Nicci French - Until it's Over

‘What?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘We weren’t sure of your shoe size but they’ll get you home. I’m sorry, Astrid, but I’ll need your earrings, the necklace and that ring.’

I quickly unclipped the earrings and unfastened the little blue-beaded necklace I’d bought in Camden Lock the previous summer. ‘I don’t know about the ring,’ I said. ‘A boyfriend gave it to me when I was nineteen. I’ve never taken it off.’

‘If it’s a problem, we can get someone to cut it off.’

‘All right, all right,’ I said.

I tugged at it. I couldn’t get it over the knuckle but I licked the finger, then pulled until my eyes watered and my knuckle gave up, surrendering the ring. Where was Tom now? I wondered. As I handed it over I felt that I had been stripped of everything that made me me. I pulled the trainers on. They fitted well enough.

‘You’ll get a receipt for these,’ said Lynch, ‘and they’ll be returned to you in due course.’

When Kamsky and Bradshaw came back in, I expected them to make some sort of joshing comment about the ridiculous clothes I was wearing but both looked serious. Kamsky nodded at Bradshaw, suggesting something prearranged between them. Kamsky handed me a mug of tea. I wondered where they’d got it. Had they made it in her kitchen? I sipped at it and flinched.

‘Drink it,’ said Kamsky, leaning over me like a parent urging a toddler. ‘I’ve seen people like you faint. It’ll do you good.’

A part of me rebelled against this. There was something horribly English about it. It didn’t matter what it was – a natural disaster, a crime scene, the Blitz – it would be solved by a nice hot cup of tea. But I did feel weak and confused and I sipped at the horrible sweet drink to give me time to think and to pull myself together. Every time I paused, Kamsky would nod at me, urging me on, and I would take another gulp until the mug was empty and I handed it back to him like a good girl. He nodded across at Bradshaw, who nodded back.

‘How are you feeling, Astrid?’ he asked.

‘Better,’ I said. ‘I was a bit shaken. Well, you know…’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We know. Do you feel dizzy, sick, anything like that?’

‘I’m all right.’

‘Do you know where you are?’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘Of course I do.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got to ask some stupid-sounding questions. I’ve got to assess whether you’re in a fit state to be interviewed. So, you’re perfectly clear about who we are?’

‘I’ve got a rough idea,’ I said.

‘No, really. Do you know who we are?’

‘Yes, I do.’

He looked across at Kamsky.

‘What do you think?’ said Kamsky, as if I wasn’t there.

‘It should be all right,’ said Bradshaw. ‘But I should be present.’

‘All right,’ said Kamsky. He looked at an officer standing by the door. ‘You can get Frank now.’

The officer left the room and Kamsky and Bradshaw waited in silence until a man came in. He wore a grey suit and was a few years older than Kamsky, balding across the crown with silver-grey hair cut very short. He looked at Kamsky and then at me without any expression.

‘Astrid,’ said Kamsky, ‘this is Detective Chief Inspector Frank McBride.’

‘Hello,’ I said.

McBride didn’t answer. He just looked down at me.

‘Matters are very urgent,’ said Kamsky. ‘You understand that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘But I need to remind you that you are entitled to have a lawyer present, if you want one.’

‘What for?’

‘And I need to warn you that, obviously enough, anything you say may be used as evidence and in court proceedings.’

‘Obviously,’ I said. ‘Why else would I say it?’

‘Exactly,’ said Kamsky, with a smile. He stole a glance at McBride and then looked back at me. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to be giving more statements. We’ll take you back to the station and there’ll be tape-recorders and lawyers and lots of red tape.’

‘I’m getting used to that,’ I said.

More exchanged looks. As he started to speak, Kamsky seemed embarrassed. ‘What we really wanted to say, Astrid, is that if you’ve anything to tell us, now would be a good time.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll try to put this as plainly as I can,’ said Kamsky. ‘There are experts going over every inch of this scene. We’re going to find the truth of what happened here. Leah Peterson’s body is still lying ten yards away from where we’re talking. Wouldn’t it be good to put an end to all of this?’

I really had thought I was beyond feeling anything more but now I realized something of what was being said. It was as if a newly formed bruise was being punched repeatedly.

‘I don’t understand the question,’ I said numbly. ‘I really think you should say what you mean.’

‘Let’s not mess about,’ said Kamsky. ‘There’s going to be a very large and detailed investigation. It’s only just beginning. But if you have anything material to offer, it might be a good idea if you could do it now. If you have any involvement in what has happened, if you know anything, if you suspect anything, I can promise you, Astrid, that it would be better in every imaginable way if you told us now.’

‘Are you insane?’ I said. ‘I was the one who called you. Do you think I have anything at all to do with this nightmare?’

Kamsky looked across at McBride and gave a helpless shrug, as if asking for help. McBride took hold of one of the dining chairs, pulled it across and sat down in front of me.

‘Well, yes, we do,’ he said. He had a light Scottish accent. ‘You saw the body?’

‘I was the one who called the police.’

‘But you saw it properly?’

‘Look,’ I said, holding up my hands. McBride pulled a face.

‘For God’s sake,’ he said, ‘why hasn’t someone dealt with that?’

‘They took swabs.’

‘That’s not what I meant. Anyway, did the state of Leah Peterson’s body remind you of anything?’

‘It was just like Ingrid de Soto ’s body. Obviously. What do you want me to say?’

McBride took a small notebook out of his pocket and looked at it.

‘So why were you here?’

‘To collect a package.’

‘People are going to stop asking you to collect their packages, Miss Bell. They’ll start to think you bring bad luck.’

I didn’t reply.

‘Were you surprised to be called to the flat of someone you know?’

‘I didn’t know she lived here.’

‘This is the home address of your ex-boyfriend’s fiancée?’

‘Yes.’

‘DCI Kamsky called your office. Again. They’re getting used to hearing from him. He asked for a written record of the transaction. Unfortunately they don’t have one.’

‘Sometimes we do jobs for cash,’ I said. ‘Off the books. It’s better for everyone.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said McBride. ‘And why you?’

‘They asked for me specifically.’

‘Is that unusual?’

‘Yes. But I think Campbell said something about the woman being scared of men coming to the house. You’ll have to talk to him about it.’

‘You can be sure we will,’ Kamsky said grimly.

Now there was a long pause.

‘Miss Bell,’ said McBride, finally, ‘is there something you want to tell us? Something that might save us all a great deal of trouble.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said.

McBride looked at Kamsky, then back at me. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let me put it like this. How would you describe your relationship with Leah Peterson?’.

I stared at McBride, who looked back at me without expression. Outside I could hear a bird singing and I thought it was probably the blackbird I had seen perched on the tree just outside the house when I arrived. That seemed a long time ago now, a world glimpsed through the wrong end of a telescope. I thought how all the ordinary things of life can often become moments of happiness when you look back at them. You don’t understand that at the time.