Nemesis (17 page)

26

Natalie turned the bottle over in her hand. It was a clear plastic vial and had a white label all ready to be inscribed with her name.

“You want me to -
what
?”

The expression on DCI Bloom’s face did not flicker. “We need a specimen of urine to check for drugs.”

Did he keep a supply of these bottles for such an occasion?

“I haven’t
taken
any drugs
- ”

“Not deliberately, but we think someone may have put something into your drink.”

No prizes for guessing who had put that idea in his head. “I had my drink with me all the time. There was no opportunity
- ”

“Humour me.” DCI Bloom gave her a gentle push in the direction of the cloakroom. “Speed is of the essence, my dear.”

So now she was in the cloakroom, with the door closed. Outside the police were moving about the apartment. She could hear doors opening and closing as they made no effort to be either quiet or discreet. All the time they called out to each other - too muffled for her to discern exactly what was being said, until one spoke directly outside her door.

“No sign of anyone, sir.”

They were searching for her intruder. Hadn’t she seen him leave? Natalie leant wearily against the door. The wood felt cool against the hot skin of her forehead. She felt tired and ill - she could barely keep her eyes open. Would this ever end?

Someone banged on the door. Abruptly she stepped back, confused. Had she drifted off for a moment?

“Are you all right, Miss?”

She muttered something appropriate through the door,
then
glanced down at the bottle still grasped in her hand, and at the toilet a few feet away. Any more procrastinating was likely to bring the DCI in to supervise. She unscrewed the lid from the bottle and got on with the task in hand.

When she stepped back into the hall the two officers in the body armour had gone, but now there was a swarm of Scenes of Crime officers spreading throughout the apartment.
Which was an awful lot of trouble to go to for one foiled break in.

She dangled the bottle from her fingers. “Who wants this?”

One of the SOC officers took the bottle before she’d barely got the words out, and slid it into a clear plastic bag. “I also need a blood sample and a strand of hair.”

She looked at DCI Bloom. “Is he serious?”

“Let’s go into the kitchen,” suggested DCI Bloom. “I’m afraid this is going to take some time.”

By the time the SOC officer had taken the required samples, the kettle had boiled and Bryn was spooning instant coffee into mugs. “Milk?”
he
asking, holding up a carton.
Her carton.
“Sugar?”

She hesitated. “Just black,” she said, and sat at the small round table in the centre of the room. What else could she say? Get the hell out of my kitchen/apartment/life? A plate of her favourite ginger biscuits appeared in front of her. She ignored it. If she ate anything now she knew she would simply bring it back again.

At least the kitchen was tidy, although there was a lingering scent of Indian takeaway, and she had cleared up all the broken glass - God knows what they would have made of
that
. Had it only been a few hours ago that she had come home and found Simon sitting on the sofa? If she could go back to that one moment -

“You are a most interesting lady, Natalie Grove,” the DCI was saying. “You go on TV and talk about a long-forgotten murder, and within a few hours all hell breaks loose.”

Deciding that a reply was not required, she took a sip of coffee. Unexpectedly Bryn had made it exactly the way she liked it. She sought him out. There were not enough chairs at the table so he was leant against one of the worktops, cradling a mug in his hand.

“We’ve checked your apartment,” DCI Bloom added, as though sensing her attention had wandered. “Your intruder was working alone. He executed a tidy search and your TV, computer and other valuables appear to be still here. What he was looking for?”

The question took her by surprise. She put down the mug and spooned sugar into it, to give herself time to think. As she stirred, she was aware of every clink of the spoon and that everyone in the room was waiting for her answer.

Admit nothing.
She could almost sense her father’s presence in the kitchen, even though he’d never visited her apartment.
Don’t volunteer information. Don’t incriminate yourself.
She remembered how he’d always hated the police. It had never occurred to her to wonder why.

“The usual, I suppose,” she said, as vaguely as she could manage.

