Rebound (17 page)

Just as I thought, the morning train to London is full of French businessmen going on a work day trip across the Channel. I nibble on my breakfast, working on the meeting
report for Julian. I’m supposed to meet him at 11 a.m., which means I have to have the whole thing ready before I get off the train. Going back seems faster and before I know it the train is
entering St Pancras. I let all the businessmen disembark in a hurry and then I grab my bag and get off. I join a stream of passengers on an escalator going down and follow the crowd as they file
though customs and border control. No one is being stopped, but there are a couple of official-looking plain-clothes guys watching people. I’m just about to pass them when I hear my name.

‘Ms Wright?’

I stop and look at them.

‘Yes?’

The taller of the guys, with mousy hair and tired eyes, shows me his ID.

‘I’m DI Brown and this is DS Kapoor. I was wondering if you could accompany us to our office in the station.’

‘Is it about the theft of my phone?’ I look at my watch, wondering how they’d know about it so quickly. ‘I have to be at work by eleven.’

‘I’m afraid this is rather urgent,’ says DI Brown.

They don’t say anything else as I follow them through the station to the British Transport Police office. We enter a small room with a table and four chairs around it. DI Brown pulls one
of them out for me and we all sit, facing each other.

‘My apologies for stopping you like this, but we’re aware that your phone was stolen while you were in Paris, so we didn’t have any means of contacting you earlier.’

Ah, so it is about my phone, I think with relief. DI Brown clears his throat and continues.

‘I’m afraid there’s been a murder.’ He pauses as if to give me time to process what he’s just said. Still, I wonder what it has to do with me. ‘We understand
you are a friend of Ms Belinda Young.’

‘Bell? Something happened to Bell?’

‘Her body was found on Hampstead Heath yesterday morning.’

What he’s just said doesn’t sink in straight away. I look at him, half-expecting him to smile, to apologize for his terrible joke, to reassure me she’s fine. But his tired eyes
are unsmiling, his expression sombre.

‘We’d like you to accompany us to the station.’

‘Am I under arrest?’ I ask stupidly.

‘Of course not.’ There’s a hint of some feeling, perhaps compassion, in his eyes now. ‘But your help would be invaluable to our investigation.’

A wave of weakness hits me and for a moment I’m afraid I’m going to faint. DS Kapoor, a slim, dark-skinned man with big, sad eyes, hands me a plastic cup of water. I take a sip.
It’s lukewarm and tastes of dust, but it does help me regain my composure.

‘What about my work?’ I ask, too shocked to realize the absurdity of my question.

‘We’ve informed them of the situation.’

I nod, although I’m still not able to grasp the full extent of ‘the situation’. DS Kapoor takes my suitcase and they lead me through the station to an unmarked car with a
driver, parked right by the exit on double yellow lines.

No one says anything as we travel through London. I look out of the window, not registering where we’re going, my mind churning around the few horrible facts I’ve been told, unable
to make any sense out of it. We arrive at an ugly, concrete and glass building that turns out to be Kentish Town police station.

I’m led to a room that looks very much like the one at St Pancras and offered tea or coffee. I ask for tea, which DS Kapoor brings in a paper cup. It’s milky and sweet. I take the
first sip, then the door opens and a tall woman with short curly hair walks in. She’s dressed formally, in dark trousers and a white blouse, but she’s not wearing a uniform. I recognize
her from the broadcast about the Heath rape.

‘DCI Vic Jones,’ she introduces herself and her handshake is dry and strong. ‘I do appreciate you agreeing to come here.’

‘I didn’t have much choice.’ It’s more of a statement of fact, not a complaint on my part. ‘But there must have been some terrible mistake.’

DCI Jones shakes her head sadly. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘But it can’t be true.’ I want her to say something, to finish this awful game they are playing, but she says nothing. ‘How . . . how did you find me?’

‘We found a mobile phone in the pocket of Ms Young’s raincoat and by checking her contact list and most frequently called numbers found you. We have also retrieved a voice message
you left for her on Monday evening.’

Oh God, my message.

‘Was she . . . was she already . . .’ I can’t finish the question.

DCI Jones nods. ‘She was already dead when you rang her,’ she says quietly.

I let out a sob I can’t control. DCI Jones waits for me to compose myself.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says quietly.

Eventually I take a sip of the sweet tea and look at her.

