Nicci French - Until it's Over

‘Yes.’

‘But we haven’t found the knife. Who did you tell about Ingrid de Soto ’s face?’

‘No one.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll spell it out as clearly as I can, so we all know what we’re dealing with here. One, you bump into Margaret Farrell’s car door and a few minutes later, if that, she’s murdered. There is the minor detail that her body seems to have vanished for a period of hours, then reappeared where it was discovered. Two, you’re sent to collect a package from Ingrid de Soto’s house and you arrive to find that, just a few minutes before, she has been killed and mutilated. There is no sign of a forced entry, no weapon on the scene, and there is no package to be collected. Three, you are then sent to collect another package from a house, and when you arrive you discover that, just a few minutes before, Leah Peterson has been murdered and mutilated in a manner similar to that of Ingrid de Soto. Again, there is no package and no knife on the scene. You can’t blame us for wanting to question you.’

‘I know,’ I said wearily.

‘People behave unexpectedly under extreme circumstances,’ said Kamsky, gently now. ‘They remember the strangest things and they forget the strangest things. They do the strangest things. It’s almost an accident. It’s as if they’ve turned into someone else. They’re not themselves.’

‘Look,’ I said, ‘you don’t need to do clever things to get me to talk. You don’t need to coax me into agreeing with some scenario or other. I can’t believe I need to say these words, but here goes: I didn’t kill Leah or have anything to do with her death. I didn’t kill Ingrid de Soto, or have anything to do with her death. I didn’t kill Peggy either. But I’ll stay here as long as you want. I’ll answer anything you want.’

There was a silence now, which was only broken when Kamsky laced his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair and gave a huge yawn. ‘You’ll remember,’ he said, ‘back in those days when there were only two murders, we wondered if they were connected. It seemed possible, because of your – well, what shall we say? Presence? Proximity? They didn’t seem to have any other connection. Only you.’

‘Is there a question coming?’ asked Langley.

‘And now we have the murder of Leah Peterson. It’s as if God has opened the clouds and is yelling down at me personally, saying; “You want a connection? All right, here’s a fucking connection you can’t miss.”’

‘Please,’ said Langley.

‘I suppose I ought to be careful,’ said Kamsky. ‘I don’t want to get on the wrong side of you.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Look at the evidence. Margaret Farrell injures you -’

‘She didn’t injure me.’

‘Ingrid de Soto irritates you.’

‘She didn’t irritate me. I didn’t really know her.’

‘And you have a falling-out with Leah.’

‘Everyone fell out with Leah.’

‘Two alternatives strike me,’ said Kamsky. ‘Either you killed these women, which doesn’t seem very likely, or someone wanted you to find them. I take it you won’t mind if we go through your room?’

Langley gestured Kamsky away, then leaned close to me so that he could speak in a whisper. ‘Think before agreeing to this,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to let them go on a fishing expedition. But they’ll get a warrant.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said.

‘You’re sure there is nothing in your possession that might be problematic?’

I shook my head and spoke directly to Kamsky. ‘Just tidy up after you,’ I said.

When I was dropped back at the house, dazed from the repetition of my story, I felt like a traveller who had returned home after many years to find everything different. Mick was in the hall when I arrived. He looked at me with concern. ‘Police?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They’ll be wanting to talk to all of you in the house. So you’d better come up with a good story about where you were at about ten this morning.’

‘I didn’t get in until three,’ said Mick. ‘So I was asleep.’

‘Can anyone vouch for that?’

‘No.’

‘That’s not exactly watertight.’

‘I’ll see you,’ said Mick, and walked past me out of the front door.

I knocked on Pippa’s door and she waved me inside without a word. She took a half-bottle of Scotch and a tumbler from a shelf, then glanced around. There was another tumbler on her desk, next to her opened laptop. It was filled with pens, pencils, a chain of paperclips. She emptied them out with a clatter. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll have this one.’

She pulled the front of her T-shirt out from under her belt and used it to wipe the tumbler. Then she tipped Scotch into both. ‘Water?’ she said.

‘This’ll do fine,’ I said.

‘I’m tempted to say that we need clear heads,’ said Pippa. ‘But on second thoughts, I don’t see the point. Cheers.’

We gulped at the Scotch a little too deeply and both flinched, as if in pain, at the same time. Pippa smiled. ‘Was Seth all right?’

‘He spent half his time trying to shut me up. But thanks. What’s happening?’

‘Gnashing of teeth,’ said Pippa. ‘Wailing. Rending of garments. What do you expect?’

‘Who’s in?’

‘I came home early. I haven’t seen Mick or Owen, though I believe they’re both here somewhere. Miles was around, looking like a ghost. Whimpering. Dario freaked out. I went up to see him and he was scrubbing his room with bleach, terrified that Forensics were going to find traces of drugs. I tried to explain that the police would find traces of bleach more suspicious. He started raving about what he should do to get rid of the bleach. I stumbled on Mel sobbing in the kitchen with Davy comforting her. That’s suspicious behaviour for a start. Anyone who’s upset about Leah really must have a screw loose.’

‘Pippa, for Christ’s sake,’ I said, ‘she was murdered today. You can’t mean that.’

Pippa took a sip of her drink. She didn’t seem particularly chastened by what I’d said. ‘It’s a strange kind of guilt,’ she said. ‘You wish someone ill and they get more ill than you wanted.’

‘I know.’

Pippa lit a cigarette and took a drag. ‘I’m sorry she died,’ she said. ‘And shocked. But I’m not going to pretend I didn’t hate her.’

‘Don’t you think life’s too short to waste on hating people?’

‘That’s a bit Zen for me,’ said Pippa.

‘Were the police round?’

‘A couple of officers were holed up with Miles for ages. They left just before you arrived. They’ll be interviewing the rest of us tomorrow. Unsurprisingly.’

‘Right.’

‘I’ve been planning my alibi. I was at work. What’s yours?’

‘It’s that I found her body but didn’t kill her.’

‘Your friend Campbell phoned. They pulled him in for questioning too.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s the one who keeps sending you to stumble over corpses.’

‘I don’t think he has much of a motive,’ I said, ‘except for hating the clients. Which we all do. Anyway, that doesn’t explain Peggy Farrell.’

‘All roads lead to this house,’ said Pippa.

‘Except for Ingrid de Soto.’

‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ said Pippa, thoughtfully. ‘The only thing they have in common is you. Do you think someone is killing people who get on your nerves? As a sort of favour?’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘But the police are already on to that one.’

I looked down at the tumbler. It was empty. How had I managed that?

‘What’s going to happen?’ I said.

‘What do you mean?’ said Pippa. ‘To us? To the world?’