Chimera (7 page)

Kate felt a pang of anxiety, despite her tiredness. “I’ve got to study, actually. My exam’s coming up soon.”

“When?”

“On the fourteenth.” Kate felt a stronger pulse of nervousness. She’d hardly done any studying at all. What had she been thinking? She straightened up a little and vowed that studying and only studying was what she would spend every spare waking moment doing.

Olbeck rummaged in his desk. “Right, right,” he said. Kate wondered whether he was even listening. “No problem.”

“Let’s make it a date after my exams,” Kate said, feeling that at least that would be something to look forward to afterwards.

“Hmm?” Olbeck looked up and blinked. “Oh right, yeah. Let’s do that.”

Kate rolled her eyes and went back to her desk.

“You look knackered,” Theo observed, busy at his computer.

“Gee, thanks,” said Kate. She rubbed her face and tried to get her work head on. “Did Anderton interview Jacob Arlen yesterday?”

“Nope, don’t think so.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t even seen the boss yet.”

Kate sighed. “Anything from forensics?”

Theo reached for a pile of folders. “Now, that I can help you with. Here you go.”

Kate opened the first file and did her best to follow it but the scientific jargon blurred in front of her tired eyes. She made herself and Theo another coffee and tried again, making notes of her own. She murmured the names under her breath.

“Fingerprints found in the master bedroom of the farmhouse were those of Trixie and Jacob Arlen, their children, Kyla Mellors, another child’s and an unknown female.” Kate read through the list again. The unknown child could well turn out to be Kyla Mellors’ daughter, although that would have to be checked. But the unknown female…?

She really needed to talk to Anderton but, as before, he seemed to be absent from the office again. Had he ever been so hard to get hold of? His office was empty and his mobile went straight to voicemail. Kate emailed him and left a post-it note on his computer, hoping to cover all bases. She grabbed a salad from the canteen and ate it back at her desk, still wading through all the forensic reports from the Arlen case.

That night, Kate attempted to study. She cleared the small dining room table and set up her books, folders and study notes. She set her kitchen timer for forty minutes and sat herself down at the table, bending her head industriously to her books. She conscientiously read for five minutes, wielding her highlighter pen – the lazy person’s way of making notes, she had always thought. After five more minutes she slumped back in her chair. Nothing was going in; nothing. She might as well be reading Swahili for all the sense it was making.

Kate got up and made herself a cup of tea. You’re just tired, she told herself; but she knew it was more than that. It was Miller, long-lost to his family. It was Trixie, vibrant and beautiful and loved, and that still not being enough to save her. It was Olbeck, because just what the hell was going on with him and why hadn’t he confided in her? It was Anderton and the sudden air of mystery that now surrounded him. It was Andrew Stanton, who’d loved her; why hadn’t she loved him? What the hell was wrong with her? I’m alone, thought Kate, staring blankly ahead of her. If I died here, tonight, how long would it be before someone noticed?

She told herself to stop being ridiculous. Of course someone would notice. She tipped the cold cup of tea down the sink and tried again to concentrate on her studies.
I’m alone
. The thought kept recurring, like some kind of mordant song reverberating around her head. In the end, in utter frustration, she slammed the text book shut and gave up and went to bed, to stare up at the ceiling, trying not to listen to the two-word sentence that kept repeating in her head.

Chapter Seven

John Henry Miller’s funeral took place on the following day. Kate dressed in a black suit and stopped on route to buy a small bunch of white roses. As she pocketed her change, she wondered why she was making the effort. Miller had been a vagrant, a petty criminal, a drug addict. Perhaps he’d caused harm to someone, even serious harm. Why was she doing this? We’ve all caused harm to someone, she reminded herself as she drove towards the crematorium.

It was a shabby little place; the entrance hall, with a swirly-patterned carpet, clearly hadn’t been redecorated since the late seventies. Kate took a seat in the small hall and was unsurprised to see that, apart from the person conducting the service, she was the only one there. The pang that the realisation gave her took her by surprise. She found herself blinking hard as the vicar began the words of the service. She observed the coffin, which lay at the front of the room, and with another sharp pang saw that it was the first coffin she’d ever seen which looked too big. At every other funeral she’d ever been to, the coffin always looked too small, but this one was the opposite. It was because Kate could recall just how pathetic the remains it held were, how diminished, how reduced.

