Kind of Cruel (49 page)

Charlie could laugh at this at least. This couldn’t be Liv’s big revelation. It was preposterous. ‘You decided that because she was a child actress, Kat Allen must have killed Sharon? Why would she? Is there even any connection between the two of them?’

‘Yes. There is.’ The look of mortification on Liv’s face had given way to something else, something deeper. Guilt, Charlie realised, as a mixture of anger and envy surged through her. Liv knew she had no right to be the person who worked anything out first; she must have known how Charlie would feel. Yet what choice did she have? She couldn’t keep quiet about it.

‘There’s a connection between Kat Allen and Sharon Lendrim?’

‘Yes,’ Liv said solemnly. ‘The connection’s somebody called Johannah Utting.’

Charlie gestured around the room. ‘Owner of our mansion for the weekend.’

‘Johannah Utting owns this house?’

Didn’t know that, did you?
Charlie felt childishly satisfied.

Liv pushed her out of the way and set about making them cups of tea, a task Charlie had realised was too boring some time ago. ‘I rang Kat Allen’s school,’ she said matter-of-factly, as if she was reciting a series of mundane instructions. ‘I was right: Kat was still a drama enthusiast. More than that: she was the teacher with overall responsibility for drama at Meadowcroft.’

Charlie stopped herself from asking just in time. Meadowcroft was the school’s name.

‘I asked if she ever hired costumes for school productions, or—’

‘Wait a second,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘Why would the school talk to a random arts journalist about a member of staff who’s . . .’ She stopped, shook her head as fury sealed her mouth shut.

‘Obviously, I couldn’t say who I was. Look, I’m not proud of it, Char, but I had to think of something and I was so livid about the way he’d spoken to me . . .’

‘He?’

‘Sam. That’s who I said I was: DS Sam Kombothekra, Culver Valley Police. Sam’s a unisex name: Samuel, Samantha.’

‘You didn’t pretend to be me, then,’ said Charlie. ‘I suppose that’s something.’

‘I thought about it, but . . .’

‘You decided it’d be an identity theft too far. Agreed. Go on.’

‘No, it wasn’t that. I . . . I wanted to make it as true as possible. You’re not a detective any more, you’re a suicide person.’

‘And I owe it all to you,’ Charlie murmured under her breath. ‘What did fake DS Sam find out? I can’t believe you got away with it. How many times must Sam have been to that school since Kat died?’

‘He hasn’t,’ said Liv. She handed Charlie a cup of tea. It was too weak and too milky. ‘Sellers did all the school interviews. Chris told me.’

‘How would
Chris
feel if he knew you were telling me all this instead of him?’

Liv sighed. ‘Kat Allen’s best friend from Pulham Market, the village where she grew up, runs a costume business,’ she said. ‘Kat was in the habit of visiting her folks every couple of weeks for the weekend. All the costumes for Meadowcroft’s nativities, plays – everything came from her friend.’

‘Where does Jo Utting come into it?’ Charlie asked expressionlessly. She wanted to get it over with, since there was no avoiding it.

Liv hid behind her mug as she answered. ‘I asked the school if they knew this friend’s name. They didn’t, but they knew the name of her business: The Soft Prop Shop.’

‘That’s a shite name,’ Charlie observed.

‘Yes, let’s talk about the name of the costume shop.’ Liv shook her head. ‘It’s clearly the most important detail.’

‘You rang up? DS Sam Kombothekra again?’

‘I spoke to Kat’s friend. Like the woman I rang at the school, she just accepted I was who I said I was. Wouldn’t happen in London. Anyone’d demand some kind of proof of ID; a toddler would ask. People are more trusting in the middle of nowhere, I suppose.’

‘Not for long, if pathological liars like you keep popping in.’
And not me. And don’t call everywhere that isn’t London ‘the middle of nowhere’.

‘You wouldn’t think it, would you?’ Liv said. ‘I’d be
more
suspicious if I lived in some rural hamlet, greenery all around me. I’d worry about truckers strangling prostitutes and leaving their bodies in woods near my house.’

