Estelle's ears it came out more as accusation. Is this all you do with your life?
'Gerald helps with the heavy work sometimes, that is, he used to. And Jake, now he's older, he -' Abruptly she stopped: why was she saying this?
'Estelle?' Karen asked gently. 'Are you okay?'
She looked up at her, that large commanding face with those red, red lips. Beautiful, was that the word?
'Estelle?'
'Mm? Yes, of course.' Of course what? She didn't know.
'Why don't we go inside?' Karen said. 'That cup of tea you offered last time. Something to keep out the cold.' Walking back towards the house, she took Estelle's arm.
They sat in the conservatory, the door now closed, the corners of glass beginning to mist over. Here and there a flower, brick red or butterfly white, still clung to one or other of the geraniums, their upper leaves healthy and green, those gathered round the base shrivelled brown and paper thin.
Tea was in broad-brimmed white cups with a gold line faded around the rim; the china teapot in its cosy sat on a tray with a matching milk jug and sugar bowl, though the sugar remained untouched. Rich tea biscuits fanned out on a plate. Paper serviettes.
Karen took her time, listening while Estelle pecked at conversation like a bird, waiting for what might be an opportune moment.
In the end she dropped her question into the silence, like a pebble falling slowly into the well.
'Estelle, I know this will be difficult, and if there was any way I could avoid asking you I would, but when you said there were things Steven Kennet wanted you to do, things you felt uncomfortable with, I need you to tell me what they were.'
Estelle's hand shook and tea spilled from her cup into her saucer and from there into her lap. 'How silly of me,' she said, dabbing at it with her serviette. 'I'm sorry, what was it you said?'
When Karen left an hour and a half later, her face was rigid with anger and hurt, her mind alert. During the course of their relationship Kennet had persuaded Estelle to take part in a number of scenarios in which they played out the act of rape. Sometimes where they were living, sometimes in cheap hotels, and sometimes, after dark, on Wimbledon Common and Hampstead Heath.
In those instances, what he had her do, against her will, was walk along the path pretending to be lost, whereupon he would appear as the apparently kind stranger, offering to show her the way. Or sometimes, wearing a mask, he would jump out at her, grab her arms and throw her to the ground.
Towards the end of the relationship, when she wouldn't agree to play along, he raped her for real.
Karen called Mike Ramsden from her car before switching on the ignition and slotting the seat-belt buckle into place.
'Mike? I want Kennet back in for questioning. ASAP. Drag him down off a roof if you have to.'
One last glance back at the house before she drove away.
Steven Kennet was nowhere to be found. He had failed to show up for work that morning, no reason, no excuse. His home address was a flat off Seven Sisters Road, between Finsbury Park and the Nag's Head. No reply. One of the couple who lived above said they didn't think he'd been home last night. Came in and drove away. A van. 5 cwt Ford van, dirty white. They hadn't seen him that morning either.
'Keep looking,' Karen said. 'Keep a watch on the flat. Let's get a description ready for circulation, details of the van.'
When Tara's mother delivered Jake and Amber back home just before four and there was seemingly no one in, she simply bundled them back into the Toyota and drove them along to number 35 with Tara, where she gave them all chocolate biscuits and juice and then, after they'd played together and the Cooper telephone remained unanswered, some pasta with M amp; S tomato sauce.
As far as Jake and Amber were concerned it was an unlooked-for treat.
Tara's dad went to the house as soon as he came home and knocked loud upon the door; he let himself into the garden by the side passage and found the conservatory locked, the whole house in darkness. Shouting yielded nothing.
They thought of phoning the police, but decided to wait until Gerald Cooper arrived from work, at least he would have a key.
Gerald, as it happened, caught the early train and was back by seven, to find a note from Tara's parents pinned to the door. He thought he'd have a quick G amp; T before going to fetch the kids. God knows where Estelle had gone off to, silly mare.
He found her in the lounge, hanging from the chandelier, the kitchen stool she'd brought in to stand on kicked away.
35
Elder read bad news in Karen's face before hearing the words.
'Shit,' he said. And then, 'Poor woman.'
'Yes.'
'How are you feeling?'
'How am I? What difference does that make? She's dead, for Christ's sake.'
'You went to see her yesterday? Spoke to her?'
A laugh choked from Karen's throat. 'Yes, I spoke to her.'
'How was she?'
She looked at him as if he were some kind of fool. 'How do you think she was? I cosied up to her and calmed her down and made her tell me about that arsehole Kennet raping her.'
'He raped her?'
'He raped her. Sometimes in some kind of sick game she went along with and sometimes for real.'
'She told you this?'
'She told me this and then I left her alone, alone in that house with her gardening gloves and her fancy fucking teacups and her fake fucking chandelier.' There were tears running freely down Karen's face. 'And yesterday afternoon when I wanted that bastard brought back in, he'd fucking disappeared.'
Elder eased her chair away from the desk. 'Sit down a minute.'
'I don't want to sit down.'
'Sit down, have some coffee, let's talk this through.'
'I don't want any fucking coffee either.'
'Karen.'
'What?'
'Sit down. Come on.' Firmly but gently, he took hold of her arm. 'Let's sit.'
Karen sighed and did as she was told; she found a tissue in her bag, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Elder pulled another chair round from the other side of the desk and sat opposite her, close enough to have held her hand.
