‘The word is that Vance might have killed Michael and Lucy.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I don’t want to seem paranoid, but … well, I could take Nelson back to ours. You wouldn’t have to worry about him then.’
For a moment Carol couldn’t speak. Her throat seemed to close in a precursor to tears. ‘Thank you,’ she said, not sounding like herself at all.
‘No problem. Do you have a cat carrier?’
‘The cupboard under the stairs. You don’t mind?’
‘I’m glad there’s something I can do to help. If there’s anything else you need, just say. That goes for all of us,’ Paula said. ‘Even Sam.’
Carol almost smiled. ‘I’m on my way to tell my parents. I’ve no idea when I’ll be back. I’ll talk to you soon, Paula. Thank you.’
There was nothing more to be said and Paula was smart enough to know it. Carol drove on, turning over what she knew about Vance and his history. But nothing helpful surfaced. The last time she’d felt this powerless, she’d spent months trying to find solace in the bottom of a bottle. The one thing she did know right now was that she was determined she wasn’t going there again.
By the time she left the motorway, the traffic had thinned out. Her parents had retired to an Oxfordshire village a couple of years before, hoping to indulge their twin passions for gardening and bridge. Her father enjoyed watching the village cricket team and her mother had taken to the Women’s Institute with puzzling glee. They’d suddenly become caricatures of middle-class middle-Englanders. Neither Carol nor Michael had grown into adults who had anything in common with their parents, and last time she’d gone to stay, Carol had run out of things to say depressingly early in the visit.
On a Friday evening, the only sign of life in the village was light. The thatched pub was spotlit, and most of the houses round the green displayed the discreet glow of lamps from behind curtains and blinds. There were few street lights, and no huddled groups of adolescents lurking beneath them. The closest anyone here came to anti- social behaviour was making too much noise when putting the empties out for the recycle truck.
Carol turned down the narrow lane that led to her parents’ house. It was the last of three, and as she pulled up outside, her headlights caught the reflective markings of a police car tucked into a gateway a little further down the lane. Carol stilled the engine and got out, waiting for the Family Liaison Officer from the car to come and check her out.
The FLO appeared to be about Carol’s age, but that was where any similarity ended. She was a dumpy woman with dark hair shot through with wiry grey strands pulled back in an unflattering bun beneath her uniform hat. Her skin showed the remains of virulent acne and her eyes were set close together on either side of a sharp nose. But when she smiled, her face softened with kindness and Carol could see why she’d ended up doing a job that few officers relished. ‘DCI Jordan, is it?’ she said. ‘I’m PC Alice Flowers. I’ve been on station since half past four, and nobody’s been near the house. I could see the occupants moving around, so no need to worry that anything happened before you arrived.’ She had a faint Oxfordshire burr in her voice which was as reassuring as her smile. ‘I just want to say how sorry I am about your brother.’
Carol acknowledged her words with a tip of her head. ‘I’ve never been very good at the death knock,’ she said.
‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ Alice said. ‘Shall we get it over with, ma’am?’
Carol reached into the car and grabbed her coat, slipping it on and turning up the collar. She gave a sharp sigh. ‘Let’s do it,’ she said, squaring her shoulders. Please God, she could hold it together.
They walked up the flagged path between the box hedges that her father kept clipped to precisely knee-height. A wooden porch jutted over the path and Carol led the way. Alice stayed a couple of discreet steps behind her as she rang the doorbell. Silence, then a scuffle of feet, then a light snapped on over their heads.
The door opened and Carol’s mother appeared, looking like an older and less stylish version of her daughter. The look of mild curiosity on her face gave way to astonishment. ‘Carol! What a surprise. You should have phoned.’ She broke into a smile. Then, as she took in the expression on Carol’s face and spotted the uniformed officer behind her daughter, her face froze. Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Carol?’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘Carol, what’s happened?’
36
Kevin plonked himself down on a corner of Paula’s desk. She didn’t even look up from the report she was skimming. ‘What?’ she said.
‘The cleaner from the motel, the one who reported the wet carpet? She cleans at the carpet warehouse in the evenings. I thought I’d take a run over there and see what she’s got to say. Do you fancy coming with me?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve nearly finished going through these door-to-doors, then I’m going round to the chief’s flat to collect her cat. He’ll be starving if I leave it much longer.’
‘Aw, come on, Paula,’ Kevin wheedled. ‘You know you’re better with women than I am.’
‘In every possible sense,’ Chris called over from her desk.
Kevin pretended to be offended. ‘At least I’m admitting it. She’s Turkish, Paula. She’s probably working off the books. I’ll scare her. You’ll get her to talk.’
Paula groaned. ‘I promised I’d pick up Nelson.’
‘Is Elinor in?’ Chris said.
‘She should be.’
‘I’ll do it, then,’ Chris said. ‘I’m going out anyway to talk to the street girls, see if any of them have seen anybody dodgy with the dead women. I’ll pick up the cat and drop him off with Elinor. I’d take him back to ours, but I don’t think the dogs would be very happy.’
‘Problem solved, then,’ Kevin said, relieved.
‘There’s a key to the flat in her desk drawer,’ Paula said, resigned to her fate. She reached for her jacket and
