Strange Affair Page 9

  “It all sounds very dull,” said Banks.

  “I told you so. But guess who’s the one with the Porsche.”

  “No need to rub it in. Is there more?”

  “A few market-research reports on health and hi-tech, the kind of reports you buy, the expensive kind.”

  “I was hoping for a few names.”

  “They’re here,” said Corinne. “Memos and letters between Roy and various directors and companies he was involved with. Julian Harwood, for example.”

  “I’ve heard that name.”

  “You might well have done. He’s quite big in the private health-care field these days. Directs the chain of clinics Roy’s involved with. Anything from cancer to breast enlargement. Actually, Roy and Julian have been mates for years.”

  “Harwood’s not a doctor, though?”

  “No, a businessman.”

  “Have you met him?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You don’t sound impressed.”

  “Maybe because that’s exactly what he sets out to do. Impress people. Frankly, I always found him a bit boorish, but it takes all sorts. It still doesn’t make him a crook, though.”

  “So you don’t think there’s anything in there to suggest that Roy was involved in any sort of illegal or dangerous business ventures?”

  “You can see for yourself it all looks quite kosher. I don’t know about dangerous, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, just because it looks clean, that doesn’t mean the hi-tech companies he worked with weren’t selling illegal weapons guidance systems to terrorists, or that the clinics weren’t involved in genetic manipulation. Maybe the cosmetic-surgery clinics gave gangsters new faces.”

  Banks laughed. “Like Seconds, you mean?”

  Corinne frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “It’s a film. Rock Hudson. A man gets a new face, new identity.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I suppose my point is that they’re not exactly going to announce things like that in letters six feet high, are they? It’s a wide-open world. You should know that. Even the most innocuous-looking enterprise on the surface can turn out to be a whole different matter if you dig a little deeper.”

  Banks did know that, and it didn’t make him feel a great deal easier about Roy.

  Corinne collected the pile of printed paper, put it in a folder and handed it to him. “Here. Be my guest.”

  Banks picked up the folder, put it in his briefcase and stood up. “Thanks a lot,” he said. “You’ve been very generous with your time.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Corinne. “Just find Roy.”

  “I will.”

  “When you do, will you let me know?”

  “Of course. In the meantime, you take good care of yourself. If you think of anything else, or there’s anything you need, well…you can ring me on Roy’s mobile. He left it on the kitchen table. That’s how I got your number.”

  Corinne frowned. “That’s not like him,” she said. “Not like him at all.”

  “No,” said Banks, and left.

  Annie hadn’t seen anyone faint since she was about nine, when one of the women at the artists’ commune where she had been raised keeled over in the middle of dinner. Even then, she overheard some of the adults talking later, and the general agreement seemed to be that drugs were the cause. In the case of Kate Nesbit, it was most likely shock, and perhaps the heat.

  Remembering her first aid, Annie placed Kate’s feet on a chair to elevate her legs above heart level to restore the flow of blood to the brain, then turned her head to one side so she didn’t swallow her tongue. She leaned close and listened. Kate was breathing without difficulty. Lacking smelling salts—never, in fact, having seen or smelled any—Annie just made sure that Kate hadn’t cracked her skull when she fell and then went over to the sink to pour another glass of water. She found a tea towel, dampened it with cold water and brought it over with the glass, then she got another glass of water for herself. Kate was stirring now, her eyes open. Annie mopped her brow, then lifted her into a sitting position so she could sip the water. As soon as Kate said she felt well enough, Annie helped her back into her chair, then cleared up the broken glass before continuing the interview.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kate said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “That’s all right. I’m just sorry I couldn’t find an easier way to break it to you.”

  “But shot? Jenn? I can hardly believe it. Surely that sort of thing doesn’t happen to people like us?”

  Annie wished she could say it didn’t.

  “What was it?” Kate went on. “Robbery? Not…like that other poor girl?”

  “Claire Potter?”

  “Yes. It was on the news for weeks. They still haven’t found the man. You don’t think…?”

  “We don’t know yet. Jennifer wasn’t sexually assaulted, though.”

  “Thank God for that, at least.”

  “Her things are missing,” Annie said. “Handbag, purse. So it could be robbery. Do you know if she carried much money with her?”

  “No, never. She always said she could buy everything she wanted with her credit card or debit card.”

  That was true enough these days, Annie knew. The only time people seemed to have a lot of cash on hand was when they had just withdrawn some from a cashpoint. “Look,” Annie went on, “you shared the flat with Jennifer. You must have been close. I know you’re upset, but I’m relying on you to help me. What was going on in Jennifer’s life? Men. Work. Family. Friends. Anything. Think. Tell me about it. There has to be an explanation if this wasn’t just some senseless random attack.”

  “Maybe it was,” said Kate. “I mean, those things do happen, don’t they? People killing people for no real reason.”

  “Yes, but not as often as you think. Most victims know their killers. That’s why I want you to think deep and tell me anything you know.”

  Kate sipped some water. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, we weren’t that close.”

  “Did she have any close friends?”

