Authors: Nicci French
Chapter Eleven
I was summoned again to be interviewed. It sounded urgent and I had to cycle up to Kentish Town in the middle of a working day, infuriating Campbell. But after I had locked my bike and been signed in, there wasn’t much of an interview. Kamsky asked me a few questions but I had nothing new to say and mainly he walked up and down in silence. When he said something it was as much to himself as to me.
‘These are the essential questions,’ he said. ‘One: why did the house show no sign of forced entry, unless Mrs de Soto knew her killer? Two: where was the package you were supposed to collect? Three: why were you present at both murders?’
‘I wasn’t present.’
‘Four,’ he continued, showing no sign of having heard me. ‘Who else knew that you were going to Mrs de Soto’s house?’
‘Nobody. Campbell. I don’t know. I’ve told you everything.’
‘I don’t think so. I think you know something but you don’t know you know it.’
‘That sounds too clever for me.’
‘What were you doing the day before yesterday?’ I asked Owen, as we walked towards the Downs. The men of the house were going to play football with a team who called themselves the Hackney Empire against another team from Enfield. Pippa, Mel and I were going to watch. I had planned to spend the entire day in bed, trying to shut out the horror of the day before yesterday, but the familiarity of the outing was comforting. It was like going back to a time before the horrible things started happening. Except that walking there with Owen was unsettling. I wasn’t like Pippa: I couldn’t just go back to being a friend as if nothing had happened, as if sex was like a day we’d spent at the seaside. I was trying to act casually, speak to him in a friendly and neutral fashion, but my throat felt dry and my stomach lurched when I looked at him. Everything about him, which had been so familiar for months, now seemed mysterious to me. He’d become a beautiful stranger, grim and infinitely desirable. But I still wasn’t going to take my clothes off and sit in front of him while he took unsettling photographs that turned me into an inanimate, tortured object.
‘The day before yesterday?’
‘Were you busy?’
‘Why?’
‘The police will probably ask. You’ll need an answer.’
‘I was at a magazine in the morning with the picture editor and –’
‘Which magazine?’
‘
Bella
.’
‘Fake alibi?’ said Davy, cheerfully, appearing at my side with Mel in tow.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ But I could feel myself blush.
‘I was with Mel, so I’ve got a witness,’ continued Davy.
Mel giggled shyly and put her arm through his.
‘Here,’ said Davy, ‘can you lend me a fiver, Astrid? I’ve left my wallet at home and I want to pick up a paper or two.’
I fished my purse out of my bag and opened it. ‘I’ve only got some change. I thought I had loads of money. I only took some out a couple of days ago.’
‘Never mind.’
‘I’ve got money,’ said Mel. She was ridiculously eager to please, like a little panting dog. A sleek, pretty dog with large, woebegone eyes.
‘Thanks.’ He pocketed the note and bounded into the newsagent on the corner.
We loitered outside, while Pippa, Mick, Miles and Dario ambled towards us. Dario fished a packet of cigarettes out of his back pocket and stuck one in the corner of his mouth.
‘Doesn’t it make your chest hurt during football?’ asked Mel.
‘Sure,’ said Dario. ‘If I run.’
‘Dario doesn’t run much,’ explained Pippa. ‘He kind of loiters and puts his foot out to trip people up.’
Dario ignored them. He looked at me. ‘I was thinking, I don’t know which is worse. If it’s a coincidence or if it’s not a coincidence.’
‘If it isn’t a coincidence,’ said Miles. ‘That’s clearly worse.’
‘It can’t not be a coincidence,’ I said.
‘Unless you killed them both,’ said Dario, drawing deeply on his cigarette and cackling at the same time. ‘No, no, don’t worry, Astrid, I was just winding you up.’
‘I’m glad someone can laugh at it,’ I said.
‘It can be to do with a sort of energy,’ said Dario.
‘What?’ I said.
‘It’s like a forcefield,’ said Dario, ‘where terrible things happen, or have happened, or are going to happen. They’re like a kind of spiritual magnetism and certain very sensitive people – such as you – are attracted to them.’
‘I collided with her car,’ I said.
‘Exactly,’ said Dario.
‘And I wasn’t exactly attracted to the other woman. My boss radioed me and asked me to collect a package.’
Dario took another deep drag and looked mysterious.