‘Can you tell me what happened?’

She nods and pauses, as if deciding what to tell me.

‘The body of Ms Young was found yesterday morning, about seven a.m., by a dog walker, in the area directly behind the Ladies’ Pond on Hampstead Heath.’ I feel a wave of nausea
and force another sip of tea down my throat.

‘We’ve established the time of her death between seven p.m. and ten p.m. the night before. Her body was partially hidden in the bushes, hence it remained undiscovered for so long,
even though the area is not particularly isolated. But it was pouring with rain that evening and dusk, so not many people ventured out to the park. From your message we understood she was staying
at your house while you were away, looking after your dog.’

‘My dog . . .’ I mumble.

‘A chocolate Labrador named Wispa?’ She looks at me with a tiny hint of a smile in her eyes.

‘Yes.’

‘She’s fine. It was actually DS Kapoor who found her on the Heath yesterday.’

I sigh with relief, feeling selfish for being happy my dog is fine while my friend is dead. And then an awful realization hits me.

‘It’s my fault she’s dead. I made her come to my house and look after my dog while I was away. If I hadn’t asked her, she’d be alive.’

‘No, Anna.’ She reaches out and covers my hand with hers. ‘You are not responsible for your friend’s death. You shouldn’t feel guilty.’

‘But I do.’ I can’t control my sobbing again.

‘It’s not your fault,’ she says quietly.

There’s a knock on the door and DS Kapoor looks in. DCI Jones nods and he disappears, closing the door. We sit in silence as I dry my eyes with a tissue DCI Jones has given me. Then the
door opens again and Wispa bounces in, followed by DS Kapoor. She runs straight to me, puts her front paws on my knees and licks my face. I can’t help but laugh through tears.

‘Oh, puppy, you’re OK.’

She dances around the room, her tail wagging, runs to DS Kapoor, then comes back to me.

‘Thank you.’ I smile at him.

He nods, smiles back and leaves the room.

‘Anna,’ DCI Jones looks at me, ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling you by your first name . . .’

I shrug and shake my head.

‘I’m afraid I have some more bad news. Your house has been burgled.’

I look at her, uncomprehending.

‘It probably happened on Monday night and we have reasons to believe it’s connected with Ms Young’s murder. Our forensic team is there now, finishing their investigation. It
means you won’t be able to go back to it tonight.’

I just stare at her, completely numb.

‘Is there anyone you could stay with tonight? We can, of course, provide temporary accommodation for you, if that’s what you’d prefer.’

‘Michael,’ I whisper.

‘OK.’ She takes out a pen and opens her little notebook. ‘Could you give me his surname?’

‘Oliver. I’ll call him . . .’ I say and remember I don’t have my phone. ‘I have his number on my laptop.’

‘It’s OK, we’ll get in touch with him for you. If you’d excuse me for a moment.’

She leaves the room and I’m on my own with Wispa, who looks at me, whining quietly. I hug her and kiss her big head. Then I realize she must have seen it happen. She knows who Bell’s
killer is. She paws me, as she always does when she’s trying to tell me something.

DCI Jones comes back to the room and sits down again. She looks at me, her face kind and compassionate.

‘I’m afraid there’s one more thing. We’ve been trying to locate Ms Young’s immediate family, without much success . . .’

‘She was adopted by an older couple when she was a kid. Both her adoptive parents died a few years ago.’

‘No brothers or sisters?’

‘No.’

‘A partner?’

I hesitate briefly, then say no again. DCI Jones nods and marks something in her notebook.

‘You two were close?’

‘Yes. She was . . . my family.’ I feel the tears choking me again.

DCI Jones remains silent for a while, then clears her throat.

‘In the absence of next of kin, I’ll have to ask you to formally identify Ms Young’s body. I know how hard it’s going to be for you, but would you mind doing it for
us?’

I don’t say anything, just nod, trying not to think about what lies ahead of me.

‘Thank you.’ She sounds like she really means it.

‘Did she . . . Was she—’ My throat tightens with grief and I’m unable to speak. But DCI Jones seems to understand what I want to know.

‘She was fully clothed and there were no signs of sexual assault. She’d been strangled.’

‘Oh God . . .’ I can’t keep the tears in any longer. They come out in a flood, while I sob like a child. DCI Jones puts her hand on my arm and lets me cry. After a while, when
my sobs begin to subside, there is a quiet knock on the door. DS Kapoor again.

