‘Do you have a storage container somewhere?’
‘No.’
‘What about friends? Is anyone looking after anything for you?’
‘No.’
‘I’ve seen what’s in your kitbag, Charles. Are you telling me that’s all you own in the world?’
‘Yes.’
‘No one travels that light.’
‘I do.’ The young man gave an indifferent shrug. ‘You should try it one day. It’s easier to keep going when you’re not weighed down by possessions.’
‘So we’re back to a world obsessed by trivia?’
‘If you like.’
‘And to a man who needs to be on the move all the time. Are you afraid your past is going to catch up with you, Charles? Are you happier leaving everyone behind?’
Acland’s lips twisted fractionally. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in the rut you’re in. You look about as pleased with your life as my father does, and he’s been grinding along the bottom of a furrow for years, carrying the debts of a farm on his back.’
‘Perhaps he feels it’s the responsible thing to do. We can’t all scrounge off others. Someone has to create the wealth.’
‘That’s the general view.’
Jones’s smile was sarcastic, prompted as much by the memory of his own debts as by a political view on individual responsibility. ‘But you disagree?’
Acland stared past him as if searching for a distant horizon. ‘I wouldn’t put my life on the line for it. Chasing wealth is no more ethically justified than turning your back on it.’
‘Which makes you what? A monk?’
‘An idiot,’ Acland said slowly, shifting his attention back to the superintendent. ‘I went to war for people like you and ended up with this.’ He touched his patch. ‘Pretty stupid, eh?’
*
Jen Morley reacted angrily when DI Beale and DC Khan rang her doorbell at ten-thirty at night. She delivered a few choice expletives via the intercom, said they’d woken her up and refused to let them in. ‘How do I know you’re the police?’ she hissed in an undertone. ‘You could be anyone.’
Beale leaned into the speaker beside the glass-panelled entrance to the block. ‘I can see your front door from here, Ms Morley. If you open it, I’ll give you a number to call. Ask for a description of Detective Inspector Beale and check it against the person you see.’
‘I can’t, I’m naked.’
‘I’m happy to wait while you put something on.’
There was the sound of a man speaking in the background and Jen raised her voice to answer him. ‘No, it’s just some yobs mucking around. I’ll be back in a minute.’ She dropped into a whisper again. ‘Look, do me a favour and fuck off,’ she snapped. ‘I’m busy, OK. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
Beale placed a hand over the intercom and nodded to Khan. ‘Check the window,’ he whispered, nodding towards a lighted, curtained pane to the right. He lowered his hand again. ‘We only need five minutes, Ms Morley. I appreciate it’s late at night but it is important. Do you have a dressing gown? You can talk to us outside your flat if you’d rather.’ He replaced his hand over the speaker as Khan slipped back beside him.
‘There’s a half-clothed Jap with her,’ the other man breathed. ‘He’s tapping his watch and hanging on to his wallet for dear life.’
‘Five minutes, Ms Morley,’ Beale said again. ‘That’s all we need.’
‘Jesus!’ she said angrily. ‘OK, wait there.’ The handset at her end rattled furiously onto its rest.
They watched her emerge from her door and shut it carefully behind her, before clutching her robe about her middle and making her way across the communal hall. From twenty yards away, she had a willowy elegance that fleetingly reminded both men of someone they knew; close to, the impression faded. There was nothing elegant about the bloodshot eyes, the smudged make-up or the swollen bottom lip that suggested someone had been chewing on it.
She opened the door a couple of feet and inserted herself in the opening to prevent them entering. ‘You’d better have something more than that if you’re expecting to come in,’ she hissed when Beale tried to introduce himself and show his card. ‘A search warrant at least.’
Beale wondered how often she’d been served with a warrant and made a mental note to check the records. ‘We just want to ask you some questions, Ms Morley. We understand you were engaged to a man called Charles Acland until a few months ago? Is that correct?’
‘What if I was? What’s he been saying about me?’ She touched the sleeve of her gown to the end of her nose. ‘It’ll be lies whatever it is.’
It wasn’t the answer Beale had been expecting. As a delaying tactic, he took out his notebook and flicked through it. ‘You remind me of someone,’ he said in a conversational tone. ‘Have we met before?’
‘Uma Thurman,’ she retorted impatiently, as if it should have been obvious. ‘Everyone thinks I’m Uma Thurman.’
Beale nodded, wondering if she realized how rough she looked. ‘I can see the resemblance now.’
‘Whatever. Just get a move on. I’m freezing to death here.’ She rubbed her arms to prove the point. ‘Charlie always lies. I could have had him done for rape . . . and he knows it.’
Beale nodded again, as if he had this information already. ‘When did that happen?’
‘The last time I saw him . . . before he went to Iraq. Then he tried to strangle me in the hospital after he came back.’ Her hand strayed to her neck. ‘I bet he hasn’t told you that.’
‘No.’
‘Did he tell you about the rape?’
Beale shook his head.
‘There you are, then. You can’t believe anything he says. If you want my opinion, his brain’s more damaged than his face. Ask his psychiatrist if you don’t believe me. He knows what happened. He was there when Charlie tried to kill me.’
He...?‘What’s this psychiatrist’s name?’
Jen looked on the point of answering, then changed her mind. ‘I can’t remember. I left as fast as I could in case Charlie had another go.’ She was becoming restless. ‘Look, it’s water under the bridge. I haven’t seen Charlie for months and that’s the way I want it to stay. Are we done now?’
‘Not quite, Ms Morley. It’s the time when you were together that we’re interested in. How often did Charlie come here?’
‘Whenever he could. He was crazy about me.’
‘Every weekend?’
‘Sure . . . when he wasn’t driving his tank over Salisbury Plain . . . or going to bloody Oman on manoeuvres.’
‘Over what time period? When did you first get together?’
She glanced over her shoulder, as if she could hear something from her flat. ‘Most of last year. We met at the beginning and split just before he went Iraq.’
Beale checked his notebook. ‘Do you remember if he was in London the weekends of the 9th/10th or 23rd/24th of September?’
‘Is this a joke? I don’t even remember what I was doing last week.’
Both policemen could believe that. ‘Have you any way of checking?’ Beale asked.
‘No.’ She frowned at him. ‘What’s this about? What’s Charlie done?’
When Beale hesitated, DC Khan stepped in. ‘Do you mind telling us what caused the split?’ he asked. ‘Was there a specific reason?’
She looked at him with an expression of contempt. ‘I didn’t much like being raped.’
‘I understand that,’ he agreed, ‘but you said Charlie was crazy about you . . . and rape suggests an unacceptable level of violence within the relationship.’
She started to close the door. ‘He’s not good at controlling his anger.’
Khan placed his hand on one of the glass panels to prevent her. ‘What did you do to make him angry?’
‘Nothing,’ she said coldly, ‘except refuse to give him what he wanted.’