‘The attraction doesn’t have to be direct,’ he said. ‘There are collections of forces and they act on particular people. There’s something special about you, Astrid. An aura. We might not be able to see it, but we can feel it.’ I heard Owen give a small sound, almost like a snort, and turned to glare at him, but he looked away. Dario took a last drag on the cigarette and dropped it on the pavement, grinding his heel into it as Davy came out of the shop carrying a bulging plastic bag.
‘Have you thought you might be in danger?’ Mick said suddenly.
We stared at him and he stared back, his pale blue eyes unblinking.
‘I thought it briefly,’ I said finally, ‘after I hit the door of Peggy’s car and I was flying through the air.’
‘What danger could she possibly be in?’ said Davy.
Mick just shrugged.
‘You’re a bloody idiot,’ Davy said, with unaccustomed ferocity. ‘It’s bad enough for Astrid as it is.’
‘Thanks, Davy,’ I said. ‘But I’m OK.’
On the Downs we sat on the warm grass while we waited for the match to start. Davy pulled a bundle of papers out of the plastic bag and tossed them towards me. ‘Something to read while we’re playing,’ he said.
‘Why so many?’ I asked, or started to ask, but then I saw the headlines.
‘I thought you should be informed,’ said Davy, awkwardly. ‘Was I wrong?’
‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘No, I guess not.’
We picked up papers and rifled through them, skimming the front news stories, the features and the comment pieces, avidly swapping bits of information. Of course, I should have expected a lot of coverage of Ingrid de Soto’s murder, but even so I was taken aback by quite how much there was. Much more than Peggy’s, but then, as Miles remarked acidly, Peggy had been a middle-aged, unphotogenic housewife in Hackney, whereas Ingrid de Soto was blonde, glamorous, rich and the right side of forty. ‘Money, sex and death,’ he said. ‘All that’s missing is religion.’
It was true that money and sex featured in many of the stories, and even God slipped in once or twice, via an interview with a local vicar, who’d clearly never met Ingrid de Soto but was eloquent about the nature of good and evil and the decline of traditional values in our celebrity-obsessed and faith-deprived contemporary culture.
The football started. There was a lot of yelling and grown men rolling over pretending to be hurt. People kept shouting, ‘Ref,’ and holding up a finger. Mick scored two goals, one with his head. Dario lurked by the touchline. Mel went away and came back with three ice-cream cones for Pippa, me and herself. Owen got hit by a high tackle and I saw a bruise shaped like an egg form on his shin.
While it went on, I learned a great deal about the dead woman that I hadn’t known. I found out that she was thirty-two (I’d always fancied her to be older, because of her chilly, well-bred politeness, and her tall, co-ordinated house, which had the kind of affluent respectability that seemed horribly grown-up to someone like me). That she had moved from Hong Kong to London, and to Highgate, seven years ago. That her husband, Andrew de Soto, was the manager of a hedge fund, whatever that was. He was reported to be devastated by his wife’s death. But Ingrid de Soto was rich through her father as well as her husband: William Hamilton was in oil, a millionaire many times over. She was his only child and he was flying to London to see her body. She had no children (I’d known that – no house could ever look so flawless with a child). Highgate neighbours were ‘shocked and appalled’. Friends were shocked and appalled too. They described her as ‘lovely’ and ‘smart’. She had no enemies, apparently: everyone liked her.
‘They didn’t talk to any of us despatch riders, did they?’ I said.
‘Did you dislike her, then?’ asked Mel, her eyes round with horror.
‘We dislike everybody,’ I said. ‘The whole world is basically against us. “Horror on the Hill”,’ I read from a headline.
‘Hey, what’s this?’ Pippa shook her paper in front of me. ‘ “Ingrid de Soto’s body was found at her exclusive Highgate home by bike messenger, Alice Bell…” ’
‘Alice?’
‘ “… Alice Bell, who is said to be very traumatized by her experience.” ’
I grabbed the paper from Pippa’s hands. ‘Where?’
‘It must be a later edition.’
‘Who said I was very upset?’
‘Well, you were, weren’t you?’
‘Of course I was. Am. That’s not the point. How do they know about me?’
‘Alice,’ said Pippa.
‘Why would they tell them my name – not my name, as it happens?’
‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’ asked Mel.
‘I don’t know. It feels odd, that’s all. Everything feels odd at the moment. It feels like everything’s gathering a momentum of its own.’
‘I’ve got something to say,’ announced Davy, as we sat round with bottles of water and cans of beer after the match had finished, no one really wanting to return to the house.
‘Go on, then,’ said Pippa.