‘Mr Oliver is on his away.’

‘Thank you, Navin.’ She nods at him, then turns to me. ‘Anna, we’ll pick you up from Mr Oliver’s tomorrow morning, if that’s OK.’

I agree, my life suddenly being taken over by the police investigation.

I wake up in Michael’s guest room, heavy from the Ambien he gave me last night. For a few blissful moments I don’t know why I’m here, then the awful memories
of yesterday start flooding in. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to move. Bell is gone. A part of me still hangs on to the hope that it’s all been a terrible mistake that will
somehow get explained soon. Perhaps if I stay in bed and don’t let the reality in, I’ll keep her alive in my mind. I hear a distant doorbell, some movement downstairs in the house,
front door opening and closing. Then there are light footsteps on the stairs and a delicate knock on the door. Wispa, who is lying on the floor by the bed, gives a short bark.

‘Anna?’ It’s Michael.

‘Yes?’

He cracks the door open and peeks in. Wispa gets up to greet him, her tail wagging.

‘It’s for you.’ He puts a small box on the bedside table.

‘What is it?’

‘Your new phone. All sorted out by Claire.’

‘Oh, Claire . . .’ Reality calls me and I know I’ll have to get up and face the world.

‘I’ll be waiting for you downstairs with the coffee.’ He closes the door.

I force myself to get up and stumble to the bathroom. I avoid looking at myself in the mirror because I know I look awful. Back in the guest room I find some clean clothes in my Paris suitcase,
then follow the sound of a radio to Michael’s kitchen, Wispa on my heels. Michael’s on his laptop at the kitchen table, but closes it when I come in.

‘Darling, your coffee.’ He puts the mug in front of me as I sit down at the table. ‘Would you like a fresh croissant with it?’

‘No, thank you, coffee’s fine.’

‘DS Kapoor will be coming over soon to pick you up.’ He speaks to me gently, as if to a sick child.

‘Oh, DS Kapoor . . .’ I remember what lies ahead of me today.

‘Would you like me to come with you?’

‘No, sweetie, thank you, I’ll be fine.’ I know I have to pull myself together.

‘Would you like me to help you with anything, make some phone calls?’

‘No, it’s fine, really.’ I try to sound as if I know what I’m doing.

‘What about Bell’s new girlfriend?’

I remember Candice.

‘We have to get in touch with her.’

‘All I know is that she lives in Moscow, Idaho, and works at the university there.’

‘We’ll find her.’

I recall my last conversation with Bell.

‘She’s supposed to come over in a couple of weeks. That’s why Bell was decorating . . . She was so happy . . .’ I feel tears welling up in my eyes. ‘Oh, Michael,
it’s all my fault . . .’

‘Shhh.’ He puts his arm round me. ‘It’s not your fault, stop thinking that.’

We sit in silence for a long time. I feel the warmth of Michael’s embrace and it makes the pain less acute. Eventually he looks at the kitchen clock and gets up.

‘We need to get you ready for DS Kapoor. You can leave Wispa with me today, I’ll be working from home.’

He takes a small brown bottle out of a kitchen cabinet and slides a pill across the table in my direction.

‘Xanax,’ he says. ‘I use it for long-haul flights. Take one.’

I do what he says, swallowing it with a sip of cold coffee.

By the time DS Kapoor arrives the world seems distant and muted, the feelings of guilt and loss almost bearable. I know they’ll come back, but numbness is what I need right now.

The next few hours are like a bad dream, but a dream, nevertheless, Xanax taking the edge off reality. DS Kapoor takes me to a nondescript building where DCI Jones is already waiting for me.
They lead me to a small room and then I’m on my own with Bell, although I know that DCI Jones is standing beside me. Then I’m with DCI Jones in another room, drinking hot tea out of a
paper cup. She talks to me in a quiet voice, something about Bell’s clothes. She shows me a green raincoat and I’m surprised to see it, because it’s mine.

‘This is what Bell was wearing when she was found on the Heath,’ she tells me.

The significance of it slowly sinks in and I start crying. Bell and I always used to borrow each other’s clothes because we had such similar figures.

‘It’s my fault she’s dead, it’s my fault,’ I keep repeating, refusing to stop.