The Stranger You Know (19 page)

After he fell silent he stared into space, lost in memories that were two decades old, and I felt my jaw creak with the effort of not yawning. It was a lost cause. My mouth sprang open as if it had been spring-loaded and I covered it with the hand I wasn’t using to take sketchy notes.

‘Tell me if I’m boring you, won’t you.’ Heavy on the sarcasm. Back to the Derwent I knew and loved.

‘Sorry. It’s late.’

‘I’m fucking pouring my heart out here and you’re yawning.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought better of you, Kerrigan.’

‘What happened after that?’

‘She was strangled to death.’

‘I know that. To you, I mean.’

He shrugged. ‘I went home. I slept. I went to work the next day. Didn’t hear from her and didn’t think anything of it. This was before teenagers had mobile phones, you realise. We’re going that far back. I hoped I’d see her at my house around three, and she never turned up. But two fat detectives did.’

‘And interviewed you?’

‘Arrested me. Took me to the local nick and interviewed me. Gave me a hard time.’ He sipped his drink meditatively. ‘Course, I was lying my arse off at that stage. They said she was dead and I thought it had to be a set-up. Her dad’s way of finding out what we’d been up to. One of the coppers was a mate of his, going way back, so I didn’t really believe him. Besides, I was petrified to say what we’d done. She was fifteen so it was statutory rape. Took me a long time to believe what they were telling me was true.’

‘How did they convince you?’

Another gulp and a wince as he swallowed. ‘Showed me pictures from the scene.’

‘Her body?’

He nodded, looking down into his glass, his face bleak.

‘Did they really think you’d killed her?’

‘Definitely. No question about it. Longest twenty-four hours of my life.’

‘But you weren’t charged.’

‘Nope.’

‘Why not?’

‘I had an alibi. Someone saw me walking through town on my way home. Again, there wasn’t a lot of CCTV around back then, so I was bloody lucky there was a witness to back up my story.’

‘Whoever saw you must have been absolutely definite about the ID.’

‘He was. Believe me, he’d have liked to say different, but he was a fair man.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Angela’s father.’

‘Wow.’

‘Poor bloke. I was on my way home through the town centre. Typical teenager, thinking I was immortal. I walked out into the road right in front of his bus. He had to stand on the brakes in a hurry. One of the passengers fell over and cut his head. The guy was too pissed to hold on properly but it was still Charlie Poole’s responsibility. He made a note of the time it happened, as he was required to do, and since I’d been that far away from him,’ – he held up his hands about two feet apart – ‘and waved at him, cheeky little fucker that I was, there was no doubt about the ID. It happened at two minutes to midnight and that was right about the time she died.’

‘Don’t tell me the pathologist was prepared to give an exact TOD.’

‘They didn’t need the pathologist for that.’ Derwent smiled bitterly. ‘They had a witness.’

‘Who?’

‘Stuart Sinclair. Fat Stu from next door. A noise woke him at 11.56 p.m., which he noted because his clock radio was beside his bed. He looked out and saw nothing. A few minutes later he got up again to make sure there was nothing wrong, and saw a male walking through the gate of the garden next door and down the road. That was at one minute past midnight.’

‘Did he give a description?’

‘Yeah. Me. Down to the colour of my T-shirt.’

‘But it couldn’t have been you.’

‘That’s what I said. And they had to accept it, after a while.’

‘Didn’t Stu retract his statement?’

A slow headshake.

‘But he had to admit it was nonsense.’

‘He was adamant about it.’

‘Not your biggest fan,’ I suggested.

‘No. He had a thing about Angela. Not that she’d have dreamed of looking at him. And he hated me because I was a shit to him.’

‘Poor Stu.’

‘He was a twat,’ Derwent said, outraged. ‘Poor Stu tried to fit me up for murder.’

‘I take it he wasn’t a suspect.’

‘No. His hands were too small to have left the marks on her neck. Mine would have done, but I was already getting towards six foot. He really was just a kid. Still waiting for puberty to kick in.’ He laughed. ‘I think he was even a vegetarian, just like Morrissey. He sang in the school choir. Definitely not murderer material.’

‘Okay. But he was muddying the waters for the investigation.’

‘The waters were muddy enough as it was. They didn’t get much further with it once they ruled me out. I’ve looked it up. In the five years before and after there were plenty of deaths by manual asphyxiation in the greater London area but nothing with those distinctive elements.’

‘The eyes.’

