Claire gave a helpless grimace. “No. He was interested in me. That’s never…Tamzin was always the one. She’salways been the one. It’s like she was born with two people’s luck. Everything happens for her. She’s so pretty and glamorous. Byrne Tyler was her boyfriend. I mean,Byrne. I used to watch him onMarina Days.”
“So you were flattered, and it was exciting.”
“Suppose so.”
“And afterward? Then what happened?”
“He said he wanted to keep seeing me.”
“You mean to have sex?”
Claire blushed and hung her head. “Yes.”
“So you went back? Voluntarily?”
“Mum’s really frightened, you know? You wouldn’t be able to tell, not with her. She doesn’t let anyone see. But she is. We don’t have any money; mum’s in debt to dozens of shops, just for food half the time.
We can’t get credit anywhere locally anymore-no bank will issue her with a card. Tamzin…well she can look after all of us. Since she met Byrne her career is really taking off. She earns tons of money.”
“So what did Byrne Tyler tell you?”
“He said to just keep things going the way they were. That he’d never tell Tamzin as long as he was happy, and everything would stay the same.”
“And he bought you the car?”
Yes. It was so I could drive out to Bisbrooke whenever he wanted me. He used to call me in the evenings, when Tamzin was away on an assignment. I’d tell mum I had late study at DeMontfort. It’s not like she’d know any different.”
“And you were there on Wednesday evening?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“When did you arrive?”
“About nine o’clock.”
“And you left when?”
“Just after eleven.”
“And Byrne Tyler was alive when you left?”
“Yes! I swear it. I left him in bed. I got dressed and went home.”
“Was there anyone else there with you?”
“No. Just me.”
“Claire, do you remember if it was cold in the apartment that night?”
“No. It never is. Byrne didn’t like sheets or duvets on the bed. He always kept the bedroom warm enough so he didn’t have to use them.”
Amanda noted that in her cybofax. “Interesting. I need to know about the bedroom, I’m afraid. Did you have champagne up there that night?”
“Yes.”
“We only found one glass. Isn’t that a bit odd?”
“Oh.” Claire looked hard at the top of the desk. “I have the glass. Byrne liked to…well, he poured some on me.”
“I see. Did he say if he was meeting anyone else after you left?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Had he met anyone before you arrived?”
“I don’t know. He never said.”
Amanda sighed, resisting the impulse to reach out and grip the girl’s shoulder in reassurance. “Sounds like you’ve had a pretty rough few months.”
“It wasn’t that…I know it all sounds awful. He really liked me, though. You must think I’m some dreadful cheap tart.”
“I don’t think that at all. But what I’d like to do is refer you to a counsellor. I think you could do with someone to talk to right now.”
“Maybe. Do I have to?”
“No. But I’d like you to think about it.”
“I will. Can I go now?”
“Just about finished. I’ll need a DNA sample from you to eliminate any traces we find at the apartment.
After that you’re free to go.”
“Why do you need that?”
“Because this is now a murder investigation.”
“Why is it murder?” Vernon asked.
“Claire claims the air-conditioning was operating normally when she left.”
“Tyler could have changed it.”
“We’ve been over this. That temperature isn’t one you can live in. The only reason to change it is to fudge the time of the murder. And the controls were wiped. The murderer did that.”
“All right, damnit. I’ve done some background datawork for you. He was insured by his management agenda and we now have reasonable doubt. I’ll squirt the appropriate information off to them. We should get a response fairly quickly.”
“Thank you. I’d like a scene-of-crime team to look at the apartment, and a full autopsy.”
“I can give you that now.”
“Great. I’ll also need full access to all of Tyler’s financial and personal data. Alison can start running it through some analysis programs.”
“Okay, I’ll have a magistrate sign the order this evening.” Vernon fixed her with a thoughtful stare. “Did the girl do it?”
“She certainly had the motive. She was there around the time it happened. Unless we can put someone else at the scene, she’s the obvious choice.” She caught his troubled expression. “What?”
“I don’t get it. She was smart enough to lower the temperature, so she must have realized everyone would find out she was sleeping with Tyler. Why not simply say he slipped, that it was an accident?”
“Guilt. Plain and simple. Trying to cover her tracks. You can see it in the way she talks. She’s cautious about every word that comes out of her mouth, as if she’ll give herself away just by speaking.”
“Okay, Amanda, if you say so.”
The next morning Amanda caught the Tyler story on Globecast’s breakfast news. She was smoking an extremely illicit cigarette, trying to calm herself for the day to come. Tyler didn’t rate much time: archive footage of him arriving at some glitzy party with Tamzin on his arm; the fact they were engaged, and she was believed to be flying home to be with her family; and a mention that the police investigation was ongoing, hinting that officers considered the circumstances unusual.
How do they find out so quickly? she wondered.
Amanda checked in at the station first, mainly to make sure there were no problems with Alison’s analysis. The probationary detective gave her a grumpy look from behind her desk. Four terminal cubes were full of what looked like Inland Revenue datawork as she used her court access order to pull in details from his accountant, agent, solicitor and banks. Apparently Byrne Tyler’s financial affairs were complex to the point of obscurity, not helped by the way showbusiness used accounting methods unknown to the rest of the human race. Amanda told her to concentrate on finding out if he had any large debts, and to confirm that he had bought the Ingalo for Claire.
With that part of the investigation on line she was ready to drive up to the apartment and supervise forensic’s sweep. Vernon brought Mike Wilson to see her before she could get away. Wilson was from Crescent Insurance, who provided cover for Tyler. A real smoothy, she thought as they were introduced.
Late thirties, in a smart blue-gray business suit at least two levels above a detective’s price range, ginger hair neatly trimmed, a body he had kept in condition without being an obvious gym-rat. She didn’t think he’d had any cosmetic alteration, his cheeks were slightly too puffy; but he certainly used too much aftershave.
“How much coverage did Tyler have?” she asked.
“His agency had taken out a full investigatory package,” Mike Wilson said. “Whatever it takes to get the culprit into court and secure a conviction.”
