Post Mortem (32 page)

A fresh start: who, lying on this mattress, could ever believe such a thing possible?

Even so, there was something soothing about the enclosed nature of the place. No choices, just waiting. She was pleased to be horizontal and to be alone. She had a sense that everything had led her inexorably to this place.

She'd heard plenty of stories of other coppers who'd been nicked: stories that seemed to evoke a grudging admiration for the hopelessness and sheer stupidity of it all. A delight, even, in contemplating the possible fall, the precipice to be avoided at all costs. She'd heard of one old-timer who had spent his time in custody with his warrant card desperately hidden between his buttocks. He had probably been guilty of the usual transgressions arising from too much alcohol: public order, criminal damage. Then there were the domestic allegations. And of course the offences that put a copper
way beyond the pale and made him fair game: sexual offences, child pornography. Officers couldn't distance themselves quickly enough from such filth. She would be something different again. Part of the final category: officers arrested for offences incurred in the course of their duty – violence, corruption, malfeasance, perversion. She would be a figure of ambivalence, a shape-shifter. Her association with Hadley's death would taint her irretrievably. She would be a broken mirror, someone who brought bad luck to the relief.

Hadley had been the sort of copper who seemed to have been born in uniform. The life had been second nature to him. They'd been teamed up and she had been supposed to learn the mysterious craft from him. He'd taken her under his wing. Everyone had known it was a mark of favour. The unspoken expectation had always been that eventually his old-fashioned coppering would rub off on her. Instead he was dead and she was under investigation.

The black toughened plastic of the cell's wicket slid down. It must be the half-hour check. A female PC appeared at the Plexiglas opening. The girl was Asian and pretty. She had dark hair tied in a bun. Early twenties probably. She smiled apologetically, as if she had locked one of her friends away by accident.

‘You OK?'

‘Yes. I'm fine, thanks.'

‘The skipper wants to know if you smoke. If you do, then he says that me and another officer can take you into the yard for a fag.'

‘No, I'm all right. Thanks for the offer.'

‘Cup of tea? I'll make you a proper one.'

‘No. Thanks. I'm fine. Really.'

‘OK. Well if you need anything, ring your bell.'

‘I will. Thanks.'

The wicket slid shut again.

44

C
ollins parked up a few houses down the road from number 5 Kenley Villas. She turned off the engine but did not move from the seat. ‘Now what's the briefing, Jez?'

‘Don't be a cock.'

Collins laughed. ‘That's right. Don't speak unless you're spoken to. And above all—'

He sounded genuinely irritated. ‘I know, don't be a cock.'

‘Right again.' She turned to him and flashed him a rare smile. ‘Thanks, Jez.'

He smiled back in spite of himself. ‘Yeah, right. No worries.'

Jez got the kit out of the back of the car and he and Collins walked together along the street. Most of the press had dispersed, but a lone photographer, realizing they were cops, ran around the front of them and snapped some photos, the automatic shutter whirring. After they had passed, Jez muttered something quietly under his breath.

Uniformed police stood outside the doors to both number 5 and number 7. There was a For Sale sign in the front garden of Carrie Stewart's house. Collins showed her warrant card to the officer on the gate. As she walked down the path towards the front door, the curtain in the window of number 7 twitched. A woman in a hijab was staring at her, and Collins recognized her immediately as the woman who had stood motionless and alone at the cordon to the crime scene. She must be Farah Mehenni's grandmother. Collins
wished she had not seen her: she could not stop herself imagining briefly the restlessness inside the house, the desperate emptiness that no justice could ever sate.

There was shrill barking and the Stewarts' spaniel appeared intermittently at the top of the leaded glass of the door as it jumped up. Peering down, Collins could also just make out the top of Ben's head, then the taller shape of Carrie Stewart approached the door. Collins steadied herself. She heard Mrs Stewart remonstrating with the boy – ‘I've told you, Ben . . .' – and then the door opened.

