Jane Casey - Let the Dead Speak

‘Looking and talking isn’t against the law. We can’t stop Mr Turner from socialising. Especially if – according to you – he wasn’t convicted of anything.’

‘Yes.’ Norris narrowed his eyes. ‘You don’t think I’m right to be worried either. But you haven’t met him. You haven’t spoken to him. You haven’t looked into his eyes. I have. And I know what I saw there.’

‘What was that, Mr Norris?’

‘He has no soul.’ Norris leaned back in his chair, as if he’d struck a killer blow that ended the argument then and there. In a way, of course, he had. I certainly didn’t want to prolong it.

‘Thanks for your help, Mr Norris. If you think of anything else we might need to know, do get in touch. We’ll probably need to speak to you again, to confirm the details of your statement. And we’ll need to get your fingerprints and DNA, if you don’t mind, for elimination purposes.’

‘Right. Yes. Anything to help.’ He was back to looking uneasy. ‘Though I’m sure there’s nothing that can’t be easily explained if you do find some DNA of mine floating around.’

What exactly did you get up to when you went to fix the tap, Mr Norris?

I followed Georgia out to the hall and collected a set of keys for the Volvo that sat outside the house. As I was leaving, a thought struck me. ‘Mr Norris.’

‘Yes.’ He was already closing the door, relief all over his face. He hadn’t been anything like as relaxed as he’d pretended to be.

‘What’s your problem with the cat?’

‘Oh – I don’t like cats. I have a phobia of them, actually. The fur. The way they look at you. And if you’d seen what it was doing at the house—’ He covered his mouth again and retched. Sweat stood out on his forehead. When he could speak again, he mumbled, ‘Disgusting animal. A charity is coming to take it away. I’m not having it in my home. Why?’

‘Just wondering,’ I said, and followed Georgia down the path to the road.

‘I don’t get it,’ she said once we were out of earshot. ‘Why were you wondering?’

‘Two reasons. Someone managed to lock the cat in that room, and they made sure it could survive being left alone for a few days. He wouldn’t have wanted to go near it and he certainly wouldn’t have cared if it had died from lack of water. Anyway, can you see him being able to stab someone to death? Even talking about the scene made him want to vomit.’

‘You don’t think he was faking.’

‘I don’t. But I could be wrong. I don’t think I’m wrong about the cat.’ As I spoke I glanced back at the house and saw a curtain twitch in an upstairs room: Chloe, I thought. And a second, smaller figure beside her, drawing her away. The light caught her glasses as she moved: Bethany Norris. They were gone before I could draw Georgia’s attention to them.

‘What do we do now? Go and see William Turner?’ She was full of energy, straining at the lead like a dog with the scent of blood in her nostrils.

‘The convenient local psychopath. I think it can wait – I’ll get Liv to do some checks on his history before we call on him. I’d like to know more about what happened to Kate Emery and more about him before I speak to him.’

‘So what? Go home?’

‘Nope. Now we go and see another troublemaker.’ I grinned. ‘But this one is all ours.’

‘Welcome back.’ Derwent stood in the doorway of number 27, liberated from his paper suit, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He was still wearing shoe covers, and his standard mocking expression.

‘Shouldn’t I be saying welcome back to you?’ I said.

‘That would have been nice. I don’t think I even got a hello, did I?’

‘Hello.’ I looked past him. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Kev’s blood lady is here. She says she’ll be a couple of hours at least – she’s got to draw a map of all the blood spatter. Easier to map the places that aren’t covered in blood.’

‘If Kev thinks she’s good—’

‘She must be good,’ Derwent finished. ‘But I’ve got the go-ahead to search the other areas of the house, as long as we don’t get in her way, and as long as we’re careful.’

‘I always am.’ I took a pair of shoe covers and handed another set to Georgia. ‘Put them on.’

She did as she was told, but I was aware of her looking from me to Derwent and back again while she did it. I wondered what she’d been told about us. I wasn’t sure what the current rumours were. I knew the truth, which was that there had never been anything romantic between me and Detective Inspector Josh Derwent. And with that in mind …

‘How’s Melissa?’

‘Fine,’ Derwent said shortly.

‘How’s Thomas? Does he like the new house?’

His face softened. ‘Yeah. Loves it.’

‘You spent your holiday moving house?’ Georgia said.

‘Some of it. Some of it in Portugal.’

‘Whereabouts?’

Instead of answering, Derwent cleared his throat. I could tell that he didn’t want to talk about his personal life any more. He was infinitely protective of the ready-made family that he’d acquired eight months earlier: his girlfriend Melissa Pell and her son Thomas, who was just four. Thomas was Derwent’s greatest fan and the feeling was absolutely mutual. And I knew Derwent didn’t even want to think about them in a house that stank of death, let alone say their names.

‘I take it the helicopter didn’t find a body for us.’ I used my back-to-business tone of voice and caught the edge of a look from Georgia. Joyless was the kindest word she would use to describe me, I guessed. Then again, I wasn’t sure how much fun she had expected in a murder investigation team.

‘It didn’t find anything,’ Derwent said. ‘We had a dog here for a bit, but even his handler said he was fucking useless. He found some fox shit, if you’re interested in seeing that.’

‘I can live without it.’

‘What did you find out?’

‘Not a huge amount. There’s a perfect local suspect, though.’

He grunted. ‘There always is.’

‘He doesn’t seem to fit the bill anyway.’

‘Go on.’ Derwent was listening closely as I told him about Oliver Norris and his suspicions about William Turner.

‘I was more interested in what he said about Kate Emery.’

‘Oh?’

‘She had male visitors when her daughter was away. Mr Norris noticed.’

‘What sort of male visitors?’

‘Mr Norris thought they were misbehaving,’ I said primly.

‘Professional or amateur misbehaviour?’

‘That I don’t know. Yet.’

‘If you want to join me in the lady’s bedroom, we can have a look,’ Derwent said with something approaching a leer.

‘Can’t wait,’ I said briskly, knowing that Georgia was still trying – and doubtless failing – to get a read on our relationship. ‘I should ask Oliver Norris if he saw anything suspicious when he came over to fix Kate’s dripping tap.’

‘Did you think Norris was watching Kate? Or Chloe?’ Georgia asked. ‘I thought you were implying that with some of your questions.’

‘I don’t know. Some people are nosy neighbours. Everyone likes to gossip. And Chloe is good friends with his daughter, after all.’ I shrugged. ‘It could be weird that he knows so much about the family’s comings and goings, or it could be second nature to him to know what’s going on in his neighbourhood. I don’t know him well enough yet to say either way.’

‘But you don’t like him,’ Derwent said.

‘I didn’t say that.’

He grinned at me and I knew I’d given it away, somehow, to him at any rate. But then, he knew me better than most.

‘So you haven’t managed to find us a body,’ I said. It was always better to attack than defend, with Derwent.