‘Really, Dario’s got something to say,’ said Davy.
‘Have I? I don’t think so.’
‘Yeah. Sorry, Dario, but you have.’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’
‘I’m sure it’ll turn out to be nothing. But someone died. Two people died. And you’ve got to come clean.’
Dario spluttered.
‘Come on, mate,’ said Davy. I could see he was nervous. Making a stand like this wasn’t in character for him.
Dario stubbed out his cigarette, ground it, then lit another. We waited in silence. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s true that Astrid was right when she thought she saw someone. It was a guy who lives round the corner. He dropped round. He was on his way out when you appeared.’
‘Why was he there?’ asked Miles.
Another silence. Dario gulped. ‘Just collecting something.’
‘What?’
‘Is that any of your business?’
‘Dario?’ I said. ‘Just tell us.’
‘I’d got some stuff for him. And he came over to collect it.’
‘Stuff?’ Miles’s voice had sunk to a kind of growl.
‘Yeah. Stuff.’
‘As in what? Weed?’
‘I’ve had some cash-flow problems. I needed some money to see me through. So. As you see, it wasn’t relevant. But I didn’t want to shout about it in front of the police. And don’t blame Davy. I asked him not to tell you.’
‘You fucking idiot,’ said Miles.
‘What?’ said Dario.
‘You’ve been dealing out of this house?’ he said.
‘It was just a favour for a friend.’
‘How dare you?’ Miles said.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Dario. ‘I didn’t realize there was a house rule.’
A row of some kind started. I heard it as if it was the wind blowing through the trees, but I paid no attention to the meaning. I was trying to think and for a moment I put my hands over my ears. Then I made my mind up. ‘What’s his name?’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Your druggie friend.’
‘He’s not a druggie. He works in advertising.’
What’s his name?’
‘Lee.’
‘You know where he lives?’
‘I’ve got his number somewhere.’
‘You should call him.’
‘You don’t know what you’re asking.’
‘I do. And, Pippa –’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Pippa, ‘what is this? The Inquisition? OK, OK, I’ll tell the police about Jeff. Happy now?’
Chapter Twelve
Monday morning, and I was wheeling my bike along the alley beside the house when something flashed. I blinked, looked up and it happened again. Then I realized two men were standing on the pavement outside the house, and one was taking photographs. Taking photographs of me. I put up a hand to shield my eyes and stared at them.
‘Miss Bell?’ one called.
‘Alice?’ shouted the other.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘It’s
Astrid
,’ I said. ‘Astrid Bell. Where did you get the Alice from, anyway?’
The man without a camera shrugged. ‘You found the body, right?’
Something about the language made me wince. The body. As if the poor woman was just a thing, a meaningless object I had happened to stumble across. There was a short silence. The photographer raised his camera again and fired off a few shots.
‘I didn’t say you could do that,’ I told him. ‘And you can’t.’
‘What was it like?’ asked the reporter.
‘How did you get my name?’
‘Is it true you broke in through the window?’
‘Did the police tell you?’
‘Can I say at least that you were very shocked?’
‘Of course she was bloody shocked.’
Dario had appeared at my side. He was wearing grubby purple tracksuit trousers and a bright yellow anorak with arms that hardly reached his elbows. The two men stared at him.
‘Don’t you dare take a photo of him,’ I said grimly, but too late.
‘Wouldn’t you be shocked if you were at the murder scenes of two women in just weeks?’ Dario continued. ‘You’d think it was bad karma, wouldn’t you?’
I groaned out loud.
‘You said two women?’
‘Right,’ said Dario. ‘First Peggy Farrell and then this other one.’
A look of bewildered fascination appeared on the reporter’s face. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘Astrid. Miss Bell.’
But I had swung my leg over my bike and mounted. I cycled away to the sound of the camera clicking and Dario calling my name.
That evening after work I met Pippa in the Horse and Jockey for a drink. We made an odd pair: she in her trim suit and sensible shoes, her hair coiled neatly at the back of her head, little earrings in her lobes, carefully invisible makeup, and a leather briefcase, me in my black Lycra and scuffed boots, sweaty and grimy. As if conforming to our parts, she ordered white wine while I had half a pint of lager.
‘So,’ she said, taking off her jacket, unpinning her hair and having a hearty swig of wine. ‘First of all, money. I wanted to talk to you about it before speaking to the others. You know what those big group discussions can get like.’
I nodded.
