Nicci French - Until it's Over

‘What the hell’s going on?’ he said.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I arrived at the house and she was dead. I’m in a police station.’ There was complete silence at the other end of the line. ‘Are you still there?’

‘What?’ said Campbell.

‘I’ll call you later,’ I said. I broke off the call, switched off the phone and started to cry. This won’t do, I thought, but I hadn’t completely pulled myself together when the door opened and a man in a suit came in.

He was middle-aged with untidy greying hair that was thinning at the front. He was carrying two files under his arm. He stopped suddenly and looked at me. ‘What the hell are you wearing?’ he said.

‘I’m a bike messenger,’ I said.

‘Are you the one who found the body?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ he said, and walked out of the room. I heard indistinct shouting outside, which got more distant. I felt furious with myself that he’d seen me crying. That wasn’t me. The man came back in, accompanied by two officers. One, a WPC, was carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. The other had a tray with tea on it.

‘Put this on,’ said the detective.

‘I’m not cold,’ I said.

‘That’s an order,’ he said. ‘You may well be in shock. And when I find the police officer who left you like that, I’m going to give him such a kick up the arse.’

The clothes were ridiculous. There was a torn navy blue sweatshirt, a woolly jumper and a pair of jeans that were about five sizes too big. The WPC bent down and rolled up the legs.

‘I don’t think these do much for me,’ I said.

The man handed me a mug of tea. I sipped it and grimaced. ‘I don’t take sugar,’ I said.

‘You do this time,’ he said. ‘We’re going to stand here and watch you drink it.’

I felt the tea sinking into my empty stomach. ‘Is there anything to eat?’ I said.

The detective looked at the WPC. ‘You heard her.’

The WPC looked startled. ‘Can I get you a sandwich, love?’

‘Anything.’

‘At the double,’ said the detective.

The two officers scuttled out of the room. The detective gestured at me to sit down. He placed the two files on the table one beside the other. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Paul Kamsky,’ he said. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said.

‘This isn’t really by the book. I know you haven’t given a statement yet, but as soon as I heard, I had to come and talk to you myself.’ He gave a baffled smile. ‘I had to ask, what the hell is going on?’

‘What do you mean?’

He picked up a file – green cardboard – and opened it.

‘On Thursday, the tenth of May, you were the last person to see one Margaret Farrell alive.’

‘Me and a couple of my friends, yes.’

He put the file down and picked up the other one – brown cardboard, this time. ‘And now, a little over three weeks later, you are the person who finds the body of Ingrid de Soto. I wondered if you had any comment to make.’

‘For what it’s worth, I’m a bit shaken by it.’

‘So am I, Miss Bell. Anything else?’

‘Like what?’

He paused for a moment.’ ‘Miss Bell, I’m not sure if you’re entirely recognizing the oddity of the situation.’

‘I am fucking recognizing it. It’s a horrible, horrible coincidence and it’s not nice being the victim.’

‘You’re the witness, not the victim.’

‘That’s what I was trying to say.’

‘I could put it this way. I’ve been a copper for twenty-eight years and the only time I’ve ever found someone on two murder scenes within a month is because they were the murderer.’

‘You’re not saying…?’

‘No, no, of course not. But I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to be here for a while. These statements take a ridiculously long time. But I’m just here to ask a couple of very simple questions.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like, can you think of any connection between these two women?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said. ‘There’s no connection at all.’

‘Well, there’s one,’ he said.

‘What’s that?’

‘You.’

‘That’s mad.’

‘Please, Miss Bell. Help me. Tell me about your relation to these women.’

‘Honestly, there is no relation. Margaret Farrell lived in the same street I do, a few doors along. But this is London. I knew her face but I’d never really met her until I ran into her car.’

‘You ran into her car?’

‘Well, pedalled. It probably says that in the file.’ For the millionth time, I gave an account of what had happened. ‘But that was it. I didn’t know her. And I was in a shocked state, so I can’t even remember saying anything coherent to her.’

‘What about Ingrid de Soto?’

I started to shiver violently.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, my teeth chattering. ‘I’m not thinking in the clearest way.’

Kamsky leaned forward with a concerned expression on his face. ‘Do you need a doctor?’ he said.

‘Seeing her body,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen a dead body before.’

‘And not arranged like that,’ he said. ‘Some of my young constables were pretty shaken as well. Do you want to stop for a bit?’

‘No, I’m all right. What was it you wanted to know?’

‘Ingrid de Soto. Tell me about her.’

‘I didn’t even remember her full name. Maybe I saw it on a package.’

‘Why did you go to the house?’

‘I wasn’t planning it. My boss rang me. He could have rung anybody.’

‘How many others?’

‘Five or six.’

‘Had you been to the house before?’

‘A few times.’

‘Can you think why anyone would want to kill this woman?’

‘Which woman?’

‘Mrs de Soto. Do you know anything about her?’

‘No. I’m not her doctor, not her neighbour, not her friend. I deliver packages and take them away. Usually I don’t even know their names.’

‘Anything?’

‘She’s rich. She was rich.’

‘That’s something,’ he said.

‘She’s rich, so someone may have killed her for her money. As part of a robbery.’

‘My colleagues are still checking the scene. They haven’t managed to contact her husband…’

‘Her husband,’ I said. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. They both had husbands.’

‘There we are. There’s something else. But what I was saying is that, so far as we know, nothing was stolen. This was a murder done for other reasons.’

‘Like what?’

‘That’s something we’ll be considering.’

There was a long silence. Kamsky put his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands.

‘I don’t understand this,’ he said, ‘and that irritates me. I’ve got a horrible feeling that this might be a coincidence.’

‘I agree…’

‘But that’s not going to stop me.’ He looked up suddenly. ‘Where’s the package?’ he asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘The package you were supposed to be collecting.’

‘I don’t know. It wasn’t on my list of priorities after I’d broken in.’

‘The house was secure and the alarm on when you broke in?’

‘Yes,’ I began. ‘It went off when I broke the window…’

But he was really talking to himself, not me. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. ‘Right. After you’ve signed your statement I’ll have someone drive you home, Ms Bell. I must ask you not to tell anyone the details of what you saw. Do you understand? Nothing about the method of killing and nothing about the marks on her face.’ I nodded. ‘Two officers are going to interview you and I’m afraid you’re going to give a statement and you’re going to say everything that comes into your mind, if it takes all day and all night.’