02 Blue Murder (28 page)

“
Kate.” Using his thighs,
Hetheridge seized Kate and flipped her sideways, putting her on her
back and himself astride her. It was a self-defense move he
performed poorly in the officer’s gymnasium and brilliantly in bed.
And judging by the feel of his body against hers, a repeat
engagement was entirely possible. “If you aren’t marrying anyone
else, I’ve already won half the battle.”

***

H
etheridge’s manservant, Harvey, drove Kate back to her
building around two in the morning. He promised to have her car
delivered soon after. Kate, yawning and more than a little
embarrassed, kept up a brave smile through the drive to the East
End. Surely her neighbors had grown accustomed to the occasional
limousine or silver sports car turning up in front of her
building?

“
I grew up in Manchester,”
Harvey said suddenly as they drew close to Kate’s home. “Rather
doubt you could tell by how I speak.”

“
No,” Kate
admitted.

“
I trained to be an actor.
Nailed the Received Pronunciation. The rest was a bit more
difficult. As a second choice, I thought life as a domestic would
be fine. And I always hoped to serve someone like Lord Hetheridge.
A man of quality. Not just breeding but true quality.” Harvey
flashed a quick smile. Tall and gaunt, he always smelled of lilac,
no matter what time of day or night. His manner of speaking was
gentle and flowing. Not so much feminine as lyrical, as if every
declaration was half a song.

“
Lucky you found him, then,”
Kate said politely. She’d never wanted to serve anyone, much less
an aristocrat. Often the twists and turns of her own life were a
surprise even to her.

“
Yes. I’d be so pleased if
Lord Hetheridge settled down at last,” Harvey said, guiding the
Bentley up alongside the curb. “These days, sixty is the new forty.
I’d be overjoyed to see him take the correct sort of
wife.”

“
And what’s that? The
correct sort?” Kate asked, cold.

Harvey’s deep-set eyes sparkled as he
released her door lock. “Someone he chose. Someone like you. I
could clear your way, Detective Sergeant Wakefield. As Baroness
Hetheridge, you’d never want for guidance. Never make a public
misstep. Not with me to help.”

Kate caught her breath. She had no idea what
to say.

“
Just think about it,”
Harvey continued. “And know if you decide to say yes—well. You’ll
have at least one ally.”

Nodding, Kate picked up her bag and stumbled
out of the Bentley. By the time she reached her building’s lobby
and looked back, the car was already sliding away.

***

“
Y
ou look half-undead,” Bhar told Kate
as she slid into his Astra a mere seven hours later. “Not quite a
vampire. Just unclean enough to shrink from sunlight.” He grinned.
“Is that it? Did you spend last night in the devil’s
embrace?”

Kate slipped on her Chanel sunglasses,
bought from an unshaven man in the Petticoat Lane Market who said
they’d fallen off the back of a truck. “Never mind about me. What
about you? Get your mum that Tesco ice cream?”

“
I did. But it proved
unnecessary. Mum’s writing a new romance and on top of the world.
Didn’t even ask me about the case, which is a very good
sign.”

“
This
isn’t another one like
The Lordly
Detective
, is it? I had the feeling that
was loosely based on our guv.”

“
You never mentioned you
read my mum’s stuff.”

“’
Course I do. Got a Nook,
don’t I?” she grinned, wishing she’d enjoyed a full night’s sleep
in Hetheridge’s arms instead of returning to her own bed to toss
and turn. “Most of it was pretty silly. Except the sex. The sex was
bloody brilliant.”

Bhar made a pained noise.

“
Sorry, I forgot—your mum
only had sex once, to conceive you. Moving on. Did you call ahead
to tell Kyla Sloane we were coming?”

“
I did. She still lives with
her father, Edward Chilcott. I’ve actually been to the house, but
it was a long time ago.”

“
How did she react to the
news we want to re-interview her?”

“
Like she was forearmed.”
Bhar’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I can’t help but
wonder if Tessa rang her. Or convinced another resident to do it
for her, since she seems to be on lockdown.”

“
We’ll need to be on guard
for that possibility,” Kate said. “Paul—are you sure you’re up for
this?”

