Stalked By Shadows (11 page)

‘What other stuff?’

‘More catalogues like the ones you saw; dozens of them, all related to kids and parenthood. They’re all addressed to me so Will thinks that’s what I’m thinking about.’

Millie was genuinely puzzled now. ‘But why is that a problem, Lucy? You’re newly married. It’s natural that -’

‘I told you,’ she cut in. ‘We’re not having children; not ever. Will doesn’t want them. The kind of lifestyle he has, it’s not conducive to raising a family. And that’s fine with me.’

‘Is it?’ Millie challenged her.

‘Yes.’ Lucy met her gaze. ‘I mean at one time I might have thought about it, but it’s not that important to me. And now we are married and Will found a pregnancy test and it makes it look as if I’ve changed my mind.’ She began to weep again.

‘But you haven’t?’

‘No! Of course not.’

‘But Will didn’t believe you and he got angry.’

‘He’s got a bit of a temper,’ Lucy admitted. ‘Haven’t lots of men? But he’s all noise, that’s all. All couples argue sometimes, don’t they? Don’t you and your husband?’

Millie didn’t even have to think about that one. Suli had never even raised his voice to her. But saying that wasn’t going to help. Instead she asked, ‘Does Will ever frighten you, Lucy?’

‘That’s ludicrous.’

But there was something in her voice that didn’t entirely convince Millie. ‘Who else have you told about this decision not to have kids?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know; lots of people.’

‘Lots of people?’ Millie queried. ‘Julie-Ann doesn’t seem to know, nor your mum.’ She could have added Paula to that list but it was probably enough.

‘I haven’t seen Julie-Ann lately. And I haven’t yet plucked up the courage to tell Mum. She’s so looking forward to her first grandchild. I know she is. But I’ve mentioned it to other people I’ve seen. It’s kind of an expectation, isn’t it? I’ve just got married in my thirties and people are very fond of telling me about how my biological clock is running out, so I’ve sort of felt compelled to make it known that we’re not planning a family.’

‘Have there been any more phone calls?’ Millie asked.

‘Yes. No. I don’t know. They stopped while Will was at home but the phone rang just after he went out. I unplugged it.’

‘How long after Will went out?’

‘Straight away, pretty much. That’s why I didn’t even answer it.’

‘If we’re going to help you, we do need to talk to Will,’ Millie reminded Lucy.

‘He’s away again.’ She seemed relieved to say it. ‘The band has got a couple of gigs this week. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.’ She was sounding vague and unable to meet Millie’s eye. Finally she did look up. ‘Will thinks I’m imagining things.’

‘What do you think?’

Her eyes were glistening. ‘Honestly? Just lately I sometimes think I must be going mad.’

Millie was aware that her next question was a sensitive one. ‘The people I’ve spoken to,’ she said carefully. ‘They seem to think that you and Will getting married was quite sudden.’

Lucy was instantly defensive. ‘Well, maybe that’s just jealousy speaking.’

‘Julie-Ann maybe. But your mum? They’re all worried about you.’ Millie was experienced enough to know that it was a subject they’d have to come back to later. There was nothing to be gained by turning Lucy against her. ‘I’d like to see all the stuff you’ve been getting in the post,’ she said. ‘Can we go back to the house now?’

‘Sure, I’ll just let my manager know that I’m taking an hour out.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

The houses on Nina Silvero’s street were spaced apart and in mature gardens, each uniquely designed; a mock-Tudor rubbing shoulders with Rennie Mackintosh and post-modern concrete and glass. This was an affluent district; half a million apiece at least, Mariner thought, and the kind of residents who would be unsettled by the blue-and-white striped tape and the police officer at the gates of number fifty-two. House-to-house enquiries were being conducted, though Mariner could see no evidence of activity this morning and, as far as he was aware, nothing significant had yet been uncovered. It was common in neighbourhoods such as these, and a phenomenon that Mariner had encountered before. Walking up the drive he had a powerful sense of
déjà vu
that took him back to a night in February about five years before, but, even so, he was astonished when Knox said, ‘Reminds yer of Eddie Barham, this one, doesn’t it, boss?’

The murder had been a significant one for Mariner, for all kind of reasons: it had been the first case he and Knox had worked together, when Knox was still in uniform, and during the course of the investigation Mariner had come to know the deceased’s autistic brother, Jamie, and, more importantly, his sister, Anna. It had begun their rocky three-year relationship, which had only ended, Mariner was beginning to acknowledge, because of his own stupidity.