The vicar paused for a moment, and in the silence that followed, Kate heard footsteps behind her, the ring of high heels on the linoleum floor of the chapel. She turned and was astonished to see someone else taking a seat at the back of the room; a teenage girl, very young, barely sixteen. She was dressed top to toe in black, with her long hair piled up on top of her head and her eyes heavily outlined in kohl. Kate blinked. Was she John Miller’s daughter? A granddaughter, even? The girl caught her gaze and quickly looked down at the floor. Kate turned back to face the front of the room as the vicar resumed his short speech, her curiosity piqued.

Once the ceremony was over and the too-big coffin had disappeared behind a pair of faded purple curtains, the vicar nodded at Kate and then left by a side door. Kate hurried to intercept the teenage girl, who was moving quite slowly towards the main entrance in her high heels.

“Hello,” said Kate as she reached her side. As soon as she did so, she recognised the girl. It was the girl who, along with her teenage boyfriend, had actually found Miller’s body. Kate was so flabbergasted that for a moment she stopped walking. The girl walked on, her head bowed. Kate quickly caught up with her again. “Thanks for coming,” she said. Then, just to be sure, she asked, “It’s Mia, isn’t it?”

Mia nodded. “Yes.”

She hadn’t stopped walking, although her pace had slowed. Kate hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to ask. “Did you – did you
know
Mr. Miller?” she demanded. Surely that had to be too much of a coincidence?

Mia shook her head. “No. No, I didn’t. I just – I wanted to come because – well, I just couldn’t stand the thought of no one being here, and I thought that’s what might happen. Because he didn’t have anyone, did he? He was all alone.”

All of a sudden, Kate found herself absurdly near to tears. It was the thought of this young girl – this
child
– being so sensitive, so decent, to want to give a total stranger a dignified goodbye. If that didn’t warm your heart, nothing would.

“That was very good of you, Mia,” she said, when she was able to speak. “Very good and kind of you.”

Mia half-smiled. “It’s awful to think that no one would miss you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Kate said honestly. “It’s very sad. How did you know where to come?”

They had reached the driveway in front of the chapel now and a blast of wintry air caught them both unawares. Mia clutched her black jacket to her neck, shivering. “The lady – the officer who talked to us afterwards – she rang up and told me.”

Kate nodded. “How have you been, anyway?”

“I’m okay.” Mia said it in a stout sort of way that made Kate smile inwardly. “Olly’s not doing too good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Kate, unsurprised. You didn’t fall into a decomposed body – literally – and expect to brush that off lightly. “Is he having counselling? Are you?”

They made small talk for a few more minutes before the cold wind forced them to say goodbye. Kate watched Mia walk off towards the bus stop. When she walked back to her car and drove off, she felt a little bit better about things. Not much, but a bit.

Chapter Eight

The fine weather returned the next day. Kate drove through a golden morning, the leaves on the trees seeming to absorb and send back the rays of the sun, shining out in tints of red, amber and chestnut. The roads were fairly clear and Kate enjoyed her drive so much it was almost with regret that she drew up outside Kyla Mellor’s house and parked the car.

It was a large house, but much newer than the Arlens’ rambling old farmhouse. Almost aggressively modern, the outside was mostly cedar cladding, tinted glass and blocks of stone. Kate looked around, taking in the landscaped gardens, the covered swimming pool and the expensive sports car parked carelessly on the gravel drive. Plenty of money here, but that was true of most of the neighbourhood wasn’t it? Did Kyla even work?

Kate rang the bell and a second later the door was pulled open by Kyla, who had obviously been watching for her approach. She was dressed in a navy and white striped top and dark blue skinny jeans, and Kate, who never worried about her weight, felt quite chubby next to her. Kyla’s long blonde hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail and she had the kind of effortless style that Kate associated with those who had modelled for a living. She chanced a guess and asked if that was what Kyla did.

Kyla smiled a rather embarrassed smile. “How did you know that? I used to be a model. I haven’t done anything since Gaia was born.”

Kate managed not to guffaw at the name. “Gaia’s your daughter? How old is she?”

Kyla’s smile fell away. “Two and a half, almost the same age as Manon. Trixie and I met at an NCT class.”