‘Specifically.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Where were we?’

‘How you went from golden boy to chief suspect to being ruled out.’

‘By the police. Not by public opinion. Everyone knew I’d been picked up and that someone had seen me nearby. They assumed the police had just fucked up. Our house was vandalised. Then a gang of girls thumped my sister on her way home from school because they thought she was sticking up for me too much. That was it. By then I’d come clean about the sex, because they’d found semen in Angela and told me they could match it to me, which would have taken weeks, probably – but by then I was cooperating with everything they asked me. Proper broken by it. So everyone knew what we’d done too. My parents were disgusted with me for it, and scared for my sister. I don’t really blame them for what they did.’

‘Which was kick you out.’

He nodded. ‘Vinny’s parents let me stay with them for a bit, but they didn’t have room for me really and I didn’t want to be a nuisance. I was under eighteen so I was entitled to go into care and I ended up in a home.’

‘Not known for being pleasant.’

‘It was all right.’ His face was shuttered and I knew he wasn’t going to tell me what it had really been like. I also knew that meant it had been bad. ‘I was in a bit of a state because of what had happened to Angela. Vinny and Claire were still talking to me but Shane couldn’t stand the sight of me. He threw up when I tried to tell him I was sorry about what had happened – literally chucked up, right in front of me. I stopped going to school. Then someone told me I was old enough to join the army. I didn’t think about it. I just did it. My way out. I rang home to tell them and my dad put the phone down on me and I haven’t spoken to them since.’ He drained his glass then refilled it with a practised swoop. ‘The army took me in and fed me, housed me, clothed me and paid me for years. It was my family. Better than my family.’

‘But you still left.’

‘I realised what I wanted to do with my life. I quit, studied for A levels, got my exams, got into the Met and the rest is what you know. Brilliant career, inspector by thirty-six. All-round sex symbol and winner of popularity contests.’

‘Sorry, who are we talking about now?’

He grinned. ‘Watch it, Kerrigan.’

‘Have you got a picture of her?’

‘Yeah, I do.’

‘Can I see it?’

He was reluctant to say yes, I could tell, but he knew he would have asked the same thing if he’d been in my place. ‘Wait there.’

He disappeared into the room next door and I heard a drawer open and close. He didn’t keep it where he could see it, but not because he didn’t care. I doubted there was a day he didn’t think about Angela.

When he came back he handed me a framed photograph and stood beside me, looming. ‘Ange. Me. Vinny. Claire. And that’s Shane. It was his girlfriend who took it.’

It wasn’t a great picture; the focus was a bit off and the colours muddy. They had been at a barbecue, in a back garden, the background an anonymous fence. An impossibly young Derwent sat on a white plastic garden chair, leaning back so the front legs were off the ground. He looked innocent and cheeky and I stared at him for a long time, trying to match it up with the present-day version. A girl sat on his lap, petite and pretty, her head leaning against his, her arms around his neck. Possessive was the word that sprang to mind. Insecure, maybe. They all wanted him and she had him, even though he was two years older and her brother’s friend. I bet she couldn’t believe her luck, which was a strange thought in connection with Derwent. Her brother was darker than her, and built like a brick shithouse. He stared at the camera as if he was daring it to capture his image. Claire sat beside him on another chair, one leg pulled up, drinking from a can so I could hardly see her face. She was long-limbed and very slender, with short dark hair she had tucked behind her ears. One arm had a collection of leather cuffs on it and she was wearing the Nirvana Nevermind T-shirt.

Vinny was at the back, standing, his arms spread wide, his mouth open as if he was cheering. He and Shane and Derwent were dressed identically in layered T-shirts, baggy jeans and Vans trainers, and Vinny had the same haircut as Derwent.

‘It wasn’t a good era for fashion, was it?’

‘You can say that again. Seen enough?’

I nodded, letting him take it out of my hands. ‘Is that the only one you’ve got?’

‘Do you need to see another?’ He glowered at me and I shook my head. The thing with Derwent was to know when you should stop pushing your luck. I got it right some of the time. He left the room and the drawer opened and closed again. Everything in its place. The words from Dr Chen’s profile repeated in my head in Godley’s voice.
He is obsessive about detail and a perfectionist …

I stuffed the thought to the back of my mind in case Derwent could tell what I was thinking. While he was gone I stood up and put my coat back on. It went down predictably well.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘It’s late.’

‘And?’

‘And I have to be in the office early.’

