Kill My Darling (8 page)

She had come direct from work, having set off that morning before the news broke generally: now it was on the rolling TV news and all over the Internet. Who needed newspapers any more? He had had her brought up to his office – no need to subject her to the horrors of the interview rooms – and provided her with good coffee from Atherton's filter machine next door. Despite the situation, she had been looking around with noticing interest ever since she arrived, and he liked her for it. Improving the shining hour was something he was always urging on his children.

‘So, tell me about Melanie,' he said. ‘You've known her a long time?'

‘We grew up together, in Northwood – practically next-door neighbours. We lived in Chester Road and they lived round the corner in Hallowell Road, so we were in and out of each other's houses. And we went to the same school,' she said. ‘St Helen's. We were scholarship girls.' She made an equivocal face – an automatic apology for being bright. ‘We both did maths and sciences, so we were outcasts anyway – I suppose that's what kept us close. We were the Geeks, and that was before there was any Geek Chic, like now – when it was still an insult.' He smiled, and she responded with a glimmer of her own that hinted at what she could do if she really gave it everything. ‘Then we both went to London University, though not to the same college. She went to Imperial and I went to UCL. But we shared a flat, with some other girls at first and then just the two of us, until we graduated. Then she went to the Natural History Museum and I started working for Shell – I'm in data analysis. They're on the South Bank, so it wasn't really convenient any more to share. But we've always stayed friends. We talk to each other every week on the phone, and meet up whenever we can, and—' She stopped, thrown off balance by the present tense.

‘It takes time to come to terms with it,' he said, answering the appeal in her eyes.

‘I'll never see her again,' she said. ‘I can't believe it.'

‘Don't try. It'll come in its own time. Did you have any brothers or sisters of your own?'

She took the question like medicine, knowing it was good for her. Talking stopped her thinking. ‘No, I was an only child as well. I suppose that was another reason we were close.'

‘You must have been a great comfort to her, when her father died.'

‘Oh, God, that was terrible. We were just fourteen, fifteen, when the train crash happened. That's a hard time anyway, for a girl. And then, you couldn't get away from it. It was everywhere, the same pictures over and over again, in the papers, on the television, as if they were
trying
to make it worse, as if they were gloating. I hated them then – the media. But Mel was wonderful. I'd have been totally trashed, but somehow she held it together. I think she, like, pushed a lot of it down inside, bottled it up. You see, her mum was no use to her – she just went to pieces, and Mel had to comfort
her
, instead of the other way round. And she'd always loved her dad so much, in spite of everything.' She paused, looking carefully at Slider.

‘Go on,' he said.

‘Well, the thing is – I don't want to speak ill of the dead – but her dad was never a very satisfactory person. He never had a steady job, and he was always having these mad ideas that were going to make a fortune, but they never did, they just left them broke again. Like the time he went in for ostriches: ostrich meat was going to be the next big thing, but of course it all fell through – after he'd put all their savings into it. And then another time he invested everything in this camel farm. This man convinced him there was going to be a market for camel's milk and yoghurt and stuff. They were going to call it the Dromedairy.'

Slider saw it was all right to smile, and she smiled too, ruefully, and shook her head.

‘He was always looking for the easy way out, the money for nothing, and of course what they always ended up with was the nothing. Mel never had any nice clothes – everything was second-hand. Mrs Hunter had to work, and they lived most of the time on what she could earn, which wasn't much. She used to do those Tupperware parties for extra cash. Mel always felt ashamed about that. I told her it was silly, that there was nothing wrong with it, but she couldn't help it. But through all that, she still loved him. He was one of those charming losers, you know?'

Slider nodded.

