Chimera (9 page)

“Yes?” prompted Kate after a moment’s silence.

Arlen dropped his hand back to his lap, limply, as if all the strength had run out of his arm. “I looked,” he said simply. “After I realised she was dead. I think I – I think I knew why she’d died, because of the drugs.”

Olbeck leaned forward. “You suspected your wife had died of a drugs overdose?”

“I didn’t
know
. I just – after I’d caught her that last time… I suspected, that was all. But I promise you this, there was nothing there. I looked around – not very well, I was too shaken up and I knew I had to call an ambulance and stop the kids from seeing her – but I had a quick look under the bed and on the dressing table. There was nothing like that there. No syringes or anything.” He looked at them both again and his words had the simple ring of truth. “I found nothing. I saw nothing.”

“Very well, Mr. Arlen,” Olbeck said. “We’ll need to amend your statement with words to that effect.”

“Yes.” Arlen slumped back against his chair, putting his head back and closing his eyes. “Yes, I understand that.”

“Do you have any idea who this person who was with your wife on the night she died might be?”

“I have absolutely no idea.””

“It wouldn’t have been a friend of hers? Of yours?”

“I can’t imagine so. I can’t imagine any of our friends being caught up in – in that kind of thing.”

“Can you give me a list of your wife’s close friends?” asked Kate. “We’ll need to talk to them. We’ve already interviewed Mrs. Mellors but—”

“Oh, it wouldn’t have been Kyla,” said Arlen, quickly. “She would never do anything like that.”

Kate paused. There was something – God, what was it? – in Arlen’s tone. Something not quite natural. “You know Mrs. Mellors well, then?” she asked, casually.

When he answered her, Arlen sounded as normal as he ever had. “Yes, very well. She and Trixie and I are good friends. I play golf with her husband sometimes, too.”

Kate wondered whether she’d imagined that brief flicker of strangeness in Arlen’s voice. It was sometimes too easy to see undercurrents, to see something that wasn’t there. She filed the thought away in her head for later perusal.

Arlen scribbled several names down on a sheet of paper, pausing and frowning over each one, before passing it to Kate. She glanced down at the list of five names and rough addresses and sighed at the thought of the time it would take to interview all five women. Still, it had to be done. After making an appointment with Arlen to amend his statement in Abbeyford the next day, they took their leave.

“So what did you think?” Olbeck asked as they drove away. He gave the solitary paparazzi a cheery wave as they drove by him onto the main road. The man scowled and Kate bit back a giggle.

“What did
you
think?” she countered.

Olbeck glanced over at her. “I think he’s hiding something.”

Kate felt a leap of gladness. It hadn’t been her imagination, then. “So do I, funnily enough.”

“I don’t mean about the drugs,” Olbeck went on, flicking on the indicator as they left the village and joined the bypass. “I actually think he’s being totally truthful about that. He didn’t see anything by Trixie’s body that morning because there wasn’t anything there to see.”

“Yes. I agree.” Kate watched the trees on the embankment of the dual carriageway flash by. The leaves were hitting the peak of their autumn colours; a kaleidoscope of copper, amber and auburn splendour. “So what
is
he hiding?”

“God knows. Everyone’s always hiding
something
in a case like this. But is it significant or isn’t it?”

“I’ll do some checking,” said Kate slowly, thinking it through. “Work out the timings for what he says he was doing that morning and the night before.” Too late, she remembered they hadn’t questioned Arlen about the bruising on his wife’s arm and cursed. “That was slack of us, Mark,” she said, explaining when he looked over enquiringly. “Too much going on at the moment.”

“Tell me about it,” Olbeck said with feeling. “Anyway, let me know about Arlen. Can you and Theo take the interviews with Trixie’s friends?”

“Yep,” said Kate, watching as the houses of Abbeyford began to roll into view. “I’m going to see how many stupid children’s names I can gather at the same time.”

She was rewarded with Olbeck’s laugh at they drew into the forecourt of the police station, and she smiled as she bent to retrieve her handbag from the footwell.