‘You owe me. Time to start talking, Kerrigan.’ He folded his arms. ‘We had a deal.’

‘And I’m going to honour my part in it.’ I pulled my bag onto my shoulder. ‘Look, I don’t have the file on the murders with me and I’m still getting my head around it myself. I’m meeting up with Bradbury’s DS tomorrow to hear about what they’ve found out. I can come here after that and give you the whole picture.’

He stared at me, trying to decide if I meant it. ‘Do you promise?’

‘I promise. And no need for any kidnapping shenanigans this time.’

‘Do you believe me?’

‘Would I volunteer to come back if I didn’t?’

He was too clever not to pick up on the fact that I hadn’t answered him. He nodded, as if I’d proved something to him.

‘How are you getting home?’

‘It’s not far,’ I said.

‘Where do you live?’

‘Dalston,’ I admitted.

‘Seriously? How did I not know that?’

‘I keep it to myself.’

‘What else are you hiding?’

Not as much as you
, I thought. He hadn’t told me everything, not by a long shot.

He went down the stairs in front of me and took his coat off the hook. I stopped two steps from the bottom.

‘What are you doing?’

‘How are you getting home?’

‘I’ll get a cab. There’s an office near here, isn’t there? I saw it from the taxi.’

He shrugged his coat on. ‘Right. I’ll walk you there.’

‘There’s absolutely no need.’

‘Fuck’s sake, Kerrigan. Did you listen to
anything
I said?’

‘I don’t need you to protect me.’

‘Yes, you do.’ He came towards me, the little hallway suddenly feeling very small indeed. ‘Do you think you’re invincible or something just because you’re a cop? If someone wanted to attack you – a man – what would you do? Fight him off?’

‘I’ve had combat training.’

‘Didn’t do you a lot of good this evening, did it?’ He took another step and it was with difficulty that I resisted the urge to flee back up the stairs. ‘This is why I hate women’s lib. You’re not equal. You’re not independent. The minute you walk out there, you’re prey, pure and simple.’

‘You’re overreacting.’

‘I don’t give a fuck.’ Massive in his coat, he was standing between me and the door. His face softened. ‘Look, Kerrigan, I have to do this.’

‘I’m not Angela.’

‘I know that.’

‘What happened to her wasn’t your fault.’

‘I don’t agree.’

‘Someone killed her.
You
didn’t. Someone chose to end her life and that’s on them.’ I was arguing against two decades of conditioning and I could tell from his face I was getting absolutely nowhere. I sighed. ‘Okay. Walk me to the cab office.’

‘Finally.’ He headed for the door, happy again. ‘I thought I was going to have to follow you.’

‘You say that like it would be a reasonable course of action.’ I saw the look on his face. ‘Please tell me you don’t follow women around.’

‘When they’re on their own and it’s late. Just to make sure they’re safe.’

‘Christ almighty.’ I followed him out. ‘I mean, really.’

He locked the door after me, not one little bit abashed. ‘So what? Most of the time they don’t even know I’m there.’

Chapter 15

It was a short run back to the flat but it felt endless. The driver had taken offence at Derwent asking him his name, checking his licence and ostentatiously noting the number of his car. I sat in the back, fuming, as Derwent lectured him on maintenance of his tyres and cross-examined him about whether his MOT was up to date. By the time he got back in the car, the driver’s mood matched mine. He turned up the radio as he accelerated away from where Derwent was standing, watching, and I was blasted with bhangra music all the way home. I over-tipped, despite the surliness and the soundtrack, and was rewarded with a tirade of hurt, semi-comprehensible English about how he was a good driver and trustworthy and he had daughters himself.

The taxi drove away eventually, the street quiet as the noise of the engine receded into the distance. There was no one around, no noise in the building as I trudged up the stairs to the flat. I felt the tension of the day hit home, leaving me exhausted. I wanted to sleep more than anything, but I had to look at the Angela Poole file while Derwent’s account of what had happened was still fresh in my mind. I felt hollowed out. Today had taken all I had to give, and more. Alcohol on an empty stomach had left me with a headache and heartburn. I needed food and caffeine. I would spend an hour reading through the file and no more. Four hours’ sleep – that was a complete cycle. Into the office, to face Godley and Burt. To defend Derwent, maybe, if I had the nerve, and if I could do it without revealing I’d spoken to him. If nothing else, the evening’s adventures had confirmed one thing: he was just as deranged as I’d always suspected. But not, I thought, a murderer.