‘Have you heard how she’s getting on?’ Knox asked carefully.

‘I’m sure she’s just fine,’ said Mariner tightly, and he continued on to the house, subject closed.

The Silvero residence was a nondescript red brick. The tarmac drive smelled strongly in the afternoon sun and was tacky underfoot, and Mariner was careful to wipe his feet thoroughly on the doormat when they got inside. Closing the solid front door behind them, Tony Knox paused. ‘Look at that little lot,’ he said, referring to the hardware on the inner door. There were sturdy bolts top and bottom and a heavy chain. ‘They look new.’

Mariner thought about Lucy Jarrett. ‘Perhaps Nina Silvero was nervous about something, too.’

In the kitchen the back door had been boarded up, the window pane broken when PC Solomon had forced his way in. Mariner had brought along the SOCO photographs so that they could reconstruct the scene found by Solomon when he first arrived. The wine rack was well stocked, though mostly with red Burgundys, Mariner noticed, and he retrieved a bottle of household cleaner from under the sink to represent the drain fluid.

‘That’s interesting,’ he said, squatting by the open door of the cupboard under the sink. He began removing the bottles one by one, arranging them on the floor beside him.

‘That Nina Silvero was an obsessive compulsive?’ Knox offered watching the collection accumulate.

‘Not that,’ Mariner said. ‘Look at the labels.’

Knox picked up a couple of bottles at random and examined them, but couldn’t spot what Mariner had seen.

‘Croghan said it would only have taken a couple of mouthfuls of the drain fluid to kill her, yet, according to the crime-scene report, the bottle of drain fluid was nearly empty,’ Mariner said. ‘I assumed that it was because Nina Silvero had already used some of it for cleaning her drains. But look at all this lot -’ he craned his neck to peer over the sink ‘- and the washing-up liquid.’

Knox did, but his expression remained blank.

‘Ecover,’ said Mariner. ‘And if you look at these others, they’re all the same. All her cleaning stuff is environmentally friendly. Nina Silvero didn’t keep any of the noxious substances in her house.’

‘So the killer brought the materials along,’ said Knox.

‘Exactly.’ Mariner indicated one of the photographs. ‘And despite the fact that there was a wine bottle and glass on the kitchen table, there was no wine in Nina Silvero’s stomach.’

‘Because the wine in the bottle had been replaced with drain-cleaning fluid,’ Knox took up his train of thought.

‘There’s only one wine glass on the table, to make us think that she’d have been drinking alone.’

‘So the killer choreographed the scene afterwards.’

‘Yes,’ Mariner was inclined to agree. ‘The bottle of drain fluid wouldn’t have been produced until after Nina Silvero was dead. The wine glass the killer used would also have been washed and replaced, or they might have even taken it with them.’

Knox reached up and opened the cupboard that contained glassware; only one space where a wine glass had been.

‘We’ll get the rest of these tested for drain fluid. I’ll bet that there are traces in one, and if the killer hasn’t been careful enough we may even get a print or some DNA.’

‘So, if this is someone who Nina Silvero was comfortable about having a drink with, it was someone she already knows,’ Knox concluded. ‘She’s on the phone to her daughter when the doorbell goes. She ends the call and answers the door. It’s someone on the doorstep with a bottle of wine, inviting themselves in to help her celebrate.’

‘Or does the killer simply hand over the bottle as a gift and hope that the invitation follows?’ Mariner wondered.

‘Nah, too much of a risk,’ Knox said. ‘They need to see Nina drink it. Otherwise, she might not bother; she might just pass it on to someone else, or share it with someone else. We already know that Nina Silvero wasn’t in the habit of drinking alone.’ What he said made sense.

‘So they both come into the kitchen and one of them pours the so-called wine,’ Mariner continued. ‘That suggests a level of informality.’

‘Croghan said that Nina Silvero fell where she stood, and if we look at these scene photos it doesn’t look as if the chairs were pulled out, so that could mean that it’s someone Nina doesn’t want to hang around,’ Knox pointed out.

‘Or it could just be that she intended them to move into the lounge,’ Mariner countered. ‘Or that the killer’s in a hurry.
Just a quick glass then I’ll have to go
.’

