The Stranger You Know (16 page)

‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’ He sounded jittery, the nerves masked by a horribly unsuccessful attempt at being jocular.

‘Home.’

‘Home,’ he repeated. ‘And what’s this? Taking work with you? Little bit of extra reading?’ He twanged the strap of my bag and I couldn’t stop myself from clenching my arm against it.

‘It’s just some stuff I wanted to go through. You know I never have time to read the briefings properly.’

His eyes glittered in the streetlight, the half-smile less convincing by the minute. ‘Was that why you stayed late, Kerrigan? Printing them off like a good girl? Showing Burt and Godley you’re more dedicated than the average detective?’

‘If you like.’

‘It’s not about what
I
like.
I
don’t matter any more. You’ve got someone else to suck up to now.’

It wasn’t the first time I’d been scared by Derwent, but I knew him better now than on the last occasion, and this time I was angry too. ‘Spare me the self-pity. And I’m not like that. I’ve never tried to suck up to you or Chief Inspector Burt. You wish I would so you could enjoy upsetting me when you put me down.’

He looked surprised. ‘Why would I want to put you down?’

‘I wish I knew.’ I took the opportunity to try to pull my arm away again, and failed. ‘Look, what do you want?’

‘To talk to you.’

‘You don’t have to behave like a thug.’

‘I did try calling you.’ His jaw was clenched.

‘Is that what this is about? You want to have another go at me for not returning your calls? You really need to work on how you handle rejection.’

‘Shut up.’ A black cab turned into the street, its orange light on. The throaty diesel engine sounded loud in the narrow street. Derwent leaned into the road and held up his hand. The driver slid to a stop within inches of us and Derwent yanked open the door. He pushed me forward. ‘In there.’

‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’ I meant it, too.

‘Why not? Don’t you trust me?’

I looked up at him, about to say something cutting, but the words faded out of my mind as I realised he actually meant it. His face was set, the strain showing around his eyes and his mouth.

‘What do you want from me?’ I asked, very quietly. ‘What do you think
I
can do?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just – I don’t know what else to do.’ No attitude. No belligerence. Derwent was actually asking me for help, in his own awkward way.

‘Look, mate, what’s the problem?’ The driver was staring at us with frank interest. ‘Everything all right, love? Want me to get this gentleman to leave you be?’

I was aware that Derwent was silent beside me, waiting for me to answer. ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Are you getting in or not, then? Only I’ve got a living to make.’

Derwent let go of me completely and stepped back. ‘Up to you. Are you in or out?’

I would have liked the time to read the file first. I wasn’t sure I could trust him. I’d been specifically warned against talking to him. The cautious approach would have been to put him off.

I’d never been a great one for caution.

I got into the cab.

Chapter 13

The address Derwent gave to the driver was in London Fields, which was actually not all that far from where I lived, though I didn’t feel like starting a conversation about it. He sat on the fold-down seat opposite mine and looked at me with puppy-dog eyes.

‘Do you understand why I had to do it this way?’

‘Not really.’

‘Godley warned me to stay away from you,’ Derwent said.

‘And yet here we are.’

‘I want to know what’s going on with the case.’

‘I’m not supposed to talk to you about it.’ I folded my arms over my bag. ‘You know you’re a suspect, don’t you?’

He glanced over his shoulder at the back of the driver’s head. ‘Keep your voice down.’

‘You targeted me because you thought you could bully me. You knew Burt and Godley would shut you down as soon as you started asking questions, but I’m not in a postion to tell you to get stuffed.’

‘Well, I’m on leave. At this moment I’m not your supervisor. You can say what you like as long as you’re honest with me.’

‘I’m not going to talk to you about it.’

‘Because you agree with them.’

‘I don’t know enough about it yet.’ I looked at him. He filled most of the other side of the taxi, bracing himself with the grab handles as the driver took corners at speed. His shoulders were wide and he was all muscle; it took a lot of determination to move that kind of bulk over 26.2 miles, as he did for fun. He was ruthless in fighting the softening that came from too much time in cars eating junk food, his stomach flat and his jawline firm. And as he’d just proved, he was stronger than me. Physically, he was intimidating. His personality was controlling. He was unpredictable and brutal when it suited him. I was more wary of him than I wanted him to know. The possibility that he was a killer made my stomach flip every time I thought of it, as if I’d missed a step and was halfway to falling. I didn’t believe it – I didn’t want to believe it – but that didn’t mean I was sure of him. The one thing I knew about the killer we were hunting was that he was good at making women trust him. So despite the way he was looking at me, I wasn’t going to let my guard down.