Charlie could guess the rest of the story. ‘You asked Kat Allen’s friend if she had any fireman costumes.’

‘As I was saying it, I was thinking, “You’re mad, Zailer, get a grip.” But I was right.’

There it was, the painful line Charlie had steeled herself to hear: her sister was right.

‘She had two fireman’s uniforms. I asked her if anyone hired either of them in November 2008, told her the date of the fire at Sharon Len—’

‘Jo Utting,’ Charlie said quickly. She wanted to be right too. More right, ideally. If there was such a thing.

Liv nodded. ‘Johannah Utting booked one. She went to collect it four days before the fire that killed Sharon Lendrim. I was about to say thank you, get off the phone before something went wrong, but then she said, “How weird.” I asked her what she meant and she said, “I remember her. Corkscrew curly blonde hair, pretty. Did she kill Kat?” Then she started crying. It was awful. I didn’t know what to do.’

‘Why
don’t
literary journalists get any training on how to deal with loved ones’ grief in the wake of a brutal murder?’ Charlie wondered aloud. ‘Someone’s not thought this through.’

‘Oh, shut up, Char. Do you want to know or not?’

What I want is for you not to know. Anything. Apart from your place.

Liv took her silence as a ‘yes’. ‘It was awkward for a few minutes. I was trying to cheer her up – well, not cheer her up, you know what I mean – and work out what was going on at the same time. First thought to cross my mind was how the hell does she remember a woman who hired a fireman outfit two years ago? Assuming she has a regular supply of customers.’

‘How?’

‘Kat Allen was there too. In the costume shop at the same time as Johannah Utting, four days before Sharon Lendrim died. They knew each other. They spoke. Kat’s friend heard their whole conversation. She clearly remembers Kat being pleased to see Jo, and the pleasure being all one way.’

It was too much. Too much information to take in at once; too much good luck to fall into Liv’s undeserving lap. No wonder she didn’t want Gibbs to find out. He might as well give up the day job and take up carpentry or stone-wall building; that’s how Charlie would feel in his position. ‘Jo wasn’t pleased to see Kat?’ she said.

‘Not at all. Apparently she was shocked, and not in a good way. She said, “What are you doing here?”, as if Kat was trespassing. She recovered quickly and turned on the charm, but neither Kat nor her friend could understand why she’d react like that. Jo knew Kat’s parents lived in Pulham Market, the costume business belonged to a close friend of Kat’s – why shouldn’t she be there? Jo was the one who didn’t live anywhere near and hadn’t been before. Kat was a regular customer.’

‘Stop, wait.’ Charlie started to feel panicky as unasked, unanswered questions started to jostle for position in her mind. ‘How do you know Jo knew that Kat’s parents lived in Pulham Market?’

Liv thought about it. ‘Kat’s friend said. When she was quoting Kat. She told me what Kat had said to her at the time, after Johannah Utting had left the shop.’

‘Which was?’

‘“Silly woman, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. God knows why, she knows my folks only live round the corner.” That’s not word for word, but . . .’

‘Did fake DS Sam ring Kat Allen’s parents?’ Charlie demanded. ‘Ask how their daughter knew Jo Utting?’

‘No.’ Liv looked stricken, as if she’d been found guilty of gross negligence. ‘I thought I’d done enough. Should I have . . .’

‘They knew each other,’ Charlie muttered, pacing up and down the kitchen. ‘Which is also how
Kat
knew Jo lived nowhere near Pulham Market.’

‘I guess so,’ Liv agreed.

‘What else did they say to each other?’

‘Hardly anything, according to the friend. Johannah said, “What are you doing here?”, Kat said, “I’m hiring costumes for my school play. I’m a primary school teacher now.”’

‘You sure about that? “I’m a primary school teacher
now
’’?’

‘Of course I’m not sure.’ Liv’s voice shook. ‘I mean, I don’t know if Kat’s friend was sure. All I know is what she said.’

‘Jo knew Kat a long time ago,’ Charlie deduced aloud. ‘They hadn’t seen each other for years.’ She turned on her sister. ‘What else was said?’