“Do you have a safe for cash and jewellery?”

That one was easy. “I don’t keep cash in the apartment and I don’t have much jewellery.” She took another sip from her mug. She liked her coffee black, strong and unsweetened. The sugar she’d added had now rendered it undrinkable. It was an effort to prevent
herself
grimacing. Carefully she set the mug back onto the table, smiling politely at the men sat around her table, so they would feel more inclined to believe every word she said.

“Would you know if anything was missing?” the Detective Chief Inspector persisted.

Down the hall, she could hear the SOC officers moving from room to room. “I suppose so.” It was easy to sound vague when she felt so shattered.

“Would you be so kind as to check the apartment for me?” The tension had returned to his voice. “Then we’ll be out of your way.”

That suggestion she was happy to agree with, although it took a good hour for the forensics to be finished. The DCI and his team drank more coffee and finished off all the biscuits. Bryn made some calls on his mobile.
To his sister?
Girlfriend?
Wife?
As he went outside to make them, she had no idea who he was phoning.

Eventually she was given the all clear to check her apartment. She knew it would be a waste of time but went through the motions to keep them happy. The police stayed in the kitchen. Bryn, however, followed her.

“Is it safe?” he asked in a low voice, once they were clear of the kitchen.

She was so tired she almost told him the truth. “Is what safe?”

“The diary.
It was what he was looking for, wasn’t it?”

An hour of lies and she had almost convinced herself that this had been a random attack. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This was an opportunist crime, nothing more.”

“I suppose you could be right,” he said. “After all, the guy only had to get past the security system on the main entrance, the guard sitting at reception, switch off all the CCTV so that he wasn’t caught on camera and finally get through your apartment door. Which I assume you locked before you went out?”

She remembered the empty reception. “Phil! Is he all right?”

“We found him unconscious on the floor behind the front desk. Luckily he managed to press the panic button before he passed out. It’s how the police got here so quickly.”

She must have walked right past his unconscious body. “Oh God, poor Phil
… ”

“His pride is hurt but he’s OK.”

They had reached the sitting room. To her relief, it was as much as she’d left it. The cushions on the sofa were fluffed up, the square of Afghan carpet lay straight against the polished dark wood and the pictures were perfectly aligned.

It was the pictures which caught his attention.
“Water lilies?”

“I like Impressionist prints,” she said.

He made no comment but, as she walked slowly around the room, checking for anything out of the ordinary, she knew he was drawing his own conclusions.

“Everything seems to be OK.” She was careful not to look at him directly. “I think I must have arrived home shortly after the intruder broke in. He didn’t have the chance to go further than my study.”

“You were very lucky.”

Not quite how she would have described it, but nothing had been taken and she’d only suffered a few bruises. It could have been a lot worse.

She headed into the guest bedroom, which was immaculate, as usual. The next room was hers. Seeing her suitcase in the corner, still waiting to be unpacked, gave her a strange feeling. Her trip to London could have been a lifetime ago.

“Where do you keep your jewellery?” he asked.

She pulled out the middle drawer of her dressing table. There were a few jewellery cases, which she flipped open to show their contents were still intact.

“I don’t have much. A few pendants, earrings, bangles
… ”

He shuffled the contents with his fingers. “Doesn’t your boyfriend buy you jewellery?”

What did that have to do with anything?

“Simon buys me books.” Realising this could be misinterpreted, she added, “It’s what I prefer.”

Her study was the last room to check. This time the Monet reproductions received only a cursory glance. As Natalie ran her fingers along the shelves, trying to spot if any of her CDs, DVDs or books were missing, she saw Bryn crouch down to pick something off the floor. He held it up to the light; a tiny shard of glass sparkled between his fingers. He must have the most amazing eyesight.

She held her breath, awaiting the inevitable, but he dropped it into the waste basket without comment.

