Dark Mirror (28 page)

‘Sacked him?’

‘Yeah, he reckoned Rafferty lied on his original job application.’

‘What did Rafferty have to say?’

‘Told him he could keep his job. Didn’t seem much bothered.’

Kathy thought. ‘You said he was spending money on the horses.’

‘Yes, a fair bit, from what I could gather. Just gossip, mind you, down the pub.’

‘Maybe it would be worth checking at the local betting shops.’

‘Yeah.’

Kathy worked on the phone for a while, coordinating teams at the library and university student flats. Later, when Brock returned from his briefing, he called Kathy up to his office.

‘They’ve decided not to close the libraries,’ he said. ‘Public warnings instead. Won’t do much for the café business. What have you got?’

‘Several witnesses who saw her in the library today, but no one
at The Last Word except for the waitress. Forensics haven’t been able to find any traces of arsenic in the café. It’s likely her coffee cup was put through the washing machine before we got there. They’re working through the contents of all the rubbish bins. So far nothing from Tina’s student room-mates.’

Then she told him about her call to America.

‘You’re wondering if Marion was going to embarrass Dr da Silva at the conference?’

‘Something like that. Sophie Warrender suggested that she may have discovered some problem with his scholarship—plagiarism, maybe. And according to Donald Fotheringham, Tina had da Silva in her sights. And . . . I think someone’s been in Marion’s house since we locked it up.’ Kathy hadn’t put this into any of her reports, still uncertain if she was right.

‘You haven’t spoken to da Silva?’

‘Not since Monday, to ask him about Marion’s computer. I told him then about the house in Hampstead. What do you think? We have nothing concrete. Should we wait until we do?’

Brock thought, then shook his head. ‘I’d like to meet him.’ He checked his watch. ‘Six. Let’s see if we can catch him on home ground. Do we know anything about his family?’

‘Wife’s a rich lawyer, apparently.’

‘See what you can find out while I order a car.’

By the time it arrived, Kathy had put together an outline of the da Silva household. ‘Wife is Jenny da Silva, a commercial lawyer with Braye Sneddon Wilkes. Her father is Sir George Thorpe.’

‘The furniture chain?’

‘Yes. That’s where the money comes from, presumably. First marriage for both of them. She’s forty-two, he forty-six.’

‘The difficult age,’ Brock murmured.

‘Is there an easy one? They have two children: Mortimer, nine, and Leslie, seven.’

‘A perfect family.’

‘Yes. I had Googled him previously, and there’s no doubt about his reputation. Terrific reviews for his Rossetti book from the
TLS
and
New York Review of Books
, and a profile in the
Observer
magazine.’

‘Lot to lose, then.’

They came to the broad, tree-lined streets of Hampstead Garden Suburb, the model development laid out a hundred years before, and found the da Silvas’ house, a substantial rendered semi-detached villa. The red BMW Z4 M Roadster was sitting in the driveway.

‘He’s at home,’ Kathy said.

They walked up to the door in the fading light and Kathy rang the bell. After a while the door was opened by Jenny da Silva.

Kathy liked her straight away. She had a warm, open smile and looked as if she might be just about to tell you a good joke she’d heard. There was a streak of flour on her brow where she’d pushed her hair back, and Kathy noticed a half-full glass of white wine on the hall table behind her. She seemed very practical and competent, and just looking at her Kathy felt she could tell that her wealthy father hadn’t spoiled her, but had made her serve her time in the packing department or accounts during the school holidays. She had managed the production of children into a compact timeslot before resuming her career, and was now a success in her own field and married to a star in another. An admirable life, and Kathy knew that they were about to trample all over it.

And Jenny da Silva knew it too, Kathy saw. As she showed her ID and introduced herself and Brock, she saw the smile drain from the other woman’s face, as if she’d always known that something like this was going to happen.

‘We’d like to speak to your husband, please, Mrs da Silva.’

‘Oh dear, what’s happened? Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘If we could just speak to him.’

‘Well . . . you’d better come in.’ She stood back and they stepped into a generous hall, where they waited while she went into one of the rooms that led off it. The sound of a TV newscast was cut off abruptly, and they heard Tony da Silva’s voice. ‘Who? What?’ He came out, wiping a hand across his face as if he might have been caught having a nap. Recognising Kathy he said, ‘Ah, Inspector,’ and thrust a hand forward awkwardly.