‘Why are we going to your place?’

‘Because I didn’t think you’d let me come to yours.’

‘One hundred per cent correct.’

He grinned, a flash of the old Derwent appearing for a moment. ‘I like feisty. You can keep that going.’

‘You haven’t even seen feisty, mate.’

The grin widened. ‘I almost wish your pal Burt was here to see you. She thinks you’re made of sugar and spice.’

‘Did she stick up for me?’

‘Told me to fuck off. In those words.’ Derwent shook his head. ‘I didn’t think she had it in her. I thought she’d
never
had it in her.’

‘Is that a sexual reference?’ I pulled a face. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m going home.’

‘Don’t.’ The appeal was instant, unpremeditated.

‘Una Burt was using me to get at you. She doesn’t actually think I’m all that fragile.’

‘What did I ever do to her?’

‘Where should I start? You’ve been undermining her since she arrived on the team. The real question is what you’ve done to piss Godley off. I’d never have expected him to take his cue from her.’

‘He’s not pissed off with me. He’s just trying to avoid trouble. And I’m trouble.’ He looked lost, bereft. For someone so used to knowing their place in the wolf pack, being an outcast was torture. And he was still defending Godley, still loyal even if the superintendent wasn’t. ‘Look, I don’t want to drop you in the shit because you’re talking to me. I do need to know what’s going on. They’ve told you about Angela, haven’t they?’

I nodded.

‘Right.’ He took a deep breath and blew it out, looking away from me for a moment. Struggling for composure or pretending to be? ‘Well, I’ve always wanted to find whoever did that to her. That’s why I became a copper.’

‘Then you should be working cold cases, not murder.’

‘No one is ever going to reopen Angela’s case.’ He sounded definite. ‘There was nothing to go on.’

‘Forensics?’

‘Not here.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I’ll tell you about it, but not here. All you need to know is that this is the first chance there’s been to find out what happened to her.’

‘Do you really think it’s the same killer?’

‘I don’t know. Because I’ve been shut out, haven’t I?’ He thumped the door with a fist and the driver slowed for a moment, looking back to see what had made the noise. ‘It’s driving me mad, Kerrigan. I’ve waited for this for twenty years. Everything I’ve done in my adult life has been about this. And now I can’t get close enough to know what’s going on.’

‘It’s not the same guy.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘It’s been twenty years. Why would the killer start again now?’

‘He could have been in prison. He could have been abroad.’

‘It could be someone else.’

‘How can it be? I’m only going on what I’ve read in the paper and heard on the news, but it sounds like her. The eyes.’ His voice broke on the last word and he cleared his throat, annoyed with himself. ‘Look, if I was working this case, I’d want to compare it to the original murder. It feeds back to that. Crack Angela’s case and you find this guy.’

‘If there’s a connection.’

‘There has to be.’ He held my gaze. He had everything staked on me. I could get him in a world of trouble if I told anyone what he’d done. I could get him fired.

‘So you want me to tell you what I know.’

‘Please. Like I said, I don’t know what else to do.’ He was hunched in his coat, the picture of misery.

I made up my mind. ‘Okay. Here’s the deal. You tell me about what happened to Angela. Everything.’

A nod.

‘I’ll share with you what I know about the other murders. But there’s no guarantee I’ll know what you want to know.’

‘I appreciate that.’

‘And this stays between us. Godley would have me back on Borough CID before I had time to say I was sorry if he found out about this.’

‘Strictly off the books.’ He was looking better already, the tension easing a little. Give Derwent what he wanted and he always cheered up.

I hoped like hell I was doing the right thing.