As far as she could tell, nothing was out of place. Her books were still arranged in alphabetical order. Her files - the hard copies of her manuscripts and all her research notes - were neatly in place, although her shelves appeared to have acquired a layer of dust, presumably when the SOC officers checked for fingerprints.

Her attention flicked to her desk. Her laptop was where she had left it, along with her eReader, MP3 player and a bag of sweets.

Sweets?

She scooped them up. A scrap of paper fluttered to the floor.

Bryn missed nothing. “Did someone pinch one of your humbugs?”

He was only teasing but Natalie felt unsettled.

“It’s liquorice,” she said slowly. “I bought them for my father.” So what the
hell
were they doing here?

Except the bag had not been opened.

He caught on about the same time she did. “Is it the same packet?”

“No. The intruder didn’t take anything. He left these behind.”

“As some kind of warning?
And now your fingerprints are all over them.”

“You think he’s going to leave fingerprints?” she snapped. “This is the work of a professional.”

“At last we agree on something.”

Their raised voices brought DCI Bloom into the study. “What have you found?”

She explained the significance of the bag of liquorice. While he appeared unconvinced, he instructed his colleague to put it into an evidence bag.

“And there’s nothing else?” he asked, almost disappointed.
“Nothing taken, nothing untoward?”

“I don’t think so.”

“OK, we’ll be on our way.” A signal to his colleagues and they began packing up and filing out of the apartment.

That was it?

The last to leave, he paused and looked back. “Be sure to bolt your door after we’ve gone,” he said, “and I would recommend that you change your locks.”

He thought the intruder might return? That was terrific.

“We’ll be in touch,” he added, and was gone.

She watched the door swing silently shut. Finally she was alone - or perhaps not. Sensing someone behind her, she turned her head.

“We need to talk,” said Bryn.

“All right,” she said, pulling opening the front door, leaving him with no excuse to remain. The police, still waiting for the lift, glanced around curiously.
“Two o’clock tomorrow, Tom’s Coffee Shop on the quayside.”

He seemed surprised at her easy acquiescence but allowed himself to be hustled out. “OK … I guess I’ll see you there.”

Apparently he had not realised that she would have tangoed naked down the High Street if it meant she could finally fall into her bed.

After closing the door on him, she locked and bolted it, before shoving the telephone table in front of it. That should keep out marauders.

There was one thing left to do.

Back in her study, the slip of paper had wafted beneath her desk. She crawled on her hands and knees to retrieve it. It had been torn from one of her shorthand notebooks and had curled slightly at the edge. She smoothed it out on her desk. There were just two words, written in black biro:

Destroy it

27

At the Old Vicarage the following morning, Alicia didn’t feel so confident. She’d hardly slept, her stomach churned unpleasantly every time she remembered that photograph and she could barely look James in the eye. Not that he appeared to notice. He was too busy searching for his lost phone.
Funny how he didn’t think to ask her where it was.
Where the hell did he think he’d left it?

“Don’t forget I’m going to an education conference at the weekend,” he told her. “School will finish at lunchtime so you’ll need to collect the children. I should return Sunday evening.”

“Fine,” said Alicia, slapping burnt sausages and egg onto cold plates while her family regarded her warily. Not one of them said anything. Sometimes being a moody cow had its advantages.

She made up three sets of packed lunches and tried to regain her calm. She had to think about the children. For all
Summer’s
apparent sophistication, she was one of James’s students and technically still a child. If it got out, James would certainly lose his job, never work in teaching again and maybe even go to prison. Financially they’d cope, her inheritance assured that, but what about the children? Their lives would be ruined through no fault of their own. How could he put them all through this?

“Bastard!”
She stabbed the breadboard with the knife. It sank into the wood and stuck there, quivering slightly.

“Mum?” Will held out his lunchbox. “You’ve given me the wrong sandwiches. I don’t like corned beef.”