The look he sent her said it all. Kate, in
no mood to dance around his feelings any longer, let out an
infuriated huff.

“
Paul! You’ve met Maura. You
know how screwed up my family life is. And don’t you dare pretend
to be clueless about me and Tony, because I’d bet half my salary
he’s already come clean to you. I’m not saying you’re unfit for the
job. I’m only asking—are you up for interviewing Kyla Sloane?
Knowing who she reminds you of?”

“
You think I’m weak,” Bhar
muttered.

“
No. I think you’re human,”
Kate said. “And I’ll cover for you if you need it. Just like I know
you’d cover for me.”

“
You don’t know
that.”

“
Really?” Twisting her hair
in both hands, Kate fashioned it into what she hoped was a passable
early morning bun. “How many people have you told about Tony and
me? It would be the end of my career. But guaranteed to advance
yours.”

“
I owe the guv. I’d never
turn on him.”

“
Oh, but you’d sell me out.
Is that it?”

Bhar shrugged.

“
Fine.
Here’s a juicy tidbit. DCI Vic Jackson still has it in for me.
Whisper in
his
ear
that I’m shagging the guv. I dare you.”

“
Kate, you know goddamn well
I’d never sabotage your career!”

“
And I’d never call you
weak. Just cover for you if you’re not up for a particular
interview. So.” Kate paused. “Are you up for this particular
interview?”

He firmed his jaw. “Yes.” They traveled the
rest of the way to Kyla Sloane’s without another word.

Chapter Twenty-Three

T
he
Chilcott family villa on Limerston Street had seen better days. The
pale exterior could have done with a good pressure washing; the
roof had lost more than a few shingles. Kate rang the bell as Bhar
paced behind her, poking around empty flower boxes and dead
shrubbery. The front garden was a blanket of fallen
leaves.

“
Who is it?” a little girl’s
voice called from behind the door.

“
My name’s Kate,” Kate
called, aware that if she frightened the child, they might be
denied entry altogether. Suspects would capitalize on any excuse,
including a startled youngster, to complain of police brutality and
stall an interview. “I phoned earlier. Kyla’s expecting
me.”

“
Okay. Wait,” the little
girl called. Silence followed for two or three minutes. Kate was
just about to push the bell again when the door opened. A slim man
with a moustache squinted at Kate from behind thick glasses. A
little girl, perhaps eight, hung on his trouser leg. She had black
hair, almond-shaped eyes and a tongue that protruded
slightly.

“
You’re pretty,” the little
girl said, grinning at Kate.

“
So are you.” Kate couldn’t
stop herself from grinning back.

“
She has Downs. Are you the
police?” the man asked. He looked as if he hadn’t slept. Coffee
stains dotted his shirt; his wool cardigan was
misbuttoned.

Kate ignored his first remark. Her own
mother had often greeted total strangers with “my boy’s retarded”
before Ritchie could get so much as a word out.

“
You like Dora the
Explorer?” Kate asked the little girl, pointing at her T-shirt. “I
like Diego.” To the man, Kate said, “I’m Detective Sergeant Kate
Wakefield. This is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Paul Bhar. We
spoke to Kyla Sloane earlier this morning. We’ve come to discuss
the French-Parsons case.”

“
French parsley?” the little
girl echoed. “That’s silly.”

“
Gigi, go to your room.” The
man’s voice was flat.

“
She said parsley. Don’t
think we have any parsley,” Gigi said, releasing the man’s trouser
leg and transferring herself onto Kate’s like a clinging vine. “You
like Diego.”

“
Yes,” Kate said, still
grinning.

“
If that’s what it takes to
get a little attention, I like Diego, too,” Bhar said, squatting so
he was at the child’s eye level. “Maybe I look like
him.”

“
No, you don’t!” Gigi
giggled.

“
Gigi, I said go to your
room. Now, goddamn it,” the man thundered.

Releasing Kate’s leg, the child darted into
the house, squeaking in relief when someone else scooped her up. It
was Kyla Sloane.

“
Dad. It’s me they want to
talk to. Go take a nap.”