‘This is my colleague, Detective Chief Inspector Brock, Dr da Silva. We’d like to have a word with you.’

‘Do you want to use the living room, darling?’ Jenny spoke from the doorway, a sleepy child in her arms. ‘I’ll take Leslie up to bed.’

‘Right, yes.’ He led them into the rear room and offered them seats, sitting stiffly on the edge of his. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘You have a student, Tina Flowers.’

‘Oh yes?’ He stared fixedly at Kathy.

‘You know who I mean?’

‘Um, I think so. Third year? Yes. Why?’

‘Did you see her today, by any chance?’

His eyes moved from one to the other, and he seemed unable to speak at first. Then he said tightly, ‘Today? No, I don’t believe so.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Can’t recall seeing her, no.’

‘Would you mind telling us your movements today, Dr da Silva?’

‘Um, normal sort of day. Ten o’clock lecture, afternoon tutorials. Why?’

‘The lecture finished at eleven? What did you do then?’

‘Bit of library work, then a sandwich in my room.’

‘Which library did you use?’

‘The university . . .’ He hesitated, staring at Kathy’s face, then corrected himself. ‘No, I went up to the British Library today, for an hour or so.’

‘So what times were you there?’

‘I’m not sure exactly. Look, what is all this?’

‘Please try to estimate when you were there. It is important.’

‘I can’t see how. Well, I suppose I got there some time after 11.30, and was there for perhaps an hour, that’s all.’

‘And did you see Tina Flowers while you were there?’

‘I told you, no. Why are you asking me this?’

‘Tina collapsed at the British Library early this afternoon. I’m sorry to have to tell you that she died later.’

Tony da Silva said nothing, jaw locked, staring at Kathy.

‘Tony?’

His wife’s voice from the doorway roused him, and he slowly turned to face her.

‘Are you all right?’ she said. ‘What is going on? What’s the matter?’

‘I’m afraid that another of Dr da Silva’s students died in suspicious circumstances this afternoon.’

‘Another . . . like Marion Summers, do you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s appalling. Where did this happen? At the university?’

‘At the British Library. Dr da Silva was also there at about the same time. We were hoping he might be able to help us find out what happened.’

‘You were there?’ Her husband didn’t respond, apparently locked in some inner struggle. ‘Tony!’

He drew a deep breath and looked away, through the French windows to the back garden, now almost lost in the gathering dark. ‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘I was there.’

In Tina’s wallet they had found a photograph of her and Marion together, both laughing at the camera. From this they had made a copy of Tina’s face alone, and Kathy now showed this to Jenny da Silva. Her expression froze.

‘You know her?’

Jenny glanced over at her husband, but he didn’t respond. She looked at Kathy. ‘She was here, last night.’

There was a moment’s silence as this sank in. Then Brock said, ‘I’d like you both to come with us to make a properly recorded statement.’

‘I can’t leave the children,’ Jenny said, a note of panic in her voice. ‘And I won’t say another word, not until I’ve discussed this with my husband.’

‘It’s all right, Jenny.’ Tony da Silva roused himself. ‘You don’t need my wife. Tina did come here yesterday evening. I’m happy to make a statement.’

‘Tony?’

‘It’s fine, darling. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.’ He turned to Brock, a glimmer of his old confidence returning to his voice. ‘I’m sorry, you caught me unprepared. I was dozing when you arrived, and when you told me about Tina, I just went into shock. I really can’t believe this.’

He fetched his jacket, kissed his wife on the cheek and left with the two police. When they got into the car he began to say something, but Brock stopped him and cautioned him. He cautioned him again when they were seated in an interview room at the local police station, not far away on Finchley Road.

‘Let’s begin with Tina Flowers’ visit to your house last night, Dr da Silva. Tell us about that.’

