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‘About what might have happened to him?’

‘Of course I did.’

‘And what do you think?’

‘I … ’ for the first time, she hesitated ‘ … just don’t know.’

There was a silence. Through the thin walls Winter could hear the blare of the TV.

‘Some people think he was a bit keen on you, Rachel,’ he said at last.

‘Alan?’ The thought made her laugh. ‘Keen on
me
? That way, you mean?’

‘Yes. Why’s that so funny?’

‘Because it’s absurd. He needed a mother. Not, you know … ’

‘And does Jake think that?’

‘God knows.’

‘But say he
did
think that. Givens was round here a lot. Isn’t that true?’

‘Yes. I wouldn’t say a lot, but yes. It’s been lovely weather. He’d bring that camera of his, take shots of the kids in the garden. They enjoyed having him here. We all did. That’s why we started talking about sharing the Southsea place.’

‘And Jake? He was part of that?’

‘Of course he was. In fact it was Jake who met him first, through work.’

‘Sure. I understand that. But then you and Alan got very -’ Winter shrugged ‘- pally. You spent a lot of time together. Maybe Jake thought all that went a bit too far. And maybe he didn’t fancy having a lodger all of a sudden.’

‘In Southsea, you mean?’ Rachel was getting angry now. ‘So how else do you think we’re going to get out of this place?’

‘I’ve no idea, love. All I’m saying is that Jake might have had a bit of a problem with Mr Givens. And that quite suddenly Mr Givens isn’t around anymore. We’re detectives, Rachel. We always think the worst of everyone.’

Rachel held his gaze. It took a while for the implications to sink in.

‘You mean Jake … ?’

‘It’s a question, Rachel. A suggestion. That’s all.’

‘After everything he’s done for you?’

‘That’s irrelevant.’

‘But you really think he might have … ’

‘I think it’s possible, yes. We deal in facts. Fact one, your Mr Givens isn’t around anymore. Fact two, you have most of his money. And then there’s something else, isn’t there? Jake might not be sad to see the back of him.’

‘That’s not a fact. That’s you talking. Jake’s as worried as I am.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. And if you knew him, if you
really
knew him, you’d realise he was a pussy cat. That’s Jake’s problem. He’s too nice to people. You ask anyone at work. He’s an easy touch. Go and talk to the blokes he plays football with. That five-a-side lot. They think the world of him - good player, good bloke - but you know the one thing they can’t believe? Anyone fouls Jake, he just takes it in his stride. Never retaliates. Never loses his cool. Complete pussy cat, like I say. Rolls over for anyone.’

This little speech temporarily silenced Winter. Then came the sound of a door banging outside, followed by tiny footsteps pattering up and down the hall.

Ellis stirred. Any minute now the kids would be in the kitchen, bringing the interview to an end. In these situations it was sometimes best to go for broke and watch what happened.

‘Let’s say Alan’s gone away somewhere,’ she began. ‘He likes the kids. The kids like him. You’re pissed off here. The pair of you have money.’ She smiled. ‘That’s do-able, isn’t it?’

Again, Rachel seemed to have difficulty following the logic. Finally, it dawned on her what Ellis was really saying.

‘Wash your mouth out.’ Her face had darkened. ‘You have to be bloody joking.’

Afterwards, driving back down to Kingston Crescent, Ellis wanted to know what Jake had done for Winter. Winter said he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

‘Back there in the house. She had you down as some kind of special friend of Jake’s, a real mate. No?’

‘No.’ Winter shook his head. ‘Jake’s a good bloke. She’s right. Everyone loves him. Me amongst them.’

‘I don’t believe you. Something’s been going on between you and Tarrant. Am I right or what?’

‘You’re wrong, love. Women get confused.’ He shot her a weary grin. ‘It’s part of their charm.’

 

South Normandy was a cul-de-sac of post-war houses tucked into a quiet corner of Old Portsmouth. The last time Faraday had been there was years back, after the death of a wayward fourteen-year-old who’d plunged to her death from a block of flats a mile or so away. On that occasion he’d been dealing with the girl’s mother, unlocking a mausoleum of family secrets. Now he wondered whether something similar awaited him.

