“Yep, Claire’s big sister. She’s a model, got a contract with the Dermani house. Mainly on the back of the publicity she and Tyler were getting. They’ve hit the showbiz party trail extensively since the engagement was announced. You open your front door in the morning, and they’ll be there for it. On their own, neither of them was important enough to get an image on the gossip ’casts; together they rate airtime. It helps that they have the same management agency.”
Amanda looked at the image of Tamzin the screen was showing, posed for a Dermani advert, bracelet and earring accessories for a stupidly priced couture dress. The girl was beautiful, certainly, but it was a lofty beauty implying arrogance.
“So what’s her little sister doing at her fiance’s house in the middle of the night?”
“One guess,” Alison said dryly. “I always used to be jealous of my sister’s boyfriends. And Byrne was no saint. I didn’t load the real gutter-press reports for you, but they say he got fired fromMarina Days because he couldn’t leave the girls alone.”
Amanda scrolled down the file to Claire. The girl was eighteen, a first-year medical student at DeMontfort University. Still living at home with her mother. The university fees were paid by her father as part of a child- maintenance agreement. He lived in Australia. Amanda skipped to the mother: Margina Sullivan.
Pre-judgment went against the nature of Amanda’s training, but Margina’s record made it difficult to avoid. She had three children, each with a different father each of whom was wealthy enough to support their offspring with independent schooling and an allowance. The Inland Revenue had no employment record for Margina Sullivan. Her tax returns (always filed late) listed a couple of small trust funds as her income source. She owned the bungalow in Uppingham where she lived along with Claire, Tamzin, and Daniel, her nine-year-old son; but her credit rating was dismal.
By the time they arrived at the address, an image of Margina had swollen into Amanda’s mind, hardening like concrete: aging brittle harridan.
The Sullivan bungalow was just beyond the center of town, in the middle of a pleasant estate dominated by old evergreen pines which had survived the climate change. The wood and brick structure itself was well-maintained, with glossy paintwork and a roof of new solar panels, but the garden clearly hadn’t seen any attention for years. Two cars were parked outside: a BMW so old it probably had a combustion engine, with flat tires and bleached paintwork hosting blooms of moss; next to it was a smart little scarlet and black Ingalo, a modern giga-conductor powered runabout that was proving popular as a first car for wealthy young trendies.
Margina Sullivan opened the door. Amanda assumed they had caught her going out; she was wearing some extravagant dress complemented by a white shawl cardigan. Heavy makeup labored to re-create the youthfulness of what was undeniably an attractive face. Not a single bottle-red hair was out of alignment from her iron-hard curled beret style. She put a hand theatrically on her chest when shown Amanda’s police ID card andoohed breathlessly. The phoney concern changed to shock and barely concealed anger when Amanda regretfully informed her of Byrne Tyler’s death. Margina hurried over to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a large Scotch.
“How am I going to tell Tamzin?” she gulped. Another shot of whiskey was poured. “God in heaven, what are we going to do?Starlightwas paying for a bloody wedding exclusive, not a funeral.”
A curious way of expressing grief, Amanda thought. She kept quiet, looking around the lounge. It was chintzy, with lavender cloths covering every table and sideboard, tassels dangling from their overhanging edges. Figurines from the kind of adverts found in the most downmarket weekend datatext channels stood on every surface. Tall, high-definition pictures of Tamzin looked down serenely from each wall, campaigns for a dozen different fashion products. Amanda would have liked to be dismissive, but the girl really was very beautiful. Healthy vitality was obviously The Look right now.
Claire and Daniel came in, wanting to know what was happening. Amanda studied the younger girl as her perturbed mother explained. Claire didn’t have anything like her elder sister’s poise, nor was there much resemblance-which was understandable enough. She had sandy hair rather than lush raven; her narrow face had a thin mouth instead of wide full lips; and her figure was a great deal fuller than that of the lean athlete. Nor was there any of Tamzin’s ice-queen polish, just a mild sulkiness.
Daniel was different again…wide-eyed and cute, with a basin-cut mop of chestnut hair. Like every nine-year- old, he could not stay still. Even when told of Tyler’s death he clung to his sister and shivered restlessly. The affection between the siblings was touching. It was Claire who soothed and comforted him rather than his mother. Amanda’s attitude hardened still further when Margina went for yet another shot of whiskey.
“Where is Tamzin at the moment?” Alison asked.
“Paris,” Margina sniffed. “She has a runway assignment tonight. I must call Colin at Hothouse-they’re her agents; he can arrange for her to be flown home. We’ll release a statement on the tragedy from here.”
“A statement?”
“To the media,” Margina said irritably. “Hothouse will see to it.”
“Perhaps you should call the Hothouse people now,” Amanda said. “In the meantime I have some questions which I need to ask Claire.”
Margina gave her a puzzled glance. “What questions?”
Amanda steeled herself. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. She could do the preliminary interview with the girl here or at the station. Either way, Margina, and after that Tamzin, would find out why. I’m not a social worker, she told herself. “We think Claire might have been the last person to see Mr. Tyler alive.”
“Impossible,” Margina insisted. “You said he died at home.” She rounded on Claire. “What does she mean?”
The girl hung her head sullenly. “I saw Byrne on Wednesday evening.”
“Why?”
“Because he was screwing me,” Claire suddenly yelled. “All right? He’d been screwing me for months.
How the hell do you think I bought my car? From the money my loving father gives me?” She burst into tears. Daniel hugged her tighter, and she gripped at him in reflex.
Margina’s mouth opened. She stood absolutely still, staring at her daughter in disbelief. “You’re lying.
You little bitch. You’re lying!”
“I am not!” Claire shouted back.
Amanda stepped between them, holding her hands up. “That’s enough. Claire, you’re going to have to come to the station with us.”
The girl nodded.
“You could have ruined everything,” Margina cried shrilly. “Everything! You stupid stupid bitch. You’ve got a whole university full of men to sleep around with. What the hell were you thinking of?”
“Don’t you ever care about anyone but yourself? Ever? You don’t know anything, you’re just an ignorant old fraud.”
“I said: enough,” Amanda told them. “Mrs. Sullivan, we can arrange for a social case officer to counsel you and Tamzin if you would like.”
Margina was still glaring at Claire, her breathing irregular. “Don’t be absurd,” she said contemptuously.
“I’m not having a failed psychology graduate asking me impertinent questions as if I were some feeble-brained dole dependant. Colin will take care of everything we require.”
“As you wish,” Amanda said calmly.
Amanda decided to question the girl in her office rather than the station interview room. It was marginally less inhospitable. She got her a cup of tea, and even managed to find some biscuits in one of the desk drawers.
Claire didn’t pay any attention, she sat with her head in her hands.
“Did you love him?” Amanda asked tenderly.
“Ha! Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know. I’m asking.”
“Of course I didn’t love him.” Her head came up abruptly, a worried expression on her face. “But I didn’t kill him.”
“Okay. So tell me why you were having a relationship with him?”
“It wasn’t a relationship. He seduced me. I suppose. We’d gone to see Tamzin at a fashion show in Peterborough this Easter. He fixed it somehow that I was driven back home in his limo. It was just him and me. I’d had a lot to drink.”
“Did he rape you?”