“Then swap them with someone who does.” Alicia plucked the knife from the breadboard and tossed it into the sink. “Why do I have to do everything? Why do I always have to sort out his mess? Why is it always
me
?” She wiped greasy hands down her new jeans without realising what she was doing until it was too late. “Perfect. I don’t know why I even bother to try and look nice. It’s a complete waste of time. I should save my money and slob about in a tracksuit. It’s not as though I go anywhere, or do anything, or meet anyone
- ”

“I think you look nice, Mum,” said Will.

“Suck up,” muttered Lexi.

The kitchen had been so quiet she had forgotten she had an audience. The television was turned off and there was no music playing. Lexi had been calmly reading the newspaper and Will was stuffing an already overflowing rucksack with his school books. Where was James? His breakfast was still on its plate, congealing unappetisingly. Had he left for school already? What about the children?

“Where’s your father?” she demanded. “Why hasn’t he had his breakfast?”

As though in answer, there was the slam of a car door from outside.

“He’s in the car already,”
sighed
Lexi. She got up from the table and folded Will’s sausages into a slice of toast before handing it to him. “Come on, Will. You can eat that in the car. It looks like we’re late again.”

Will grabbed the sandwich, hoisted his rucksack over his shoulders and ran out into the hall. Alicia had barely enough time to hand him his coat before he took the front steps at a running jump. James was sat in his car with the engine running, his music at maximum. It was his beloved Kanye West again, this time lamenting about gold-diggers. Could it have been more appropriate?
thought
Alicia, ignoring his lethargic wave.

Lexi squeezed past her mother, simultaneously slinging a large bag over her shoulder and plugging her ears with the buds of her iPod. “Bye, Mum. See you!”

Alicia caught her sleeve.
“The daughter of the school governor - what is her name?”

“Which governor?”
Lexi regarded her blankly.

“Gabrielle Cameron.”

Lexi took out one of her earbuds. “There’s a girl in my class called Autumn Cameron. Is that who you mean?”

It was too early for this kind of conversation. “No, I think her name is
Summer
.”

Lexi sighed extravagantly, as though her mother was an idiot. “Summer is
Autumn’s
older sister.”

“Summer and
Autumn
? You’re joking, surely?”

“Mrs Cameron has three kids.
Two girls and one boy.
Right?
Their names are
Summer
, Autumn and Wynter.” Lexi ticked them off on her fingers. Her short stubby nails were painted a non-regulation silver and severely chipped. It was oddly endearing. “Autumn’s cool and all the girls like Wyn. But Summer?” Lexi pulled a face.

James gave another lengthy blast on his horn.

Lexi re-inserted her earbud. “I’d better go now. Dad drives faster when he’s grumpy. It makes
Will
sick.”

“One last question.
How old is
Summer
?”

“How should I know?”

“She goes to your school!”

“She’s a stuck up bitch. I’ve never spoken to her.” All said in a completely matter-of-fact way.

Alicia dredged up every last ounce of patience. “What year is she in?”

“6
^th
form.”

“Which would make her seventeen or eighteen?”

“I guess so.” Lexi, who had recently grown a few inches taller than her mother, gazed down with wide grey eyes, which she’d heavily outlined in silver and black. Goodness knows what James would say - if he even noticed. “Why is it so important, Mum?”

James gave a third blast on his car horn.

“Your father’s waiting,” said Alicia, relieved that was a question she was never going to have to answer. “Have a nice day!”

Lexi rolled her eyes and ran down the steps to the car. Her short pleated skirt barely covered her bottom but at least she was wearing thick tights. Presumably it was the fashion. Alicia closed the door and leant wearily against it. What it was to be fourteen - without a care in the world.

A shower of gravel rattling against the door meant James had driven the car off at his usual breakneck speed. If Will threw up the sausage sandwich in his precious BMW it would bloody well serve him right.

Why was James in such a foul mood? It couldn’t be only the disappearance of his phone. There must be something else.

Something worse than being caught shagging one of his students?