  “There was this girl she used to go to school with, up in Shrewsbury, where she grew up. She came around once or twice.”

  “Can you remember her name?”

  “Melanie. Melanie Scott.”

  Annie definitely got the feeling that Melanie Scott wasn’t on Kate’s list of favorite people. “How close were they?”

  “They went on holiday together last year. It was before Jenn moved in, but she told me all about it. Sicily. She said it was awesome.”

  “Do you have an address for Melanie?”

  “I think so. She lives in Hounslow, I remember. Out Heathrow way. I’ll be able to dig it out before you go.”

  “Fine. What was Jennifer like?”

  “Quiet, hardworking. And she really cared about people, you know. Maybe she should have been a social worker.”

  In Annie’s experience, the world of social work was hardly staffed by caring people. Well-meaning, perhaps, but that was a different thing in her mind. “What about all those mysterious comings and goings?”

  “That’s just me being silly, really. I like to know where people are and when they’ll be back. Jenn didn’t always bother to let me know. But she wasn’t a party girl, if that’s what you mean, or a clubber. I think she was actually rather shy. But she was bright and ambitious. Like I said, she cared about people. And she was funny. I liked her sense of humor. We used to watch The Office on DVD together and we’d both crack up laughing. I mean, we’d both worked somewhere like that. We knew what it was like. I’ll miss all that,” Kate added. “I’ll miss Jenn.” She started to cry again and reached for the tissues. “I’m sorry. I just can’t…”

  “It’s all right,” said Annie. “Is that what you always called her? Jenn, not Jenny?”

  Kate sniffled and blew her nose. “Yes. It’s what she liked to be called. She hated Jenny. She just wasn’t a Jenny. Like I�
�m not a Katy or a Kathy, I suppose.”

  And like I’m not Anne, thought Annie. Funny the way names, contractions, especially, tended to stick. She had been Annie all the time growing up on the artists’ colony, and only at school had people called her Anne. “The two of you must have talked,” Annie said. “What sort of things did she talk about?”

  “The usual things.”

  Christ, thought Annie, this was like trying to get water out of a stone. “Did you notice any change in her mood or behavior recently?” she asked.

  “Yes. She seemed very nervous and jumpy lately. It wasn’t like her.”

  “Nervous? Since when?”

  “Just these past few days.”

  “Did she tell you what it was about?”

  “No. She was even more quiet than usual.”

  “Do you think there’s any connection between that and her reaction to last night’s phone call, the late drive?”

  “I don’t know,” said Kate. “There might have been.”

  The problem was, Annie realized, that Jennifer’s mobile had been taken along with everything else. Still, the phone company records might help.

  “Do you know which network she used?”

  “Orange.”

  Annie made a note to follow up, then asked, “Do you have anything with her handwriting on it?”

  “What?”

  “A note or something? Letter? Postcard?”

  Kate turned to a corkboard on the wall by the door. A number of Far Side cartoons were pinned there, along with a few postcards. Kate went over and unpinned one of them, a view of the Eiffel Tower, and carried it over to Annie. “Jenn went to Paris for a weekend break in March,” Katie said. “She sent me this. We had a good laugh because she got back here before it did.”

  “Did she go by herself?” Annie asked, taking a photocopy of the note found in Jennifer Clewes’s back pocket from her briefcase to compare the handwriting.

  “Yes. She said she’d always wanted to go on the Eurostar and they had a special deal. She went around all the art galleries. She loved going to galleries and museums.”

  To Annie’s untrained eye, the handwriting looked the same, but she would have to get an expert to examine it. “Can I keep this?” she asked.

  “I suppose so.”

  Annie put the photocopy and the postcard in her briefcase. “You said she went alone,” Annie went on, “but isn’t Paris supposed to be the city of romance?”

  “Jenn wasn’t going out with anyone back then.”

  “But she has been more recently?”

  “I think so.”

  “Just think so?”

  “Well, Jenn could be very private. I mean, she didn’t kiss and tell, that sort of thing. But she’d been getting a lot of calls on her mobile lately, and making a lot. And she’d stayed out all night on a couple of occasions. She didn’t usually do that.”

  “Since when?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “But this started before the odd behavior?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she tell you his name? I assume it was a he?”

  “Good Lord, yes, of course. But she didn’t mention any names. She didn’t even tell me that she was seeing someone. It was just a feeling I got from her behavior. Intuition. I put two and two together.”

  “But you said she seemed nervous and jumpy. That’s hardly the way a new relationship is supposed to make you feel, is it? And why was she so secretive? Didn’t you ever talk about personal matters, say, if one of you split up with a boyfriend or something?”

  “We’ve only been flatmates for six months,” said Kate. “And nothing like that’s happened to either of us in that time. There’s that one bloke keeps pestering her, but that’s all.”

  “Who?”

  “Her ex-boyfriend. His name’s Victor, but that’s all I know about him. He keeps ringing and hanging around. You don’t think…?”

  “I don’t think anything yet,” said Annie. “Are you sure you don’t know his last name, where he lives?”