‘Kat told Johannah – Jo – that she’d got a job in her part of the world, in a school in Spilling. Jo didn’t seem happy to hear the news. Kat and her friend had a good laugh about it when Jo had gone, how freaky it was. Why would a woman Kat hardly knows mind Kat being in the costume shop and mind her teaching at a school in Spilling? Apparently she really did seem to mind, both. It made no sense, Kat said. I asked her friend if she said anything more about who Jo was. I thought she might have said, “She’s always been a loony, ever since . . .” and then mention something from their shared past.’

‘They didn’t have a shared past,’ said Charlie. ‘You just quoted Kat Allen as saying they hardly knew each other. Hardly knowing is still knowing, though.’

‘Kat’s friend
did
ask, but Kat just rolled her eyes and laughed to indicate that it was too boring,’ said Liv. ‘Before Jo Utting walked in, she and Kat had been discussing something more interesting to both of them, and they got back to gossiping as soon as they could.’

‘So Kat wasn’t worried by having seen Jo,’ said Charlie. This was a good kitchen for thinking. It was long enough that you could walk laps, keep your brain on the go by keeping your body moving. ‘No, she wouldn’t have been. She didn’t know she had any reason to fear Jo. She didn’t know Jo had hired a costume from a shop hours from home because she planned to wear that costume to commit murder.’

Liv nodded. ‘I was wrong. Kat Allen didn’t kill Sharon Lendrim. Did Jo Utting kill them both, then? That’s how it’s looking, isn’t it?’

‘If Kat hadn’t gone to her friend’s costume shop that day, if she’d gone the day before or the day after, she’d still be alive,’ said Charlie.

‘Don’t say that. It’s too horrible.’

‘It’s true. The meeting at the costume place might not have swung it on its own, but when Kat said she was working in Spilling . . .’

‘Jo Utting knew it was more likely she’d hear about Sharon’s death, a local murder,’ Liv completed the thought. ‘Started by someone dressed in a fireman’s uniform who turned out not to be a fireman. But why not kill Kat Allen sooner, then? Two years later? What sense does that make? You’d do it straight away or not at all.’

Charlie was shaking her head. ‘Jo Utting’s alibied for the day Kat died, Simon said. She was on a driver awareness course in place of Amber Hewerdine.’

‘Char, you can’t tell Simon any of this came from me. If Chris found out . . .’

‘He’ll have to learn to live with it,’ said Charlie.

‘Please. I’m begging you. I’ll do—’

‘Anything? End it with Gibbs?’

‘Not that.’

Charlie sighed, pressed her eyes shut. ‘Fine. In that case, how about throwing a rock through the window of a locked room instead?’

Re: Next week’s appointment

From “Charlie Zailer” <
[email protected]
>

To
[email protected]

Fri, 3 December 2010 5.35 PM

Hi Ginny

Thanks for being so understanding about the short-notice cancellation. And, work permitting, I will do my best to make another appointment in the not too distant future, though based on past experience of never-ending workload, we might have to make that some time next century!

While I’m on the subject of work, I was wondering if I could pick your brains in relation to a man whose case I’m reviewing as part of my work as second in command to the Strategic Lead for Suicide for Culver Valley Police. This is unofficial and off the record, so if that’s a problem feel free to tell me to bog off (many people do, all the time), but I’m not going to miss a chance to ask an expert: can you give me any kind of psychological profile on someone who is embarrassed/shy about the prospect of having sex even with someone he loves, because he perceives it as having sex in public – i.e. even a loved and participating partner becomes ‘public’ or ‘audience’? But he wouldn’t do anything sexual on his own either, because that would be dirty/wrong? What sort of background/history/psychological problem might lead to feeling that sex is too private a thing to be done ‘in front of’ even a partner? I’m fairly certain no childhood physical or sexual abuse was involved, and also certain that it’s not an issue of not enjoying sex physically. More a case of things working fine on the desire/physical front, but some kind of strong psychological aversion to having sexual desire/behaviour witnessed. Have you ever heard of this kind of thing before?

Thanks in advance, and don’t worry, I won’t quote you on anything.