‘I got an email from Miles today at work. I’ve printed it out so you can have a look at it, but basically what he proposes is that each individual gets paid according to the amount of time he or she has lived in the house. So you and I get the most, and Davy and Owen the least. But he’s also suggesting that since that might end up being a bit unfair on them, he should give us each a lump sum, then top it up with an adjustable amount. So it’s
x
plus
y
times
t
.’
‘What?’
‘That’s how Miles puts it –
x
is one sum,
y
another, and
t
is time.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Right. Has he mentioned actual figures, or are we stuck in Algebra Land?’
‘He suggests that
x
equals seven and a half thousand,
y
equals two and
t
is a year or part of a year.’
‘So you and I, for instance – that’s seven and a half add two, times – what is it? Four and a half years, that’s five – so plus ten thousand, makes seventeen and a half.’
‘Right. While Davy and Owen get nine and a half.’
‘Which is also an awful lot of money. How much is Miles going to shell out altogether?’
‘Lots.’
‘Leah won’t be pleased.’
‘I know, but it’s based on how much the value of the property has risen, which you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Try me.’
‘He bought it five years ago for about a quarter of a million. Guess how much it’s worth now?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Try.’
‘Let’s see. Seven bedrooms, big garden. Um – five hundred thousand?’
‘More.’
‘OK, six hundred.’
‘More.’
‘More?’
‘Eight hundred.’
‘Fuck. For that? Even after Dario’s work?’
‘So you don’t need to worry he’s being too generous.’
‘Do you think he’s offering about the right amount?’
‘It seems fair enough.’
‘Will the others think so?’
‘Dario won’t. But Dario thinks he’s committing a terrible crime by throwing us out in the first place and no amount of money could compensate for that betrayal. We’re all the family Dario’s ever had, remember. It’s like a divorce.’
‘But the others?’
‘Who knows? Money makes people act in all sorts of strange ways. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of behaviour I come across at work. It’s cash, by the way. Strictly under the table.’
‘You mean, he’d pay us in cash?’
‘I think the idea is that he’d pay you and you’d hand it out.’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why?’
‘I think he doesn’t want to face any more of it.’
‘Sounds like Miles.’
‘Do you want another drink?’
‘Go on, then.’
I watched her as she made her way to the bar. Men stood aside to let her by, then closed in again, following her with their eyes. She appeared not to notice.
‘What’s happening with Owen?’ she asked, as she sat down.
‘Nothing. Anyhow, he’s away at the moment on some photo-shoot. More importantly, what’s happening with Jeff?’
‘Jeff?’ She stared at me, wrinkling her brow. ‘Jeff, as in…?’
‘Jeff as in Jeff-who-stayed-with-you-on-the-night-of-Peggy’s-murder.’
‘Oh, that Jeff.’
‘Yes, that Jeff.’
‘I know what you’re going to say. And you don’t need to say it –’ But at that moment she was interrupted.
‘It’s the attractive and visibly distraught Ms Astrid Bell,’ cried a voice, and I turned to see Saul’s beaming face.
I had known Saul since I was fifteen. We met at a party, where we spent three hours sitting on the staircase and talking about music and movies, and had been friends ever since. It was Saul who got me my job with Campbell; he had been a despatch rider for nearly seven years now, and every month he swears will be his last. ‘What are you on about?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Know what?’
‘That you’re the enigma at the heart of the mystery.’
‘You’re drunk.’
‘You’re the key, but where’s the lock?’
‘Saul!’
‘You really don’t know?’
‘I really don’t know – I don’t even know what it is I don’t know.’
‘Look! Hot off the press.’
He pulled the local newspaper out of his messenger bag and flung it on the table. It took me a few seconds to realize what I was looking at. There I was, standing outside our house holding my bike, one hand raised and my jaw jutting out. I was wearing the same gear I had on today and looked both thuggish and mildly pornographic. But that was nothing compared to Dario, who was in the background and weirdly shrunk by the angle of the camera lens. In his ill-fitting yellow anorak and trousers, with his hair half over his face and his mouth open, he had the appearance of an evil dwarf.
Pippa gave a horrified giggle.
‘ “Messenger Murder Mystery”,’ I read from the headline.
‘You should see the puns,’ said Saul, who was tremendously cheerful about the whole affair. ‘Look here: “cycle-ogical thriller”. You’re at the centre of something weird.’
‘It’s not that big a deal,’ I insisted, but I shivered. It was as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun, turning the warm, crowded room cold and dark.