DC Tracy Barber had come too. They stood in the hot sunshine for a moment or two, inspecting the house at the end. There was a bicycle propped against the front wall of the house. It had a tiny seat on the back and a mini-saddle bolted to the crossbar for a second child.

Faraday hadn’t phoned ahead. The value of the next hour or so, he told himself, was the fact that the knock on the door would come as a complete surprise.

The door opened at once. She was Tracy’s height, late twenties, maybe a year or two older. She had wonderful hair, a wild perm that framed her face, and when she smiled Faraday knew at once what must have seeded the madness in Duley. She had huge eyes, the softest brown, and the tan suggested she’d made the most of the recent weather.

She was looking at Tracy Barber’s warrant card. She seemed to be having difficulty connecting it with the two strangers on her doorstep.

‘Police?’ she said blankly.

‘That’s right. You are … ?’

‘My name’s Mitchell. What’s this about?’

Barber suggested they all talk inside. Faraday could see two small faces peering round a door at the end of the hall.

Jenny took them into the front room. There were kids’ toys all over the floor. One look at her face told Faraday she was very, very frightened.

‘This is crazy … ’ she said.

Barber suggested she sat down. Faraday took the chair by the window. The faces were at the door now. The girl was the older, the boy a year or so younger, both pre-school.

‘They’ve been in the garden.’ She apologised for their nakedness. ‘This weather, who can blame them.’

The older, she said, was Freya. Milo, her brother, was a saint.

Barber asked whether there was someone handy who could look after them for an hour or so. A neighbour maybe.

She shook her head, alarmed.

‘My neighbour’s out at the moment. She goes swimming every morning. My mum’s got a flat round the corner but she’s in Malta. Is this going to take long? Only I promised … ’ She tailed off.

Faraday tried to reassure her. They were here to ask her about someone who might have been a friend of hers. It formed part of an ongoing enquiry. He was sorry to spring this on her but they worked for the Major Crimes Team, and there was a degree of urgency.

‘Major Crimes?’

‘Yes.’

‘So who is this person?’

‘His name’s Duley. Mark Duley.’

She nodded, reached for the younger of her children. The boy clambered into her lap. He must have been playing in a flower bed, Faraday thought. His tiny feet had left brown tracks across the carpet.

‘You knew Mr Duley?’ It was Barber.

‘Yes.’

‘How well did you know him?’

She was hugging the child now, holding him close. He kicked his feet and arched his back, loving it. His sister grabbed at her mother’s skirt, demanding the same kind of attention.

‘Mrs Mitchell?’

‘I knew him well. If that’s what you want to know.’

‘How well?’

‘I’m not sure I have to answer that question, do I?’

‘Of course not. We can continue this conversation at the police station, if you’d prefer. I’m sure you’ve got a lawyer.’

‘A lawyer?’ She looked aghast. A sunny day was getting darker by the minute.

‘Mrs Mitchell … ’ Faraday tried to soften the impact of these relentless questions. ‘I think it’s in all our interests if we’re frank with each other. Are you still married?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘What’s your husband’s name?’

‘Do I have to tell you?’

‘Only if you want to.’

She nodded, extended a hand to her daughter, hauled her up onto the sofa beside her.

‘Andy,’ she said at last. ‘Is he part of this too?’

‘Part of what, Mrs Mitchell?’

‘Whatever it is you want to know about?’

‘I’ve no idea, at this stage.’

‘But you think he might be?’

Faraday refused to answer. Milo was wrestling with one of his mother’s earrings, a long silver dangle that looked Indian.

Barber took up the running. ‘You’ll know that Mark Duley was killed last week.’

‘Of course.’ She shook her head. ‘Dreadful. Terrible. Poor bloody man.’

‘How did you find out, as a matter of interest?’

‘It was in the papers, on the TV. I can’t remember, to be honest. I just knew, that’s all.’

‘That would be on the Monday?’

‘Yes, the Monday, yes.’

‘What were you doing on the Sunday? Can you remember?’