Chapter Ten

True to her word, Kate began interviewing Trixie Arlen’s friends the next morning. She and Theo drove down together and worked their way through the list methodically. Kate had anticipated being unable to get hold of several of the people listed – she’d thought that most of them would be at work – but that turned out not to be the case. The five names on the list – Francesca Bolton, Sian Hills, Veronica Tibbert-Jones, Melinda D’Agnew and Carla Denford – all turned out to be women who looked as if they’d emerged from the same cloning laboratory, or perhaps a factory. All five were tall, thin, and well-groomed: all with that indefinable air of polish that only significant amounts of money and equally significant amounts of free time can achieve. Kate, who normally thought she was doing all right, considering how little time she had to spend on her appearance, felt positively scruffy next to them all. Theo, on the other hand, looked as though all his Christmases had come at once.

Not a single one of the five worked outside the home, as far as Kate could ascertain. Melinda D’Agnew did announce proudly that she was starting up her own business – one that Kate dismissively referred to in the privacy of her own head as a ‘cupcake-bunting business’. In Kate’s eyes, it was clearly a tax fiddle, on behalf of Melinda’s husband, but she kept her mouth shut and made appropriate interested noises.

The five women were so alike that Kate had to keep referring back to her notes to see which of them they’d already talked to – she was beginning to get confused. It didn’t help that they all looked the same – a mane of long, glossy hair, discreet makeup, all wearing the same unofficial uniform of a striped Breton top and dark, close-fitting jeans. What made it more frustrating was that none of them had anything interesting to tell Kate and Theo at all.

“No, Trixie was fine, she was completely normal last time I saw her,” said Francesca Bolton, pouring coffee into fine white china cups. “There wasn’t anything worrying her as far as I could tell.”

“Trixie and Jacob seemed fine to me.” Sian Hills offered them herbal tea and some sort of desiccated ‘artisanal’ biscuit. “They had their ups and downs of course, like anyone. But I’m sure there was nothing really bad going on in their relationship.”

“Trixie? Take drugs? Oh no, you’ve got to be kidding. Seriously, like, she would never do something like that. God, it’s so – so
sad
, isn’t it, doing drugs? No one does that anymore.” Veronica Tibbert-Jones ran a hand through the long, shiny sweep of her hair, scoffing. “She liked a drink, of course. Wine o’clock and all that. But heroin? Oh my God, no. I can’t believe
that
.”

Melinda D’Agnew gave Kate and Theo freshly squeezed orange juice. Kate watched her long, slim hands and finely polished nails and wondered just how much, if any, housework Melinda did. “Trixie and I would talk, of course we would. But she didn’t mention anything to me that I thought was odd. We talked about business of course – I used to pump her for tips, given she was so successful. She was very generous, you know. A very warm heart. A really genuine person.”

By the time Kate and Theo got to Carla Denford, Kate felt as though she’d been talking to identikit Sloanes for most of her adult life. Carla Denford opened the front door to her large, expensive house and Kate bit back a scream of frustration, realising that Carla was, yes, dressed in a navy striped top, grey skinny jeans and had a fall of long, glossy hair. They followed her into the large dining room-cum-play area at the back of the house and Kate braced herself for the offer of more healthy hot drinks.

“Want a drink?” asked Carla. “G and T do you?”

Kate blinked. It was twelve thirty in the afternoon. “No thanks, Mrs. Denford,” she replied, glaring at Theo, who looked as if he were about to accept. He shut his mouth hastily.

“Because I get so fed up of fucking
tea
,” said Carla with surprisingly bitterness and moved to the enormous SMEG fridge.

Hastily, Kate consulted her list of questions and chose one at random. “How well did you know Trixie Arlen, Mrs. Denford?”

“About as well as I know anyone else here,” said Carla, sitting down with a brimming glass. She took a long, thirsty gulp and put it down with a sigh. “Which is to say not at all.”

“How do you mean?” Kate realised Carla had probably had one or two drinks already, although her speech was clear enough.

“It’s all surface, here,” said Carla. Her head drooped towards the table and she put a finger in a spilled droplet on the kitchen table, smearing it in a circle. “The men all work in London in ridiculously well-paid jobs, and the women sit at home in their lovely designer houses, outsourcing their childcare. It’s so bloody
boring
; I could just scream sometimes. Instead, well, I…” she gestured to her glass and made a shrugging gesture which was both eloquent and sad.

