you left and decided to become a police officer.’
‘I’m flattered.’ Sarcasm was so much a habit with Derwent that I couldn’t tell if he meant it or not.
‘Don’t be. I kept track of a few lads. The ones I couldn’t lock up, for whatever reason. Some of them turned into killers and rapists, just as I’d thought, and got sent down. Some of them got on the straight and narrow. You’re the only one who joined the Met, I’ll tell you that much.’
‘I’m not surprised. You weren’t the best example I could have had.’
‘I. Did. My. Job.’ He slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, his face livid with rage, and I actually stepped back even though he wasn’t speaking to me. The cat took offence and jumped off, sliding under the chair instead. Orpen was depleted now, a shadow of what he had been in his prime. It must have been truly terrifying to be interviewed by him when he was in the full vigour of middle age.
Derwent folded his arms, outwardly unmoved. ‘Yeah, but you didn’t. Because you never locked anyone up for Angela’s death. Who did you like for it, apart from me?’
‘The dad, initially. That went nowhere. The two of you cancelled each other out, didn’t you? Alibied each other.’ Orpen burped, loudly, and went on as if he hadn’t. ‘The local troublemakers. We had a couple of sex offenders who were living nearby who seemed right, but then there wasn’t a sexual assault.’
‘Why do you think that was?’ I asked, too interested to stay silent.