Jenny frowned, one hand for Milo, the other for her fretful daughter. At length she said she wasn’t sure. Most Sundays they just slobbed out, she said. She took the kids swimming. They all went for a bike ride together, had friends round, other kids, sorted out a barbecue if the weather was nice - just routine stuff, family stuff, the kind of stuff you do with a couple of harum-scarum infants in a seaside city like this. Faraday watched her carefully. Already, he thought, she’s saying goodbye to this life of hers. She’s been expecting us for days, probably longer. She’s not yet ready for the truth, not quite. But she will be.

Barber wanted to know what her husband did for a living.

‘He’s a kind of businessman,’ she said. ‘He calls himself a social entrepreneur.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means he runs a charity. It’s called Landfall. It’s to do with mental health. Basically it’s accommodation and support services. He used to be a social worker.’

‘Would you prefer we talked to you together?’

She gave the question some thought.

‘Why? Why would you want to?’

‘Because you might find it easier.’

She hesitated again, then shook her head. Milo was grabbing for the wooden beads around her throat.

‘Just ask what you have to ask,’ she said quietly. ‘If I can help you, I will.’

Faraday nodded. He understood that Jenny had known nothing about Mark Duley’s death until it had appeared in the media. Now he wanted to go back to the relationship she’d had with him.

‘How would you describe it?’

‘We were friends.’

‘How come?’

‘We just bumped into each other. It was a while back, during the winter. I was getting angrier and angrier about the Iraq thing. I just felt it was important to do something, not just sit here, reading about it all. And so I went along to a Respect meeting. I’d seen it advertised in the library. Mark was there.’

‘And you became -’ Faraday smiled. ‘- Friends?’

‘After a bit, yes. I liked the Respect people. They were a nice bunch. They were like me when it came to the war except they were involved. They were
doing
stuff, holding rallies, pushing round leaflets, drawing up petitions. I know it doesn’t sound much but when you’re a mum all day. That can be pretty attractive, believe me.’

‘And Mark?’ It was Barber, softer this time.

‘He was in there with them. In fact he was on the stop-the-war committee too.’

‘And?’

‘As I said, we became friends.’

‘Good friends?’

‘Yes, I’d say so.’ She was being careful now, taking her time. She’s got her second wind, Faraday thought. She’s had a good look at us and decided that the situation isn’t quite as hopeless as she’d thought.

‘As part of this investigation,’ he began, ‘we’ve laid hands on Mark’s phone records. He talked to you a lot, didn’t he?’

The news startled her. Milo was curled in her lap. She looked down at him for a moment.

‘Is that why you’re here?’ she asked at last. ‘Because of the phone calls?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you want to know -’ She frowned. ‘- Why he phoned me so often?’

‘Yes. There’s a pattern to his calls. A handful of numbers he phoned reasonably often. That’s perfectly normal. We all do it. But there were periods when he was on the phone to you all the time.’

‘You’re right.’

‘So why was that?’

‘Because … ’ Her head went back against the sofa and she closed her eyes. Faraday was watching her fingers. She was winding a curl of her son’s blond hair round and round and round.

‘Well, Mrs Mitchell?’

Barber’s question opened her eyes.

‘He was obsessed,’ she said softly. ‘Totally head over heels.’

‘In love, you mean?’

‘That’s the way he put it, yes.’

‘And you?’

‘Me?’ She was still looking at Barber. ‘I was flattered, I admit it. He was very bright, very committed. He
knew
so much. He’d
done
so much. Demos all over Europe. Shit, he even had a criminal record. Affray. I remember him telling me about it. That was a turn-on. For me, at least.’

‘You’re telling me you had an affair?’

‘I’m telling you I found him attractive. Or maybe it was the situation.’ She waved her hand gently over the child in her lap. ‘I love my kids to death. I’d do anything for them. But just sometimes it can get a bit, you know, claustrophobic. Being with Mark was different. And that’s because he made it exciting. He just had so much to say. There wasn’t an issue he couldn’t explain to me. There’d be something in the paper, some story about … I don’t know … city academies, or Zimbabwe, or the Trident programme, whatever, and he’d just bring it all to life. Stuff, issues, started to make sense in ways they hadn’t before. They weren’t just headlines any more. They
mattered
.’