What was the NCT? Kate tried to look as though she knew. She had come prepared to dig a little into Kyla’s relationship with Trixie, but she realised that it might be more worthwhile to let Kyla talk naturally about her friend. However Kate had thought that Kyla might be more of a natural talker than she was turning out to be.

Kyla made coffee, which was lukewarm and too weak. Kate took one sip and abandoned it. “Would you say you and Trixie were close friends?” she asked.

Kyla’s gaze flickered then dropped to her coffee cup. She hadn’t drunk much of it either. “I suppose so.”

“Would she confide in you? If she had any worries or problems?”

Kyla was still looking down. “I guess so.”

This was frustrating. Kate knew that Kyla was holding something back, but what? Was it important? “Were you aware that Trixie took drugs?”

“No,” Kyla said, too quickly and too loudly. “I was horrified when I found out. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Hmm,” Kate said and watched the other woman flush. “So you never took drugs with Trixie?”

“No!”

“Never?”

“I told you, no. I don’t do drugs. Particularly not when I’m around my
children
.” Kyla’s high cheekbones were stained with red, but Kate wasn’t sure if it was with anger or embarrassment. “Trixie and I used to have a drink together sometimes, when the kids were in bed. That was all.”

“Okay,” said Kate.

Kyla noticed her still-full cup. “You haven’t touched your coffee. Shall I make you another?”

“No thanks,” said Kate quickly. “I’m sorry if these questions are upsetting you, Mrs. Mellor, but it’s useful for me to find out more about Trixie – from the people who knew her best.”

Kyla was looking down at the table again, her face serious. She nodded, her blonde fringe catching on her eyelashes.

Kate pressed on, taking advantage of the silence. “Would you say that Trixie was happily married?” she asked.

Kyla looked astonished, then embarrassed. “I – I don’t know. I think so. Well, I’m not sure.”

“Can you elaborate?”

Kyla looked as though she was regretting saying anything. “Oh, I don’t know. She used to tell me when she and Jake had had a row, now and again. But that’s normal in a marriage, isn’t it?”

“So you don’t think she and Mr. Arlen were having any kind of marriage difficulties or anything like that?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

Kate pondered, wondering where to go next. Kyla got up and cleared their full cups away, putting them down on the kitchen counter near the sink. Kate watched her, just for something to do, and realised that Kyla’s hands were trembling. She looked closer. Yes, they were shaking. Kyla was either terrified or she was badly hung over. Kate didn’t think it was that – there was no smell of stale alcohol around her and she looked great, glowing skin and clear eyes. So why was she so nervous?

“Mrs. Mellor, can I ask you if you’ve got something to tell me?” asked Kate, taking the bull by the horns.

Kyla threw her a quick, nervous glance. “What do you mean?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” That was always an effective question. It was amazing how people spilled the beans if they thought you already knew something.

It didn’t appear to work on Kyla; she had closed herself off. Kate could see her face become blank, smoothing into a neutral expression. “No,” said Kyla. “I don’t have anything to tell you, other than what I’ve already said.”

“Can I ask you your whereabouts on the night Trixie died?”

That red stain once again graced Kyla’s sharp cheekbones. “Why do you need to know?”

“It’s standard procedure, Mrs. Mellor. I’m not accusing you of anything. Where were you on the night Trixie died?”

“I was here. At home.”

Kate nodded. “Can anyone confirm that? Your husband, perhaps?”

Kyla looked away. “No, he wasn’t here. He was working abroad all of last week.”

“Did you talk to anyone on the phone at all? Use social media?”

“I don’t do social media. I think I might have spoken to my mother early in the evening. She rang about dinner time.”

Driving away after the interview had concluded, Kate found herself tapping the steering wheel lightly with irritation. That woman knew something. Was it possible that she was the person who’d been with Trixie the night she died? Kate considered the idea and then dismissed it. She wasn’t sure she believed Kyla when she’d said she’d had no idea that Trixie took drugs, but she had sounded a lot more convincing when she’d said she herself didn’t take them. Of course, being a former model, she’d probably partaken in the past, but that wasn’t to say that she still indulged. Kate shook her head, irritated with herself. This was all hot air, conjecture, supposition. She made a mental note to check whether the tests on the drugs found in Trixie Arlen’s bed had come back with results. Then, at least, she’d know what they were dealing with.