Collins showed her warrant card. Jez was standing slightly behind, a tripod and bag slung over his shoulder, but he also had his warrant card in his right hand. Carrie Stewart, pulling the dog by his collar, stepped back into the hallway. ‘Yes, come in.' Collins noticed at once the unspoken quality of the woman's supposedly casual clothes – the green cardigan was probably a cashmere mix – and the good set of her pearly little teeth. The teeth were the giveaway. She could dress as casually as she liked, but attention had been paid to the important things from the start. Carrie Stewart was either genetically highly favoured or she had had good dental treatment when it wasn't standard.

Collins followed Carrie down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the property. The dog was jumping up, wagging his tail. Carrie said, ‘Down, Charlie. Down. In your bed.' The dog curled up obediently by the window. Collins noticed the nice stripped pine table. What did they call it on eBay? Shabby chic, was it? An older, tweedy woman was sitting there and Carrie said, ‘My mother, Jane. Mummy, this is Detective Sergeant Collins.'

Jane immediately got up in spite of Collins' protestations and offered her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Detective Sergeant.'

‘Sarah, please.'

‘Sarah, yes, thank you. I've been staying with my daughter since it happened. She's been so upset.'

‘Yes, of course,' Collins said, taking a seat at the table. ‘That must be comforting for her.'

Jez sat beside her. He only spoke to accept coffee. He was taking the briefing seriously, and Collins noticed with a smile that the two women seemed to have decided that he was not important enough to warrant a proper introduction. Either that, or their good manners were failing them.

Ben came over and put his head on his grandmother's lap and said, ‘Grannykins.' She ruffled his hair and he stole the opportunity to study Collins furtively.

Carrie was moving around the kitchen. She had one of those coffee-makers that needed to be heated on the stove. She turned on the tap and ran the used coffee grounds into the sink. Her back was turned and she spoke brusquely.

‘I don't really see how Ben can help you. He's only five. If I'm honest, I'd rather we put it all behind us. I haven't been able to sleep for thinking about it. I keep going over and over what might have happened and of course what
did
happen. The moment I looked in the back garden and he had gone . . .'

Collins looked into the shady garden. There was a bench, a tree, a raised sandpit with a lid. A red plastic tricycle was lying on its side. The area was completely enclosed, separated from the neighbours by rickety wooden fencing panels.

Carrie put a plate of biscuits on the table. Collins glanced at her pale face, the browning freckles, the blonde hair with the slight kink in it. Carrie walked away and busied herself with the coffee-maker. The smell of ground beans filled the kitchen. She opened the fridge door and briefly revealed illuminated a bottle of wine, vegetables, juice and children's healthy yoghurts.

‘I'd left him playing. I was upstairs on the phone to a friend. Suddenly I had a sense that something was wrong. I hadn't heard from him for so long. Usually that means he's being naughty. I
looked out of the bedroom window and I couldn't see him. Of course I wasn't too worried at that point. What could possibly have happened? He was in the house, for God's sake. I didn't run down the stairs or anything. I went out into the garden but he wasn't there. Just the dog looking around and wagging his tail. I couldn't believe it. Just couldn't bloody believe it. I thought he must be hiding. I thought it must be a game. I called out his name. God, all of a sudden it was awful. I looked everywhere. I searched the house and—'

The milk was boiling over and there was a smell of burning as it hit the stove top. Carrie swore under her breath with vehemence. ‘Oh fuck.' Collins glanced at the grandmother and saw her eyebrows rise slightly. She caught Collins' eye and then lifted Ben up.

‘Come on, Ben. I think the
Teletubbies
might be on.'

They waited for Ben to leave the room with his grandmother.

Jez started to get up to help Carrie but she shook her head. ‘No, no,
please
. Don't worry.' He sat down obediently and glanced at Collins. Carrie was running a cloth under the water for longer than was strictly necessary. She squeezed it out and wiped the stove top. Steam rose from the cloth and she put it down on the work surface. She put her hands to her temples.

‘So then I called the police . . .'

