On a Friday evening, the only sign of life in the village was light. The thatched pub was spotlit, and most of the houses round the green displayed the discreet glow of lamps from behind curtains and blinds. There were few street lights, and no huddled groups of adolescents lurking beneath them. The closest anyone here came to anti-social behaviour was making too much noise when putting the empties out for the recycle truck.
Carol turned down the narrow lane that led to her parents’ house. It was the last of three, and as she pulled up outside, her headlights caught the reflective markings of a police car tucked into a gateway a little further down the lane. Carol stilled the engine and got out, waiting for the Family Liaison Officer from the car to come and check her out.
The FLO appeared to be about Carol’s age, but that was where any similarity ended. She was a dumpy woman with dark hair shot through with wiry grey strands pulled back in an unflattering bun beneath her uniform hat. Her skin showed the remains of virulent acne and her eyes were set close together on either side of a sharp nose. But when she smiled, her face softened with kindness and Carol could see why she’d ended up doing a job that few officers relished. ‘DCI Jordan, is it?’ she said. ‘I’m PC Alice Flowers. I’ve been on station since half past four, and nobody’s been near the house. I could see the occupants moving around, so no need to worry that anything happened before you arrived.’ She had a faint Oxfordshire burr in her voice which was as reassuring as her smile. ‘I just want to say how sorry I am about your brother.’
Carol acknowledged her words with a tip of her head. ‘I’ve never been very good at the death knock,’ she said.
‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ Alice said. ‘Shall we get it over with, ma’am?’
Carol reached into the car and grabbed her coat, slipping it on and turning up the collar. She gave a sharp sigh. ‘Let’s do it,’ she said, squaring her shoulders. Please God, she could hold it together.
They walked up the flagged path between the box hedges that her father kept clipped to precisely knee-height. A wooden porch jutted over the path and Carol led the way. Alice stayed a couple of discreet steps behind her as she rang the doorbell. Silence, then a scuffle of feet, then a light snapped on over their heads.
The door opened and Carol’s mother appeared, looking like an older and less stylish version of her daughter. The look of mild curiosity on her face gave way to astonishment. ‘Carol! What a surprise. You should have phoned.’ She broke into a smile. Then, as she took in the expression on Carol’s face and spotted the uniformed officer behind her daughter, her face froze. Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Carol?’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘Carol, what’s happened?’
36
Kevin plonked himself down on a corner of Paula’s desk. She didn’t even look up from the report she was skimming. ‘What?’ she said.
‘The cleaner from the motel, the one who reported the wet carpet? She cleans at the carpet warehouse in the evenings. I thought I’d take a run over there and see what she’s got to say. Do you fancy coming with me?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve nearly finished going through these door-to-doors, then I’m going round to the chief’s flat to collect her cat. He’ll be starving if I leave it much longer.’
‘Aw, come on, Paula,’ Kevin wheedled. ‘You know you’re better with women than I am.’
‘In every possible sense,’ Chris called over from her desk.
Kevin pretended to be offended. ‘At least I’m admitting it. She’s Turkish, Paula. She’s probably working off the books. I’ll scare her. You’ll get her to talk.’
Paula groaned. ‘I promised I’d pick up Nelson.’
‘Is Elinor in?’ Chris said.
‘She should be.’
‘I’ll do it, then,’ Chris said. ‘I’m going out anyway to talk to the street girls, see if any of them have seen anybody dodgy with the dead women. I’ll pick up the cat and drop him off with Elinor. I’d take him back to ours, but I don’t think the dogs would be very happy.’
‘Problem solved, then,’ Kevin said, relieved.
‘There’s a key to the flat in her desk drawer,’ Paula said, resigned to her fate. She reached for her jacket and followed Kevin.
The carpet warehouse was as cheerless as Christmas for one. The shutters were down over the big display windows at the front, but they eventually found a small door tucked away round the side. The light that should have illuminated it had burned out, which was probably a blessing in disguise. Kevin hammered on the locked door and eventually it was opened by a skinny woman with the blue-black skin of equatorial Africa. ‘What?’ she said.
‘We’re here to talk to Buket,’ Paula said.
‘Nobody here,’ the black woman said, shaking her head for emphasis.
‘Buket works here. She’s not in any trouble. We just need to talk to her.’
The woman half-turned her head. ‘Not here.’
‘We’re from the police,’ Paula said. ‘No trouble, I promise. But I need to talk to her. You have to let us in.’ Little white lies, the kind that just trip from a copper’s tongue after enough time in the job.
The woman stepped back suddenly and let the door swing open. ‘No trouble,’ she said, disappearing round an array of carpets on a giant metal frame. In the distance, they could hear the motor of a vacuum cleaner. The echoing vastness of the prefabricated metal warehouse competed with the sound absorbency of so much carpet to make it hard to figure out where the noise was coming from. They did their best to follow it and finally emerged in an open area where carpet samples mounted on boards were stacked in wooden holders. A small plump woman with a hijab was wielding an industrial cleaner with surprising energy.
Paula walked round into her eyeline and waved at her. The woman literally jumped in surprise, then fumbled with the power switch. The motor’s note died away, leaving a faint resonance. ‘Are you Buket?’ Paula asked.
The woman’s dark eyes widened and darted to each side as if seeking an escape. Kevin let her see him and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘We’re not from Immigration,’ he said.
‘We don’t care if you’re here legally or if you’re being paid cash in hand,’ Paula said. ‘We are police officers, but there’s no reason to be afraid of us. Come on, let’s sit down.’ She pointed to a desk with a couple of customer chairs in front of it. Buket’s shoulders slumped and she let herself be led to a chair. Kevin had no idea how Paula did it, but it impressed him every time she led an unwilling witness to communication.
‘Are you Buket?’ Paula asked gently.
‘That is my name,’ the woman said.
‘And you also work at the Sunset Strip motel?’
Again, the darting eyes. Her olive skin seemed paler and she bit her lower lip. ‘I not want trouble.’
‘We’re not going to cause you trouble. We want to ask you about something that happened a little while ago at the motel. OK?’
‘I don’t know anything,’ Buket said immediately.
Paula pressed on regardless. ‘One of the rooms you clean was very wet.’
Buket’s face cleared, as if she’d been given the all-clear after some hideous medical procedure. ‘The room was wet, yes. This is what you want to know?’
‘That’s right. Can you tell me about it?’