  “Sorry,” said Kate. “It was over before we started sharing. Or Jenn thought it was.”

  “What did she think about it? Was she frightened of him?”

  “No. Just annoyed, that’s all.”

  “How did you two become flatmates?”

  Kate looked away. “I’d rather not say. It’s private.”

  Annie leaned forward. “Look, Kate,” she said, “this is a murder investigation. Nothing’s private. What was it? An advertisement in the papers? The Internet? What?”

  Kate remained silent and Annie became aware of the tap dripping in the sink. She heard water spraying from a hose in a garden beyond the open window, and a child squealed with delight.

  “Kate?”

  “Oh, all right, all right. I thought I was pregnant. I did one of those home tests, you know, but I didn’t trust it.”

  “How does Jennifer come into this?”

  “It was where she worked. She was an administrator at a private women’s health center. They specialize in family planning.”

  “Like the British Pregnancy Advisory Service? Marie Stopes?” Annie remembered both of these from her own unexpected brush with pregnancy nearly three years ago, though in the end she had gone to a National Health Service clinic.

  “It’s a new chain. There are only a few of them open yet, as far as I know.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “The Berger-Lennox Centre.”

  “And they perform abortions?”

  “Not at the center itself, no, but they have satellite clinics, and they arrange for abortions to be performed. That’s not all they do, though. They cover the whole range, really: do reliable pregnancy tests; give advice and counseling, physical exams; arrange for abortions or put you in touch with adoption agencies, social services, whatever. They take care of everything. And they’re very discreet. One of my friends at work told me about them. Why, do you think it’s important?”

  “I don’t know,” said Annie. But the one thing she did know was that abortion was a red flag for a number of fringe groups, and that people who worked at such clinics had been killed before. “Do you have the address?”

  “In my room. I’ll get it for you when I get Melanie’s.”

  “Fine,” said Annie. “So how did the two of you meet? You said Jennifer worked in administration.”

  “Yes, she ran the business side of things. We got talking in the office while I was filling out the paperwork, that’s all. She was explaining it to me, how the system worked, that sort of thing. We just sort hit it off. We’re about the same age and I think she felt a bit sorry for me. Anyway, it turned out I wasn’t pregnant, and she asked me if I fancied a drink to celebrate. When we got talking we found out that neither of us was happy living where we were, so we decided to pool our resources and share. We didn’t know each other well, but we got along all right.”

  “Where did she live before?”

  “Out Hammersmith way. She said it was a really tiny flat and the area wasn’t very nice. She didn’t like walking there by herself at night. Can I have another glass of water, please?”

  Annie wondered why she was asking, why she just didn’t go and get it herself. It was her flat, after all. Shock, probably. The poor girl looked as if she was likely to faint again at any moment. Annie went over to the sink and filled the two glasses. A fat bluebottle had got itself stuck on the flypaper and was pushing frantically with its legs, trying to get away, only succeeding in miring itself deeper in the sticky stuff with each new effort it made. Annie thought she knew what that felt like.

  “Where did you live then?” she asked, handing over the water.

  “Thank you. In Richmond. With my parents.”

  “Why did you leave? Was it because you thought you were pregnant?”

  “Oh, no. It wasn’t anything to do with that. I never even told them. And the boy…well, he’s long gone now. Richmond is just too far out. I was spending all my time
commuting. I work in Clapham. I’m a librarian. It’s only a couple of tube stops, and on a nice day I can walk if I’ve got enough time.”

  “I see,” said Annie. “Why do you think Jennifer was so secretive about this new boyfriend?”

  “If you ask me,” Kate said, lowering her voice, “I think he’s married.”

  That made sense, Annie thought. Jennifer probably wouldn’t have bragged about a relationship with a married man; the fear of discovery was likely to make her nervous, on edge, and maybe the mobile was the safest way to communicate. No chance of getting his wife on the other end. “But you have no idea what his name is or where he lives?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  “How did they meet?”

  “I don’t even know if I’m right about any of it,” said Kate. “My mother always said I have too much imagination for my own good.”

  “Guess. Where might Jennifer have met someone? What kind of places did she like to go? Nightclubs?”

  “No, I’ve already told you she wasn’t like that. Besides, she was usually too tired when she got back from work. She often worked late at the center. I mean, she’d go for a drink or a meal with friends from work now and then, and maybe the two of us would go to the pictures once in a while. Then there was her friend Melanie.”

  “Could it have been someone she met at work?”

  “It might have been. That’s the most likely place, isn’t it?”

  Annie nodded. She knew that. Work was where she had met Banks and, in a way, Phil Keane. “Why wasn’t she out with him on Friday? It’s the weekend, after all. People usually get together.”

  “I don’t know,” said Kate. “She just said she was stopping in. She did say she was expecting a phone call at some time, but she didn’t know exactly when.” Her face started twitching again as if she was about the cry. “Should I have known? Should I have stopped her?”

  Annie went over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, Kate,” she said. “There’s nothing you could have done, no way you could have known.”

  “But I feel so useless. Some friend I’ve turned out to be.”