Collins said, ‘Yes.' She had listened to the recording of the 999 call. She had heard Carrie's desperate voice, the operator struggling to get useful details from her. She watched Carrie pouring the coffee with what looked like an effort of concentration. Carrie put the nice little earthenware mugs in front of them and sat down. She had poured herself a glass of water and it glinted on the table untouched.

‘So I'm still not sure about you talking to Ben.'

Collins took a breath to speak, but Carrie shook her head.

‘No, before you interrupt . . .' She left the briefest pause to make
sure she had been understood. ‘Look at it from my point of view. Ben was abducted from our own home and taken to the top of a tower block, to the very edge. Who knows what that girl intended to do with him. Imagine that, would you? He also saw two people fall to their deaths. I can't bear to think about it, and you're asking us to encourage him to remember it all again. I think it's best that we put this behind us now. I can't see what information you can get from him, and if you don't mind me saying, what's to find out anyway?'

What's to find out anyway?
That seemed to be the theme tune of the investigation. Collins waited. Carrie caught her eye. She pushed the biscuits across the table.

‘Please, help yourselves. They don't look much but they're very good.'

Jez took a biscuit. ‘Thank you.'

Carrie got up again. She stood at the sink and started to scrub the coffee-maker.

‘That girl – I'm sorry, I still can't bring myself to say her name –
that girl
took Ben from the garden and risked his life. That's not in question, is it? I still don't understand why that family wished me harm, why that man hated us so much. She took Ben from the garden, and the policeman, Matthews, went to the roof to find Ben and the poor man fell to his death . . .'

She trailed off, looking at Collins as if asking for confirmation. Collins knew that other officers would offer some word of anger towards the Mehenni family, and that this would be a consolation, but she could think of nothing she felt comfortable saying.

Carrie seemed to wake from a dream. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't ask if you wanted sugar. Do you take sugar?'

‘No, that's all right, thank you.'

There was a brief silence.

Jez said, ‘Great coffee, thank you.'

Carrie smiled briefly at him. ‘You're welcome.'

Collins allowed a moment's silence. Then she said, ‘If I could talk to Ben, it would be really helpful. I don't doubt that Farah abducted him from your garden, but we need to find out more about what happened on the roof. I appreciate it's painful for you. Nevertheless, two people have died. I can't just leave it at that. There'll be an inquest. I'm sure you understand that I need to discover
why
they died. Farah Mehenni's family deserve that, so does the family of PC Matthews, and so do you.'

Carrie took them through to the sitting room. Ben and his grandmother were sitting with the dog, watching TV. Jane immediately got up to switch the television off but Collins put her hand up to stop her and said, ‘No, please. Don't worry.'

Jane smiled and smoothed down her skirt. ‘I'll leave you to it then.'

Collins remembered Ben well from the roof: the bear suit and his tear-stained face. Now the boy wore jeans and a checked shirt. She squatted down beside him but he did not take his eyes off the screen.

‘You like
Teletubbies
?'

‘I love
Teletubbies
.'

‘Which is your favourite?'

‘Po.'

‘Which is Po?'

He pointed at the screen. ‘The red one.'

Collins perched on the sofa next to Ben and watched the television. Rabbits came out of their burrows. The Teletubbies had a dance. Ben glanced towards her. ‘Who are you?'

‘My name's Sarah. I'm a police officer, just like PC Matthews and PC Griffiths. You remember them?'

‘Yes. PC Matthews was a fat police officer.'

Ben seemed pleased with the idea that he was being naughty.
Collins shunted away the memory of fat, naked, dead PC Matthews that came unbidden.

‘Yes, he was.'

‘If you're a police officer, where's your outfit?'

‘My uniform?'

‘Yes, your uni-form.'

‘I don't wear one because I'm a special kind of police officer. I'm a detective. That means it's my job to find out what happened. The grown-ups still don't know what really happened. And Ben, you are very special because you are the only person who was there on the roof. So you know what happened and you can help me find that out.'

‘PC Griffiths knows what happened. She was there too.'

Out of the corner of her eye Collins briefly caught Jez smirking. She pushed him out of her thoughts and pressed on.