One of the compelling reasons for wanting to help Derwent was the chance to see where he lived. From the outside, it was a neat enough place, an end-of-terrace Victorian house in a street where most of the properties were in good condition. It wasn’t the best in the street and it wasn’t the worst. He had his own front door to one side of the building, where there was a small hallway before a steep flight of stairs led up to his flat. Slinging his coat on a hook, he stood back to let me go up the stairs.

‘You know where you’re going,’ I said, and stayed where I was. Now that we were alone together, I was seriously doubting I’d made the right decision. He was volatile, and I knew he had a temper, and the army had trained him to kill people. I couldn’t make myself believe he was the Gentleman Killer but I was staking a lot on that, and I definitely didn’t feel safe. It was too late to back out now, though, so I’d carry on, but I didn’t want him behind me on the stairs. Nor did I want to take off my coat. He didn’t comment, beyond flicking on the lights above us, and I followed him up the narrow stairs with no very clear idea of what to expect.

‘Living room.’ He pointed. ‘Have a seat.’

It was small and not showy, but incredibly neat. He’d been in the army and it showed: everything was spotless. One sofa, one armchair. A vast television, all the better to watch endless hours of sport. A complicated music system. A coffee table with remote controls lined up like soldiers. No cushions or rugs; blinds at the windows rather than curtains. No ornaments. No pictures. It could have been bleak but it wasn’t, somehow: it was comfortable and everything was chosen to be functional. The central heating was on and I felt my feet thawing for the first time that day. I perched on the edge of the sofa, my bag leaning against my legs, and went as far as loosening my scarf.

He came back into the room having shed his jacket and tie, rolling up his shirtsleeves. ‘Drink?’

‘This isn’t a social occasion. You don’t have to play the host.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not cooking dinner. But a drink’s easy enough.’

‘What have you got?’

‘Beer.’

‘And?’

‘Whisky.’

‘And?’

‘Beer,’ he repeated, giving me the widest version of his grin. In his own environment, Derwent was a lot calmer. I just hoped he wasn’t going to take off any more clothes.

‘Glass of water,’ I said.

‘Boring.’

‘Again, not here to have fun.’

He came back with a bottle of beer for himself and a pint glass of water for me. The glass was wet and he fussed over finding a coaster.

‘God forbid I should leave a mark on your coffee table.’

‘Just try not to.’ There was an edge to his voice. So we had got to the end of Derwent being nice, I diagnosed, and felt obscurely reassured. I even went as far as to take off my coat. I caught the whiff of alcohol on his breath as he moved the table closer to me. A shot of whisky in the kitchen to give him Dutch courage? Two shots? More?

‘Where do you want to start?’ He turned off the main light, leaving only a single lamp on beside me. He sat in the armchair. ‘I feel like I’m talking to a therapist.’

‘Have you ever spoken to one?’

He squirmed. ‘A couple of times. When I was ordered to. Waste of time.’

I could imagine he was impervious to guidance from others, especially if they weren’t superior officers. ‘Why do you think they think you’re a suspect?’

‘Fucked if I know.’ He drank from his beer.

‘That’s not an answer.’

‘Because of what happened to Angela.’

‘But you were never charged.’

‘Exactly. I was just a bystander.’ He put the bottle on a table beside him, placing it carefully on another coaster. ‘They’d have stuck me on for it if they could. And I’ve no doubt they’d do the same now, for this, if they had the evidence.’

‘Godley wouldn’t.’

‘Godley absolutely would. In a heartbeat.’

He was right, I thought. For the sake of solving the case. Or maybe he wanted to get rid of Derwent because he knew him better than anyone and might spot that Godley was on the take. You couldn’t appeal to Derwent for mercy if you’d done wrong. He was a lot tougher than me. For a moment I considered telling him what I knew, tempted to share the burden with someone who would act on what I’d found out, but I stopped myself. Now was not the time to tell Derwent what I knew about Godley, if there ever was a time for that conversation.

‘I can tell you this. It’s fucking weird being a suspect again. Makes me feel like I’m seventeen. And not in a good way.’ He tried for a laugh but it didn’t quite work.

I sat back on the sofa. ‘Okay. Tell me about the last time.’

‘Where do I start?’

‘Tell me about Angela,’ I said patiently. ‘Whatever you can remember.’

‘I remember everything.’