‘Because … because that’s the kind of circles you move in.’
‘You mean I’m a criminal.’
‘I didn’t say that. I—’
‘Yeah, you did. That’s what you meant.’
She sighed. ‘Please, Sandro. I need your help to find my daughter. Will you help me?’
He stared at her, thinking. Looked away. She watched his eyes rove over the walls, the furniture. He turned back to her.
‘No,’ he said.
62
Jessie smoothed her hair down, arranged her jacket. Cleared her throat. And pressed the buzzer for the intercom. She and Deepak stood outside the gates of the Sloanes’ house, ready to go through the same ritual as the previous night.
The intercom was answered by the same non-English voice claiming that there was no one available to talk to the police and saying that they should call back later.
Time to be proactive, thought Jessie.
‘We’re investigating the death of Jeffrey Hibbert, who used to work for the Sloanes. We’ve just watched his widow leave, and since we believe she was here for the same reason as we are, we’d like to talk to whoever she talked to, please.’
There was another shared look between the two detectives. Then the gate swung open. Jessie gave Deepak a thumbs-up gesture. ‘You’re impressed by my silver tongue. Go on, admit it.’
Deepak shook his head. Managed a smile. ‘At least you didn’t lose your temper.’
‘I’m saving that for when we get inside.’
They walked up the gravel drive and into the house.
They were shown into the living room, asked to sit on one of the two sofas and left alone, the door shut. They exchanged glances.
‘Money in industrial farming,’ said Deepak, looking round.
Jessie looked at the glass and metal table in front of her. ‘Bet this table cost more than we both earn in a month,’ she said.
Deepak looked at it, grimacing. ‘Money doesn’t buy you taste,’ he said.
The door opened. In swept a woman; small, compact, dressed in a pink velour tracksuit and trainers that had never seen the outdoors or even the inside of a gym, hair pulled severely back from her face, no make-up. She walked briskly to the sofa opposite them, sat down, her back straight. Looked at them, her gaze businesslike.
‘I’m Dee Sloane. You asked to see my brother, Michael. I’m afraid he’s indisposed. And you are?’
Jessie and Deepak produced their warrant cards, gave their names.
‘And this is in connection with the death of one of our ex-employees?’
‘That’s right,’ said Jessie, taking the lead in the questioning. ‘There are a few things we’d like to talk to you about.’
Dee Sloane frowned. ‘Is this serious? Should I have a solicitor present?’
‘That’s up to you,’ said Deepak, as breezily as possible.
Jessie managed a smile. ‘Let’s see how we go.’
Dee sat there, waiting. Her face expressionless, her body straight, alert, but in repose. Receptive. Giving the impression that she was relaxed, waiting, but Jessie wasn’t fooled. She had learned how to interpret body language over the years, and she could see that Dee Sloane was seriously uncomfortable. On edge, even.
And there was something else. In the short space of time since Jessie had met the woman, she had taken an instant dislike to her. She tried not to do that, to pre-judge, especially in the course of her work. Sometimes she would feel it from a paedophile or rapist or wife-abuser, that creepily bad vibe, especially if they tried to be friendly and obsequious with her. Then she would have to work through that feeling in order to do her job properly. And that was the vibe that Dee Sloane was giving off. It might have been a chemical thing or a personality thing, but there was something about her that was not right. Jessie glanced at Deepak, tried to see if he was experiencing the same thing. But her partner’s gaze was impassive.
Right, thought Jessie. She had shaken off her hangover, banished all thoughts of the previous night. She was in the zone, ready to do her job.
63
Marina couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Not from Sandro. Her own brother. She would have expected it from the other one, but not from him. He was always the more decent of the two. The more reachable. He must have changed.
‘What? What …?’
‘I said no.’
‘But … but … I told you what’s happened … My baby, they’ve got my baby … ’
‘And they want you to do a psychological evaluation on some nutter, then they’ll give her back?’
She nodded.
He shrugged. ‘Then do it. What’s the problem?’
‘What did I just say? There’s a dead body and Josephina’s missing … ’
‘Why you anyway? And why go to all the trouble of snatching your kid to get you? Why not just phone you?’
‘I don’t know why. There must be something more to it, another reason.’
‘And you think I can do something about it?’
‘Yes! You know people. All right, maybe not the people who’ve done this, but … but they must have told somebody. Someone else must know.’ She leaned forward, grabbed his sleeve. ‘Please … please help me. My daughter’s gone, my husband’s … ’ She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. ‘Please … I’ve got no one.’
He looked at her, eyes locking, seeming to weaken. Then he pulled himself away from her, stood up. Began pacing the room, his back to her.
‘That’s a good one,’ he said, laughing. It wasn’t pleasant. ‘I’m all you’ve got.’ More walking. Nodding to himself as if two different conversations were going on in his head. ‘All you’ve got … ’ He turned to her. Pointed. ‘And where were you all these years? Eh? Where were you when I was on my own, when I was … ’ He shook his head angrily, as if trying to dislodge something. ‘Yeah. I know where you were. With your copper boyfriend.’ The words spat out. ‘Your university friends. Yeah. Didn’t want to know me then, did you? Didn’t want to know any of us.’ He turned away, began pacing once more.
‘Works two ways, Sandro,’ she said, getting out of bed, standing. ‘Where were you in my life all this time?’
He turned back to her. His face angry, red, right in hers. ‘You didn’t want me. You didn’t want any of us in your life. You made that perfectly clear. How we weren’t good enough for you.’
‘That’s … that’s not true … ’
‘Yes it fuckin’ is. You were ashamed of us. You said so.’
Marina said nothing. Sandro stared at her. Took her silence for assent.
‘Thought so.’ He gave another mirthless laugh. ‘Thought so … ’
The hurt was disappearing, replaced by anger. She wasn’t going to let him talk to her like that. ‘Yeah? Well maybe I did think I was better than the rest of you. And you know what? Maybe I was. Because I wanted to make something of my life. Do something. Not just be stuck in the house with that sick bastard smacking us