‘What about the cork? If the bottle’s already been opened wouldn’t Nina have noticed that?’

‘We’ll check with forensics.’ Mariner peered at one of the photos. ‘Hard to tell if this was a screwtop; that would have been easier, but Nina would still have noticed. All the more reason for the killer to be in control of the situation.

Perhaps he or she even offered to do it.’ Mariner role-played the gesture. ‘“
Let me do that
,” while Nina gets the glasses. They make a toast, probably to Nina’s MBE success, then the killer stands back and watches while Nina Silvero takes a couple of mouthfuls of the wine and dies an agonising death.’

‘Christ.’

They paused for a moment, imagining the scene.

‘Then the killer calmly tips the rest down the sink, rinses and replaces the extra glass, puts the half-empty bottle of drain cleaner on the table beside the empty wine bottle and leaves us to believe that Nina Silvero has taken her own life,’ Mariner speculated. ‘But the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is: why?’

‘The rest of the house is undisturbed, so it wasn’t about robbery,’ said Knox.

‘Which gives us a pretty nasty motive,’ Mariner said. ‘Someone wanted to inflict pain on Nina Silvero and watch her suffer. She can’t have been as popular as her daughter thinks she was.’

‘Christ, what kind of person would do this to another human being, though?’ Knox shook his head in disbelief.

‘Someone who’s pretty sick themselves.’

‘Sick or angry.’

‘Or both,’ Mariner said. ‘We need to find out what forensics have come up with on the wine bottle. If what we’re saying is correct, that’s our murder weapon. Let’s have a look at the rest of the house.’

Nina Silvero kept a neat and orderly home. The only untidiness was on the table in the dining room, where, it appeared, she’d been interrupted mid-task. A photograph frame lay face down, its back opened up and beside it, ready to be displayed, a colour photograph of Rachel and Adam Hordern on their wedding day, the backdrop a country house hotel of some kind.

‘Not what you mess about with if you’re about to top yourself either,’ observed Knox.

An antique bureau in one corner of the room seemed to contain current correspondence and bills. In this too, Nina Silvero had been systematic, though there was enough material to fill several evidence bags. In a drawer below, Knox found two keys on a ring and held them up for Mariner to see. ‘A safe?’ he wondered.

They went around the room lifting up pictures and, behind a Sisley print, found a small safe. Inside it were several boxes of jewellery, some share certificates and a copy of the deeds to the house. ‘But no will,’ Mariner noted. ‘That must be with her solicitor.’

The answer machine revealed a number of hang-ups, but it was an older-generation machine and not sophisticated enough to give them the dates and times; they would trace back phone records to find out if the calls had come before or after Nina Silvero’s death. The ground floor completed, Mariner took the stairs two at a time to look around the bedrooms. But the only item of any interest, in the small bedroom, was a PC not long out of its box; the packaging carefully preserved and stored beside the desk it stood on. As was routine these days, Mariner disconnected the tower and carried it down the stairs to be taken with them as evidence. ‘We might as well take it, though, if it’s that new, there won’t be much on it,’ he said to Knox.

There was nothing more to be done here. After securing the door again, Mariner stopped for a quick word with the bored constable on duty and they headed back to Granville Lane with their booty.

As Knox was driving, Mariner took the opportunity to clear up a couple of things with Rachel Hordern. There was no reply from their room at the Norfolk Hotel, but Rachel had also given Mariner her mobile number. When she answered his call, the background noise was an interesting mix of squawking and whistling.

‘We’re at the Botanical Gardens, by the averies,’ Rachel explained apologetically. ‘We needed to get out with Harry. Hold on a minute, we’ll find somewhere quieter.’ There was a pause and some scuffling, and Mariner heard her talking to her husband and son. Finally she spoke again to him. ‘OK, go ahead.’

‘We were at your stepmother’s house, and we noticed that she had upgraded her security,’ Mariner said. ‘Was there any special reason for that?’

Rachel thought about that for a moment. ‘Yeah, a while back she had some strange phone calls - someone ringing and just hanging up on her - you know, like people do. I think it bothered her a bit.’

She broke off as someone in the background spoke, her husband presumably. ‘Oh, God, yes, I’d forgotten about that. Sorry,’ she said to Mariner, ‘but Adam’s just reminded me. At about the same time someone sent her some flowers. That was what frightened her.’