Nicci French - Until it's Over

‘Sorry to drop in unannounced,’ he said.

‘That’s all right.’

‘Is there anywhere we can talk?’

‘You could go downstairs to the kitchen,’ said Miles.

‘It’s not very private,’ I said.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Kamsky.

‘We’ll keep out of the way,’ said Miles. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’

As Kamsky sat down at the kitchen table, he looked around with a smile. ‘How many of you are there?’

‘It’s a bit of a floating population,’ I said. ‘People come and go.’

‘Like a commune?’

‘It’s just a house-share.’

‘I couldn’t manage that,’ he said. ‘I like my own space.’

‘I know what you mean.’

Miles put coffee mugs on the table. Kamsky took his and contemplated it, then looked up at me. ‘It’s the package,’ he said.

‘You never found it?’

‘Did you ever have an itch that you couldn’t scratch because you didn’t know exactly where it was?’

‘No.’

‘There are several things about this case that bother me,’ he said.

‘That’s what Mitchell said.’

‘I know,’ said Kamsky. ‘He’s not a happy man.’

‘What about you?’ I said. ‘Are you happy?’

‘There’s your involvement,’ he said. ‘And the fact that you gave an interview about your involvement.’

‘It wasn’t exactly an interview,’ I said. ‘I shouted something at a reporter.’

‘A dignified “no comment” is usually the best policy,’ Kamsky said.

‘I wasn’t thinking clearly.’

‘And most of all I’m bothered by what was taken.’

‘I didn’t think anything was taken.’

‘I’m going to tell you something we haven’t released. Please don’t mention it to any reporters. As you saw, Mrs de Soto was wearing expensive jewellery, a necklace, rings, a bracelet. Perhaps you noticed that one earring was missing.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Just one. It had been pulled out, ripping through the earlobe.’

I flinched.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Kamsky. ‘It was probably done after she was dead. My psychiatric colleague tells me it was probably taken as a trophy.’

‘A trophy?’

‘A souvenir. By the way, he’s keen to talk to you as well.’

‘I don’t think I’ll be much help.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Kamsky. He paused and took a slow gulp of his coffee. ‘You might have picked it up and put it in your satchel.’

‘The package? That’s crazy. I broke into her house and found her lying dead. I didn’t stop to collect a package.’

‘As far as I can see, there are three possibilities. Either there was no package, or you took it, or whoever killed her took it.’

‘Have you looked for it properly?’ I asked. ‘Sometimes when I arrive to pick something up, they haven’t got it ready. It’s bloody irritating. I arrive and then they go off and get whatever it is and find something to put it in. Maybe she hadn’t wrapped it up yet.’

‘That’s a possibility,’ said Kamsky. ‘Another possibility is that the package was something valuable. Or perhaps it was something particular that he was after.’

‘That’s not possible,’ I said.

‘Why?’

‘She only booked the pick-up half an hour earlier. The guy happens to steal something in the last few minutes it’s going to be in the house. Is that another coincidence?’

‘No,’ said Kamsky. ‘I’m getting allergic to coincidences. But the murderer kills the woman and takes only two objects: an earring and the package you’re about to collect. Doesn’t that strike you as interesting?’

‘Strange, maybe.’

‘Did you have any idea what you were going to collect?’

‘No. When people call us, they only have to specify the size of the package. If it’s a grand piano, they generally don’t send me on my pushbike. But you should talk to my boss about that.’

‘I did,’ said Kamsky, with a frown. ‘I don’t think his record-keeping is entirely satisfactory.’

‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘One day the Inland Revenue are going to descend on him and take that place apart.’

‘Hello,’ said Pippa, from the doorway. ‘You must introduce me to your guest.’

‘Pippa, this is Detective Inspector Kamsky,’ I said.

‘Er, Detective Chief Inspector,’ he said. ‘Not that it matters particularly.’

‘And this is Pippa. She’s one of the many people who live here.’

Pippa’s eyes lit up and she came and sat at the table.

‘Be careful what you say,’ I said to Kamsky. ‘She’s also a lawyer.’

‘But a nice person anyway, I’m sure,’ said Kamsky.

‘Are you in charge of the investigation of the murders?’ said Pippa.

‘I’m heading the Ingrid de Soto inquiry. I’m in informal touch with the team working on the Margaret Farrell killing. As yet there’s no official connection between the two murders.’

‘Of course there bloody is,’ said Pippa.

‘What’s the connection?’ asked Kamsky.

‘Astrid,’ said a voice from behind. I didn’t need to turn round. Bloody Dario, bloody stoned. I could hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. He opened the fridge, took out a beer bottle and flicked off the cap with his thumb. ‘You want to watch her. Isn’t there a rule about the person who reports a murder always being the prime suspect?’

‘It’s not exactly a rule,’ said Kamsky.

Dario sat down next to me and took a swig of his beer. ‘There’s motive,’ he said. ‘Peggy Farrell opened her car door in front of Astrid. And then that other woman. Making Astrid cycle all the way up Highgate West Hill. If that isn’t a motive for murder, I don’t know what is.’

‘This is Dario,’ I said. ‘Another housemate.’

Suddenly the room seemed to be full. The word of Kamsky’s presence had spread and everybody was gathering to have a look at him. Davy and Mel came in, hand in hand, revoltingly in love. Owen arrived and sat beside me. Even he couldn’t resist it. Leah, the hostess, pulled the cork out of a bottle of wine. She came forward with a clutch of glasses. She offered one to Kamsky and he nodded.

‘Aren’t you meant to say, “Not when I’m on duty”?’ asked Dario, then gave a bark of hilarity.

Kamsky looked at his watch. ‘I’m not actually on duty,’ he said. ‘Cheers.’

Now everybody pulled chairs up to the table and crammed around, as if it were a child’s party and we were going to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and blow out the candles. Kamsky seemed rather bemused at being the centre of attention.

‘So how is it going?’ asked Mel. ‘I’m sorry to be nosy but I’ve never met a real detective before.’

‘Are you another housemate?’ asked Kamsky.

‘She’s with me,’ said Davy.

‘It’s difficult to keep track,’ Kamsky said.

‘You wait,’ I said. ‘It gets worse.’

‘Are you here to take statements?’ said Davy.

‘Why?’ said Kamsky. ‘Have you got something you want to say?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Davy.

‘But some people have,’ said Leah.

There was a silence. Kamsky shifted awkwardly in his chair. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

Leah looked around the table.

‘Is it true,’ she said, ‘that anyone who was near the scene when the murder happened should come forward?’

‘Well…’ Kamsky began.

‘Leah,’ said Miles, in a warning tone.

‘I just think that people should do what they said they would do.’

There was a flurry of voices around the table. Pippa held up her hand for silence. She spoke with an icy calm. ‘I wouldn’t have thought this was the time or the place but Leah has a fierce commitment to legal principle. Though the heavens fall. What she was hinting at was that I had a friend staying on the night of Peggy Farrell’s murder. He’s a little hard to trace but he will come forward and make a statement, if required. But this probably isn’t of much interest to you.’