‘I was mad about him too, when I was a kid. He used to take Mel and me out for these Saturday outings – our Adventure Days, he used to call them. The Round Pond, the Kensington Museums, art galleries, Trafalgar Square, the Lido in summer, or the Serpentine – anything that didn't cost anything. Sometimes it was just a ride on the top of a bus – we'd sit in the front seat and pretend to be the driver, and he'd tell us stories and we'd sing songs together. Whatever it was, it was always fun. He was always smiling and jolly, and telling jokes, and he could do conjuring tricks – you know, finding a coin behind your ear, that sort of thing? – so he didn't really seem like a grown-up at all, not like my dad, who was really boring. But then when I got older I could see the difference between my dad, who went to work every day without complaining and kept us properly, and Mr Hunter, who was lovely but always letting people down. Mel saw it too, but she couldn't help loving him. Well, he was her dad,' she concluded simply.

‘So it must have been devastating when he died,' Slider said, to keep her going.

‘Yes. He was on his way down to Devon or Somerset or somewhere to “see a man” about some new scheme that was going to make him rich. No surprises there. He was always going to “see a man” and it was always going make a fortune. But then the train crashed and all those people were killed, and one of them was Melanie's dad. It was awful.' She looked down at her hands, frowning at the memory. ‘Then a year later, her mum married Ian. I suppose she just couldn't cope on her own. He was a widower – his wife had died suddenly, and he had a baby daughter, so it made sense for him. He was very different, though – a teacher. You couldn't get any more respectable and steady than that, could you?'

‘You didn't like him?' Slider hazarded.

‘Oh, he was all right, just a bit strict and churchy and – you know, by the book. Not like Mel's dad. Not that I had much to do with him – just about then, for some reason or other, I didn't see so much of Mel. I don't know if he was stopping her going out or something, but I never seemed to see her outside of school, and in school she was sort of quiet and – moody maybe. I suppose it was a bit of an adjustment for her, a new stepdad and everything. But she settled down in the end. After a few months she was back to normal – not like before her dad died, exactly, but normal for like she's been ever since. Well, we were just about to go to university, so that made it easy. We got into a flat share and Mel left home, and Ian and Mel's mum moved to Ealing, to be nearer his school. So he and Mel never had to live together after that, which probably made it easier. Mel's mum always said he wasn't meant to be a father to Mel, just her husband. She told Mel no one expected her to call him “Dad”, and she never did.'

‘And then there was Scott,' Slider suggested.

She made a face, and then put her hand over her mouth apologetically. ‘Oh, I shouldn't say anything. He's all right, really. And Melanie's mad about him.'

‘Is he mad about her?'

‘Well, they're all over each other. Very lovey-dovey. They're living together now, and he's talking about marriage and everything.'

‘What don't you like about him?'

She seemed alarmed. ‘I didn't say I didn't like him. He's perfectly all right. My goodness, some of my friends go out with real horrors! I just don't think he's good enough for her – but she's my Best Friend since forever, so I don't expect I'd think anyone was good enough for her.' She smiled disarmingly. ‘I think he's a bit dull, that's all. But if it's what she wants – after all, she had a bellyful of a lovely, fun man who was no good as a husband when she was a kid. I expect she wants reliability now, above anything.' She stopped herself again, and looked dismayed. ‘I forgot again. How could I forget?' She looked at him appealingly. ‘How long does this go on? It's not
real
!'

‘Give yourself a chance,' he said kindly. ‘It's all very new to you. Tell me about Friday.'

She pulled herself together visibly. ‘It was my birthday drinks. We always do that on each other's birthdays. I was twenty-seven on Friday.' She shook her head in wonder at the thought. ‘Melanie's six months younger than me, she's still only twenty-six. She always rags me about that, calls me old lady and gran and so on. Anyway, she arranged for half a dozen of us to meet at the Princess Victoria for drinks and a meal.'

‘Isn't that a bit far from home for you? I'd have thought you'd meet half way.'

‘Sometimes we did, but my mum's not been well so I said I'd go and spend the weekend with her afterwards. She still lives in Northwood. And two of the other girls come from out that way, and one of them, Rebecca, doesn't drink, so she said she'd drive us back straight from the pub. It was a bit of a waste, really, with Scott being away – Melanie and I could have had a nice long time together – but we've got some other things planned so it didn't matter too much. I mean, we
had
,' she finished dolefully.

