CHAPTER 23
Zoe answers the door to a middle-aged, dishevelled man in an overcoat. Thinning hair plastered to his scalp, a look of slightly nonplussed benevolence. ‘Mrs Luther?’
‘Mr Schenk?’
‘Martin, please. May I?’
‘Of course,’ she says, standing aside. ‘John told me you’d call.’
Schenk pauses only for half a second. ‘He did?’
Zoe feels a surge of embarrassment. ‘He just called,’ she says. ‘You told him you were in the area. I suppose he-’
‘Put two and two together.’
She smiles and nods.
‘Well,’ Schenk says. ‘That’s his job. Talking of which, how are they on the missing girl? Little Mia Dalton. Do you know?’
‘Apparently they’re on the edge of some breakthrough. I don’t know what.’
‘Well, please God you’re right.’ He glances sheepishly over her shoulder, into the house. ‘I wonder if I might? Just for a moment.’
She says, ‘Oh, gosh. Please. I’m sorry.’
Schenk follows her through to the kitchen on sopping wet feet. Zoe wants to help him.
‘You’re very kind,’ he says, at her shoulder. ‘I’ve been up half the night. And your house is very warm.’
‘I feel the cold,’ she says. ‘Always did. I think I was built for warmer climes.’
‘As was I. Warm climes and red wines.’
She smiles at that because he doesn’t look like a red-wine drinker. He looks like a Guinness and whisky man.
She takes his coat — faint dog smell in the tweed — she bets he keeps terriers. He sits on a stool at the breakfast bar while she pours them each a coffee.
John had told her to have a hot drink prepared. It’ll get Schenk out the house more quickly.
‘It’s a terrible business,’ Schenk says. ‘This poor child.’
‘Horrible. Are you involved with it at all?’
‘Goodness me, no. Thanks be to God.’ He takes the coffee from her hand, thanks her. ‘A lot of coppers are taking it very badly.’
‘You know how it is with coppers and kids.’
‘Oh, yes. But there’s more to it than that. Did John tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’
‘Well, it was… a very upsetting crime scene. Police officers see a great deal. But sometimes, well… Many people who saw what John saw last night will be very upset. He really didn’t tell you?’
‘He doesn’t tell me anything. He thinks it’s disrespectful to the dead.’
‘That’s very admirable.’
‘Well, he’s a very admirable man.’
‘So I hear. Many fine officers speak highly of him.’
‘He’s dedicated. He works hard.’
She clasps her hands in her lap, fights the urge to tear a kitchen towel to shreds, to pick imaginary lint from her lapel.
‘The man, or men, who slaughtered this family,’ Schenk says. ‘And who then took that poor little girl. They left a message in the victims’ blood. On the wall. The word Pigs. Seeing something like that, it can be difficult to walk away from. It’s likely John will need to take a break after this.’
She laughs out loud before she can stop herself.
‘I’m sorry,’ Schenk says. ‘Did I go touching a raw nerve?’
‘Not at all,’ she says. ‘It’s just — well, I’ve been trying to make John take a break since God was a boy.’
‘And he won’t?’
‘He says he can’t relax.’
‘Ah,’ says Schenk. ‘I was a murder detective, for my sins. So I know what it’s like. My Avril, I put her through some dark years. All the worrying, it’s very difficult. Although mind you, I sympathize with John, too — wanting to tell you everything, just so you understand. But then again, wanting to shield you from it.’
‘How long were you a murder detective?’
‘Most of my career. Until I got stabbed.’ He brushes her reaction away with a dismissive wave. ‘Oh, it was nothing in the grand scheme of things. A little pneumothorax. A day or two in hospital. Then home to a very frosty Mrs Schenk.’ He chuckles fondly at the memory. ‘I told her, okay I’ll make the move. But you should know they call Complaints the Rat Squad. I won’t be liked.’
‘What did she say to that?’
‘I like you enough to make up for the rest of them.’
‘That’s very sweet.’
‘She’s a very sweet woman. You’d like her.’
‘How long have you been married?’
‘Since before God was a boy.’ He blushes, then shows her his wedding ring. Plain gold band. ‘Childhood sweethearts.’
‘Oh,’ Zoe laughs, ‘that’s something I know all about. Well, practically.’
‘So I hear! You and DCI Luther-’
‘Met at university, yes. How do you know that?’
‘Because, sadly — and I do mean sadly — I’ve been asking some questions about your husband. I’m very worried about him.’
You and me both, she thinks.
She says, ‘In what way?’
‘Well, as I say. The psychological pressures. It causes a lot of problems. Mental health issues. Marital issues.’
‘His mental health is fine.’
‘Well, that’s good to know. And, if I may, your marriage…’
She looks him in the eye and knows how dangerous it would be to lie. ‘The marriage is pretty bad,’ she says.
‘I see. I’m very sorry.’
‘We’ll get through it.’
‘Well, I certainly hope you do. So I wonder, during what’s obviously been a period of increased stress, has DCI Luther been, say, drinking more than usual?’
‘He doesn’t drink. Never really had a taste for it. He’ll have a beer at the weekend sometimes.’
‘Well, that’s something. That’s certainly something. Now, Mrs Luther-’
‘Zoe, please.’
‘Thank you. You’ve already been more than generous, inviting me into your home, knowing the kind of thing I came to ask. So it pains me to embarrass myself by asking this question…’
‘Not at all,’ she says. Her foot is tapping. She makes it stop. ‘Ask away. It’s your job.’
‘Could you tell me about John’s movements last night?’
‘Well, Rose sent him home.’
‘And he got home when?’
‘About eleven, eleven thirty?’
‘And what did he do, when he got home?’
‘He lay on the bed and fell asleep. Didn’t even take his shoes off. Then, what seems about five minutes later, the phone goes. It’s Rose. Detective Chief Superintendent Teller. She wants him at some crime scene, the one you’re talking about I suppose. So up he gets, and drags himself out. He hasn’t told me the details, but I do understand things were… emotional last night.’