“
Nap,” Gigi said, hiding her
face against Kyla’s neck.

“
Kyla, I don’t want you
speaking to these people alone,” Mr. Chilcott said. “We should
engage counsel first. They can come back later, once
I’ve—”

“
Dad,” Kyla repeated in a
soft tone remarkably like her father’s. “Take a nap. Take a drink.
Whichever. I can handle this.”

Mr. Chilcott’s shoulders slumped. “Right. Of
course. Detectives … come in.”

As her father disappeared into a back room,
Kyla negotiated with Gigi, trying to convince the girl to watch an
animated film while the adults conversed upstairs. Kate used the
time to examine the villa as unobtrusively as possible. The walls,
mostly bare, were in want of fresh paint. In several places framed
art or photographs had been taken down, leaving gouges behind in
the plaster. The furnishings, although top quality and almost
surely bespoke, were minimal—one sofa, one chair and a coffee
table. If not for Gigi’s picture books and dolls scattered
throughout, the front parlor would have looked depressingly
bare.

“
Your mum has a phrase for
this,” Kate whispered to Bhar, noting the tiny TV set. “In her
books, when folks live at a posh address but hardly have a pot to
piss in …”

“
Impoverished gentility,”
Bhar said close to her ear. “Guess the Wardles aren’t the only
family in need of a few quid.”

“
Everyone tell Gigi bye!”
Kyla announced, putting in a Pixar Blu-ray and turning it on. Kate
and Bhar made their goodbyes—it took longer than expected because
Gigi kept forgetting her part of the bargain and trying to follow
them upstairs—but eventually they were alone with Kyla Sloane in
her bedroom.

“
I know the kitchen would be
nicer. I could offer you a bit of coffee or tea. But I didn’t want
Gigi bursting in every five minutes. Or Dad, for that matter.”
Kyla’s room had no desk or chairs, but she indicated the neatly
made bed. “Have a seat.”

“
We’re
fine,” Kate said. Like the Sloane’s front parlor, the room was
sparsely decorated. Books were stacked on the floor and arranged
along the windowsill. A laptop sat on the bedside table, a cheap
prefab item that looked odd next to Kyla’s cherry wood sleigh bed.
The walls were covered with pages from
Vogue
,
W
and
Elle
—runway models, perfume ads and
interviews with successful spokesmodels.

“
Are you a model?” Kate
asked, hoping to hit the right tone, somewhere between curious and
admiring. Apparently she failed, because Kyla folded her arms
across her chest, her neutral expression turning to
stone.

“
Is that part of your
official inquiry, detective?”

“
Not at all.” Bhar stepped
forward. “You simply seemed suited to the career. That and your
choice of decorations …” he shrugged, smiling. “I interviewed
dozens of guests on the night of the murders, but I don’t think you
were one of them. I’m—”

“
Deepal Bhar,” Kyla cut
across him. “I know who you are. We met, remember? Twice, when I
was sixteen.”

Bhar blinked. “I’m sorry. I don’t recall
...”

“
Not surprised. You had your
head pretty far up—well. Up in the clouds, so to speak. Twice you
came here to collect Tessa. I was downstairs both times. We chatted
about cinema.”

“
Did we? I …”

“
You don’t remember.” Kyla’s
calm expression betrayed nothing. “It’s all right. If you’d been
eyeing me instead of Tessa, you would have been a creep. So—you’re
still with Scotland Yard?”

Bhar nodded.

“
Good. What Tessa did to you
was awful. But she’s sick. You know that.” Kyla seemed to unclench
by will alone, forcing her arms to her sides and putting on a
helpful expression. “What would you like to know?”

“
First question.” Kate knew
that if either she or Bhar was going to maintain the upper hand in
this dual interview, it would have to be her. “Why did you move
Clive French’s body?”

Kyla’s face paled and her pupils dilated.
“It was … a bad night,” she whispered.

“
I’ll say. You loaded him in
the wheelbarrow and lit a bonfire on the spot where he died. Did
you kill him yourself?” Kate demanded. “Or were you just covering
up for the person who did?”