Kate gave Theo a meaningful glance and, for once, he understood and got up, muttering something about getting something from the car. Once he was out of the room, Kate put down her notebook and leant forward a little, mirroring Carla’s position.

“So, it’s a bit shit, is it?” Kate said, in a tone she hoped was both wry and sympathetic.

Carla looked at her gratefully. “Oh God, you have no idea. It’s funny though, because Trixie was the only one who – she was a bit different. She had a
spark
. A bit of life. At least she’d actually
done
something with her life – before, I mean.”

“You said you didn’t know her well. Did she ever confide in you?”

“Not really. It was more – I guess I confided in her, more than the other way round. We met at an NCT class—”

“Yes, what
is
that?” asked Kate, unable to help herself.

Carla gave her a slightly odd look. “National Childbirth Trust.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

“Yeah, anyway, we met at the NCT class, caught up with each other a few times after our babies were born—”

“What’s your baby’s name?” asked Kate, unable to help herself again.

Again, Carla looked slightly surprised. “James.”

“Oh, that’s
lovely
,” said Kate fervently. She got a grip on herself. “So you met up quite frequently after you had your children?”

“Sort of. Occasionally I went to her house or she came here. What they call a ‘playdate’, around here, which is
ridiculous
because the babies couldn’t care less about playing with other babies. Anyway, we did see each other a bit.”

“Did Trixie ever seem worried about anything to you? Anxious about anything?”

Carla fell silent, twirling her almost empty glass around in her hand. She appeared to be thinking hard. “There’s one thing she said once that I thought was strange,” she said, slowly. “It stuck with me.”

“What was that?” prompted Kate.

“We were in the kitchen at her place, just chatting, and the radio was on. There was something in the news about – oh, God, what was it? – oh yes, that’s right, about a mother who’d been found not guilty of killing her baby. God,
horrible
. Anyway, I said something about not understanding how anyone could do that and Trixie said, in this really sad, slow way, that sometimes people did things that they would always regret, even if they hadn’t meant to do them at the time.”

Kate paused. “That’s it?”

Carla nodded. “Yeah, that was all. She changed the subject the next minute and…I don’t know, it was just her voice that got me. Real…real
grief
, kind of dragging through it. It made me shiver.”

“She never elaborated on what she meant?”

“No. I remembered it from time to time and thought I’d ask her about it, but I never really felt the time was right. And now I’ll never get the chance.”

Her voice, finally thickening from alcohol, broke. For a moment, Kate was sure Carla would burst into tears but she seemed to have more self-control than was at first apparent. She took a deep, shaky breath and appeared to compose herself.

There was nothing else that Carla appeared to be able to tell her. Kate eventually gave her thanks and said goodbye. She wanted to say something kind, something that would make Carla feel better, but she couldn’t think what. ‘Go back to London’ was probably not something that would make Carla feel better at all. So Kate said nothing, and smiled and thanked her, and Carla, red-eyed and faintly swaying, just nodded and closed the door behind her in silence.

“Blimey,” said Theo as they drove away, Kate taking the wheel for the homeward journey. “Some people don’t know they’re born, eh? All that money, expensive cars, designer goods and she’s still a miserable cow.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Kate, more crossly than she’d intended. “It’s not about
money
. Carla’s clearly an intelligent woman who feels like a complete outsider here. She’s unhappy because she’s lonely and bored, that’s all.”

“Yeah, right,” said Theo, looking unconvinced.

“Well, I think that’s what’s the matter with her,” said Kate, more gently. She felt like adding ‘I know how she feels’, but didn’t. What she did ponder aloud was the question, “I wonder if Trixie Arlen felt like Carla did? I wonder that very much.”

“Would explain why she was chasing the dragon again,” said Theo.

“I think that’s
smoking
heroin,” said Kate. “Not injecting it. But I see your point.” She remembered that she had an appointment with the drug and alcohol counsellor the next day. And the day after that was exam day. She swallowed, queasily. Out loud she said, “Wonder if Arlen’s given his new statement yet?”

“Don’t know,” said Theo, yawning. He settled his head back comfortably against the headrest. “Wake me up when we get back to Abbeyford. Those chicks have worn me out.”

“I never thought I’d hear that coming from you,” Kate joked. Theo said nothing but smiled lazily as the car joined the dual carriageway that would take them back to their home town.