‘How was she that evening? Was she in normal spirits?'

‘Oh, yes, she was in great form. We had a laugh.'

‘She didn't have anything on her mind at all? Wasn't worried about anything?'

‘Not that she mentioned.'

‘Everything all right with Scott?'

Her eyebrows went up. ‘Oh, I see what you're after. She said she was feeling a bit guilty because she'd been crabby with him earlier. Did you know about that?'

‘Yes, I heard it from Scott. About the wedding.'

‘Right. He's got these very thick friends he likes to hang out with. But it was nothing. She'd sort of snapped at him, and then she was sorry. It happens.' She shrugged. ‘Anyway, he called her during the evening, and they were all lovey-dovey again, so that was all right. She and Scott were fine, really. You weren't thinking . . .?' She looked alarmed.

‘I'm not thinking anything yet. Just trying to assemble a picture for myself. So were you all together at the pub the whole evening?'

‘Yes. We met up between half past seven and eight, had some food and some bottles of wine, and we stayed until about ten.'

‘That seems early. It wasn't as if it was a work night.' Slider put a question mark at the end, and she nodded.

‘I suppose it was, but Mel – well.' She looked awkward, and lowered her voice. ‘She'd got the curse and she wasn't feeling all that brilliant. That's probably why she snapped at Scott earlier. Anyway, about ten-ish she said she was all in and apologized and said she wanted to go, so that broke up the party really.'

‘You wouldn't go on without her?'

She smiled faintly. ‘That's the sort of person she is. If she leaves, it all goes flat. She's just – I don't know. If I say “the heart and soul of the party” it makes it sound as if she's loud, but she isn't a bit. She's just nice, and kind, and good, and everybody loves her, and everybody wants to be with her, and – well, if you were having a party, you'd find out what date she could make first, before you asked anyone else.'

‘I understand. So she didn't talk about anything in particular that evening? Any concerns she had, or plans? Anything different in her life, any changes ahead?'

‘Nothing at all. It was just the usual chat.'

‘Did she say what she was doing the rest of the weekend?'

‘She was going to veg out on Saturday – you know, get up late, do the laundry, get a takeaway and watch a movie. That was all she felt like. And Sunday she said she had some work she had to catch up on. Stuff for the museum. She wanted to get it done before Scott got back Sunday evening, while it was quiet.'

‘And did anyone else ring her during the evening?'

She frowned. ‘I don't know. Everybody's on the phone all the time these days, I probably wouldn't notice. I only know about Scott because I was sitting next to her and talking to her when he rang, so he interrupted me. And of course I heard her side of it, so I knew they'd made up and everything.'

‘Weren't you sitting next to her the whole time?'

‘No, we moved about and changed seats a bit. So she might have had other calls, I just wouldn't notice.' She looked at him. ‘So you've no idea who did this? None at all?'

The usual thing was to say ‘we're following up various lines of investigation', but meeting the clear gaze in the young, freckled face, he couldn't prevaricate. ‘Not yet.'

‘But she wasn't attacked on the way home? Didn't it say on the news she went home from the Vic all right, and then disappeared?'

‘So it seems.'

‘But I don't understand – why didn't Scott know she was missing? They were always talking to each other on the phone. They were like two little lovebirds. If she didn't answer the phone, he'd surely think something was wrong.'

It was a good question, Slider thought when she was gone. There was definitely something about Mr Hibbert that invited investigation; but everything in its time.

Fred ‘The Syrup' Porson might have had the looks and charm of a bunion, but he had still managed to beguile Duggie Fox into lending him enough uniforms to do the immediate house-to-house canvass. Of course, this only involved the lightly-housed Reservoir Road and the three small culs-de-sac that led off it, so it wasn't in the order of a lifetime commitment; but Slider gave his boss all credit for extracting anything at all from a man whose attitude towards beneficence resembled that of the proverbial duck's rectum to pond water.