‘And you found Ms Chapman?’
Arcade looked away, fixing his gaze on the far wall over the bed. ‘Yes.’
‘What did you do? Your prints have been found on the body.’
He turned away from the wall and stared into Pendragon’s eyes. ‘I could not …’ Another tear emerged from his eye. ‘I still can’t believe …’ He swallowed hard. ‘I sat beside her. I touched her face. It was cold. Then I sat on the sofa opposite and just stared at her. I must have called you lot. I don’t remember doing it.’
‘How long have you known Ms Chapman?’
Arcade seemed not to hear the DCI at first, or else he did not understand the question. Then he appeared to come round. ‘Er … about two years. She was always saying she would leave Hickle, but he seemed to have some sort of hold over her. Every time I thought I was getting close to prising her away from him, she would flip back.’
Pendragon nodded, staring at the young artist and wondering if the frustration the kid felt could have been strong enough to push him to murder. He had seen crimes of passion before, triggered by messy love triangles and thwarted obsession, crushes that had spiralled into violence and mayhem. Could this relationship have been a delusion on Arcade’s part? Perhaps the kid had slid into insanity, been tipped over the edge by rejection and a growing fury towards the world.
There was a crashing sound from outside and several raised voices. Arcade did not move, but Pendragon jumped up and dashed for the door. It swung open on to the living-room and Pendragon saw a tall woman in a faux-fur coat standing staring at the macabre murder scene. It was Gemma Locke, her face white as chalk. Her hands flew to her face and she seemed to stumble before regaining her balance. She lowered herself into a chair, a low moan emerging from between her gloved hands.
Chapter 38
Pendragon crouched beside Gemma Locke and handed her a glass of water he had just fetched from Chrissy Chapman’s kitchen.
‘I guess it’s obvious you would have known each other,’ Pendragon said gently, watching Gemma Locke take several small sips. She handed back the glass and he passed it to a constable standing close by. Then he stood up and pulled over a chair. Glancing towards the bedroom, he saw Arcade being led away in cuffs. The young man ignored Pendragon completely, and he and the two escorting officers passed behind Gemma’s chair and out into the hall without her even noticing them.
‘Chrissy and I were best friends, Inspector. We go back a long way — since I first moved to London.’ Gemma shook her head and closed her eyes, a pained expression spreading across her face. ‘I … I just can’t take this in. It’s crazy. Who would … Why?’
‘What was Ms Chapman like?’
‘Chrissy was a sweetheart. Everyone loved her, Jack. That’s why this is so … ridiculous!’
‘No enemies that you know of?’
Gemma Locke exhaled and shook her head again. ‘No. Chrissy was destined for greatness. She was the best of us, the most talented of our generation.’
‘What can you tell me about her private life? She was serious about a doctor — Geoff Hickle, a surgeon at the Royal London, yes?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, they had been together about … oh, a year, I think. But the relationship was turning sour.’
Pendragon raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’
‘Well, you’ll find out before long, I suppose. Francis Arcade was pestering her.’
‘Pestering her? I had the impression it was serious between them.’
Gemma Locke gave Pendragon a sceptical look. ‘Hardly, Jack. Chrissy was ten years older than him for a start, and Francis is, well … not all there, to put it mildly. I’m sure he thought there was a serious relationship between them, but I can assure you there wasn’t.’
‘So, what was the problem with Dr Hickle?’
‘Oh, classic really. He’s a powerful figure in his world: a burns specialist at a top London hospital. Fancied himself as a real charmer and a bit of a medical hero. Big, big ego … huge. He was uncomfortable with the attention Chrissy was getting from the media. Felt he was living in her shadow. Didn’t really fit with his self-image.’
‘No. I can see there would be some conflict there.’
‘But then, having said that. I can’t see him as a killer.’
‘No one’s suggesting that,’ the DCI retorted. ‘Okay, look, I’m afraid you can’t stay here. Forensics are going to be taking the place apart.’ He helped Gemma to her feet and led her around the back of the sofa. She studiously kept her line of sight away from the dead woman.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked as they reached the hall.
Gemma took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
A few moments later, they were downstairs in the car park. The temperature had dropped dramatically as night had drawn in. Pendragon glanced at his watch. It had turned seven o’clock. He followed Gemma to her car. ‘I’d like to have another chat with you,’ he said as she reached into her bag for her keys. ‘The questions just keep coming. But not the answers, unfortunately.’
‘Sure. Give me a ring.’
He pulled his collar up and turned to go.
‘Where are you headed?’
‘Back to the station.’
‘Jump in. I’ll drop you there.’
The traffic was heavy with late-night shoppers and people on their way west. A fog had begun to descend on Stepney’s frosty, neon-splashed grey. Music by Monteverdi that Pendragon half-recognised was playing softly. For a few minutes they said nothing, each lost in horrible thoughts. Then Pendragon looked away from the brickwork and the graffiti-stained walls. ‘How well did you know Juliette Kinnear?’ he asked.
Gemma Locke tilted her head slightly, but kept staring at the road ahead. A red light brought them to a halt. She turned towards Pendragon. ‘Not at all. She was on the scene before my time.’ Gemma looked back at the road for a second. ‘But I do remember that she assaulted someone and wound up in a psychiatric hospital.’
‘She committed suicide.’
‘That’s right.’ Gemma flicked Pendragon a glance and accelerated along Mile End Road. ‘I remember now. I was in Athens. Doing the cliched Inter-Rail thing. Must have been … what … 1996?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I remember I didn’t hear about it until over a week after she’d died. I was staying in a youth hostel. The only things to read were a dog-eared Jackie Collins someone had left and a week-old copy of the
Pendragon saw Brick Lane ahead on the right. The car slowed for another set of lights. ‘Do you know anyone who knew Juliette Kinnear?’
Gemma pulled a face as she thought about it. ‘Don’t think I do, Jack. As I said before, it was before my time. I didn’t make it to London until ’ninety-eight. Actually, no, come to think of it, Jackson Price would have known her. He and Kingsley were already making names for themselves then. But Juliette Kinnear was never very successful, was she? A poor little rich girl, I thought.’
Pendragon shrugged. ‘Conflicting accounts, of course. Some have said she was a great talent, her life cut tragically short. Others have suggested she was never as good an artist as she thought she was and that she committed suicide because she was sick of going unnoticed.’
‘Guess we’ll never know.’ Gemma shrugged, turning the car into Brick Lane and slowing as they approached the gates to the police station car park. She drew to a halt at the foot of the steps in front of the station. When she turned to Pendragon, he saw her eyes were bright with tears. ‘Please make sure you catch whoever did this terrible thing, won’t you, Jack?’
Pendragon ran the fingertips of his left hand across his forehead. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ he said, and jumped out
