Simon Kernick - The Murder Exchange

‘What? Like an argument?’

He nodded.

‘How many people were involved?’ asked Berrin.

‘Just two of them. Jean and someone else. A man. I didn’t immediately recognize the voice.’

‘She’s not in trouble, is she?’ asked Mrs Lacker, coming in with a tray containing a china teapot, four puny-sized china cups and a selection of what looked like custard creams.

I smiled reassuringly as she sat down in a chair next to her husband. ‘Not at all, but it is important we speak to her. You haven’t seen her this morning, then?’ They both shook their heads. ‘How violent was this argument you heard last night?’

‘It wasn’t violent as such,’ said Mr Lacker. ‘It was just quite loud.’

‘It didn’t last that long either, did it?’ added his wife, passing me a cup. ‘Jean tends to keep herself to herself. She’s not a difficult neighbour at all. Is she, Peter?’

‘No, not at all. She’s lived here for a long time. Three or four years, I think.’

I asked them how often she received male visitors but they were vague on this. Now and again, said Mr Lacker, adding that he and his wife were sexually liberal and so of course didn’t disapprove of such arrangements, which as far as I was concerned was one detail too many. They were also vague on how often Jean had had violent disagreements with said visitors. Mr Lacker backtracked somewhat on his earlier statement and said not very often at all. Mrs Lacker said she couldn’t remember the last time before the previous night.

I couldn’t help feeling vaguely concerned about what I was hearing. I took a sip from my tea and put the cup down. ‘I’d like to try her flat again, if I may,’ I said, standing up. Berrin, who was munching on one of the custard creams, followed suit with only limited enthusiasm. It looked like he’d been enjoying his sitdown. ‘Can you show me which one it is, Mr Lacker?’

‘Of course,’ he answered, and led us back out into the hallway. He pointed to a door at the far end. ‘That’s it.’

I stepped past him with Berrin following and knocked hard on the door. Nothing. I waited a few moments, then tried again. If she was in there, she would definitely be able to hear me. I put my ear against the door and listened to the silence. I tried the handle but it was locked. Then I had an idea. A highly irregular one, but on a day like this I wasn’t going to be fussy. ‘Have you got a key to Miss Tanner’s flat, Mr Lacker?’

‘I have,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure I should be-’

‘I have reason to believe that something might have happened to her,’ I told him, ‘and I need to see if this is the case or not. To do that, I need access to her flat. You can come in with us if you want to satisfy yourself that we’re not doing anything in there that we shouldn’t be.’

‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I’d better go and get it.’

He turned and went back inside and Berrin looked at me quizzically. ‘Don’t worry,’ I whispered. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ Which of course were famous last words if ever I’d heard them.

A few seconds later, Mr Lacker emerged with the key in his hand and a worried-looking Mrs Lacker in tow. ‘I do hope everything’s all right,’ she said to me. ‘She always seemed such a nice young lady.’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ I said, taking hold of the key, ‘but I think it’s best to stay on the safe side.’ With everyone crowded behind me, I turned the key in the lock and slowly pushed open the door.

The layout was different to the Lackers’ place and the door opened directly into a spacious lounge with an open-plan, newish-looking kitchen to the right. A wide-screen plasma TV hung from the wall in front of two expensive-looking leather sofas, and the whole effect was very minimalist but also very tasteful. It also looked very unlived in. There were no dirty cups or dishes and the large glass ashtray on the coffee table in the centre of the room was clean and empty. And no evidence at all of a row.

‘Well, she’s not short of a few bob,’ said Berrin, looking round admiringly at the furnishings, particularly the TV.

‘She never said what she did for a living,’ said Mrs Lacker, who had come in behind us. Her husband, meanwhile, hung back in the doorway. ‘It’s very nice, isn’t it Peter?’

Peter nodded. ‘I expect that kitchen cost a pretty penny,’ he said. ‘Those are granite worktops in there. They cost a fortune.’

Berrin looked across at me, presumably for guidance as to what to do next, now that we were in the place. The problem was, I wasn’t sure. I’d hoped there might be some clues to her where-abouts lying about — not that I was quite sure what — but there was nothing. It looked like the apartment had been cleaned from top to bottom — a slightly worrying sign in itself.

To our left, a short hallway ran down to the rest of the apartment. ‘Let’s take a look down here,’ I said. Berrin looked at me like he wanted to say something but was unable to do so because of the presence of the Lackers. I knew what it would be as well. Something along the lines of ‘What the hell are we doing here and what would a defence lawyer have to say about it?’ A good point, but I’d worry about that one later.

‘I’ve never been in here before,’ said Mrs Lacker, wandering into the kitchen area and looking up at the metallic pots and pans hanging there. ‘It’s very nice.’

‘Don’t touch anything, please,’ I told her. ‘Either of you.’

We started off down the hallway. Mr Lacker meanwhile remained standing in the door, looking around with just a hint of suspicion, as if he too was trying to work out what Jean Tanner did for a living and how she’d managed to accumulate such pricey belongings. It looked like he was jumping to correct conclusions, and was perhaps realizing that he wasn’t as sexually liberal as he’d previously thought.

There was a bathroom on our left with the door slightly ajar. I pushed it open with the key while Berrin stepped past. I noticed that two tooth-brushes were out on the sink and the lid was off the toothpaste — not that any of that was much use. The shower, however, had been used quite recently, certainly that morning. The curtain was damp and there were still drops of water in the bath tub.

I stepped back out of the bathroom and saw Berrin, who’d put on gloves, opening the door to one of the bedrooms. At the same time he removed another of the Lackers’ custard creams from his pocket and began munching it surreptitiously.

I followed him into the bedroom, conscious that Mrs Lacker was coming up behind me, doubtless for more of a nose about. I was just turning round to tell her to stay back when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Berrin stop in front of an imposing dressing-room cupboard at the end of the double bed, and pull a face. He started to say something but his mouth was full of custard cream and it came out like gibberish. And then, the next second, he was opening the door.

There was an immediate crash as the naked corpse came tumbling stiffly out, arms at its sides, like something out of The Mummy Returns . It smacked straight into Berrin, who let out a high-pitched howl, spitting crumbs everywhere, and fell back on the bed with it on top of him. I yelled too, and jumped back as he instinctively shoved it away from him, unfortunately in my direction. It bounced loudly against the corner of the cupboard, then came crashing down by my feet, face upwards, and right in the doorway. Mrs Lacker saw it immediately, let out the biggest scream of the lot, then put her hand on her face and fainted dramatically, hitting her head on the bathroom door as she fell backwards.

‘What’s going on?’ yelled Mr Lacker, running over to his wife.