‘Ah . . .’ Da Silva cleared his throat and took a sip of water from the plastic cup they’d provided. ‘I should explain that I didn’t know Tina well. She’s in a course I teach, and she’s attended my tutorials,
along with many others, but I had no real personal contact with her. I didn’t realise, for example, that she was a friend of Marion Summers, until she told me last night. That was the purpose of her visit. Apparently she had got it into her head that the reason Marion had died was because of something she’d discovered in the course of her research work. Tina was very agitated when she came to see me. When I told her that her notion seemed totally implausible to me, she exploded, and said that she’d discovered some notes of Marion’s, written in a library book, which proved I’d plagiarised her work. This was utter nonsense. I’ve never done any such thing and I told her so. She blustered and said she had the evidence, and I told her in that case to go to the university authorities or the police, and I kicked her out. I must admit I was shaken by the whole episode, just coming out of the blue like that. She was close to violence, trembling and spitting with rage, and I got pretty angry too. You see? I’m telling you all this although I know it doesn’t show me in a good light, given what’s happened. But I haven’t seen her since, I swear. You asked if I’d seen her at the British Library today, and I said no. That’s true. If we were there at the same time I certainly didn’t see her.’

‘An extraordinary coincidence, though,’ Brock said.

‘Yes—well, no, not really. I went there because of her visit, to see if I could find this book she’d been talking about. She wouldn’t have been able to borrow it—the BL isn’t a lending library—so it would have to be there still. I checked a couple of Rossetti titles, then I ran out of time and had to go. I was intending to have another look tomorrow.’

‘So you were concerned about Tina’s accusation,’ Kathy said.

‘Not about the ridiculous accusation of plagiarism, but I was concerned that Marion might have written something disparaging or contentious about me in a book that was circulating out there in the public domain.’

‘Would she have done that?’

Da Silva shook his head wearily. ‘I don’t know. We had been at cross-purposes in the last month or two. I told you how headstrong she was, didn’t I?’

‘Do you have a copy of her paper for the Cornell conference?’

He looked at Kathy in surprise. ‘You know about that? No, no I don’t. She was rather secretive about it, actually. I’ve no idea why.’

‘It was about your subject, Rossetti, wasn’t it?’

‘I don’t know. Her title was rather general as far as I recall, and she refused to discuss it with me.’

‘That’s a little odd, isn’t it? A student refusing to discuss the paper she was going to give at a conference with her supervisor, who’s the world expert on the subject?’

‘Look, I don’t see the relevance of this.’

‘Well, let’s speculate,’ Kathy persisted, leaning forward. ‘Suppose Marion had discovered something that would reflect badly on your reputation, and had decided to reveal it at the Cornell conference. You’d give a great deal to stop her, wouldn’t you?’

‘No, there was nothing like that.’ He reached for the cup of water, then changed his mind when it became apparent that his hand was shaking.

‘Did you ever give or lend Marion money, Dr da Silva?’ Brock came in.

‘Certainly not!’

‘We can check, you know. Do you have an account with a bank in Switzerland?’

His eyes widened. ‘No.’

‘The Banque Foche in Geneva. Have you or your wife had any dealings with them? A bank loan, perhaps? A money transfer?’

‘I swear, I’ve never heard of them.’

‘Did you ever have sex with Marion Summers?’

‘No, no!’

‘Tina thought you did.’

‘Did she?’ He was gasping now, red-faced. ‘She had no cause.’

‘Did you know that Marion lost a baby two weeks before she died?’

Da Silva stared at him, wide-eyed.

‘Were you the father?’

‘Oh dear God. No, no.’

K
athy didn’t enjoy this, the patient grinding away at a story until only the true bones remained. If Brock shared her impatience and weariness with the process he didn’t show it, taking da Silva back again and again over old ground, looking for discrepancies. He was implacable and endlessly attentive, as if willing to go on all night.

During a short break Kathy found a message on her phone from Guy, asking if they could meet that evening. She rang him and said that wouldn’t be possible.

‘Still working?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, we’ve got a suspect strapped to the table.’

‘What a fun job you have. How about tomorrow, the weekend? We could go to Prague.’

‘I wish. Maybe. Depends. How about you? Still waiting on your marching orders?’

‘Won’t be till next week now.’

‘I’ll ring you tomorrow,’ she said.

‘I’m counting on it.’

She swallowed her coffee and reluctantly got back to her feet to restart the interview. As they headed for the door, she said to Brock, ‘I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere.’