“Shall I put them through?” Kate is agog.
“Yes, why not?” I try to sound confident and unconcerned, like I’m someone who deals with police matters every day. Like Jane Tennison or someone. “Hello, Lara Lington speaking.”
“Lara, it’s DC Davies here.” As soon as I hear her voice, I have a flashback to myself sitting in that room, telling her I’m a speed walker training for the Olympics, while she took notes, her face utterly impassive. What was I thinking?
“Hi! How are you?”
“I’m well, thanks, Lara.” She’s pleasant but brisk. “I’m in the area and was wondering if I could pop by your office for a chat. Are you free now?”
Oh God. A chat? I don’t want to chat.
“Yes, I’m free.” My voice has risen to a petrified squeak. “Look forward to it! See you then!”
I put the receiver down, hot around the face. Why is she following this up? Aren’t the police always supposed to be chasing car fines and ignoring murders? Why couldn’t they ignore this murder?
I look up to see Kate staring at me, her eyes like saucers. “What do the police want? Are we in trouble?”
“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “Nothing to worry about. It’s just about my aunt’s murder.”
“Murder?” Kate claps a hand over her mouth.
I keep forgetting how murder sounds when you just drop it into a sentence.
“Er… yes. So, anyway! What were you up to over the weekend?”
My distraction ruse doesn’t work. Kate’s boggled expression doesn’t change; in fact, it becomes even more boggled.
“You never told me your aunt was murdered! The aunt whose funeral you went to?”
“Mmm-hmm.” I nod.
“No wonder you were so upset! Oh, Lara, that’s awful. How was she killed?”
Oh God. I really don’t want to go into the details. But I’m not sure how else to get out of this conversation.
“Poison,” I mumble at last.
“By who?”
“Well.” I clear my throat. “They don’t know.”
“They don’t know?” Kate sounds totally outraged. “Well, are they looking? Did they take fingerprints? God, the police are useless! They spend their whole time giving you parking tickets and then someone’s actually murdered and they don’t even care-”
“I think they’re doing the best they can,” I say hastily. “They’re most likely giving me an update report. In fact, they’ve probably found the culprit.”
Even as I’m speaking, the most horrific thought is hitting me. What if that’s true?
What if DC Davies is coming here to tell me they’ve found the man with the scar and the plaited beard? What do I do then?
I have a sudden image of a gaunt, bearded man with wild eyes and a scar, locked up in a police cell, banging on the door, shouting, “You’ve made a mistake! I never knew the old lady!” while a young police officer watches through a two-way window, folding his arms in satisfaction and saying, “He’ll crack soon enough.”
For a moment I feel quite hollow with guilt. What have I started?
The buzzer goes, and Kate leaps up to answer it.
“Shall I make some tea?” she says when she’s pressed the buzzer. “Shall I stay or go? Do you want moral support?”
“No, you go.” Trying to stay calm, I push my chair back, knock over a pile of post with my elbow, and scrape my hand picking it up. “I’ll be fine.”
It’ll all be fine , I tell myself fervently. It’s no big deal .
But I can’t help it. As soon as I see DC Davies walking in the door, with her clumpy shoes and sensible trousers and air of authority, I can feel my calmness disintegrating into childlike panic.
“Have you found the murderer?” I blurt out anxiously. “Have you locked anyone up?”
“No,” DC Davies says, giving me a strange look. “We haven’t locked anyone up.”
“Thank God.” I subside in relief, then realize how that might sound. “I mean… why not? What are you doing all day?”
“I’ll give you some privacy,” says Kate, backing out, while simultaneously mouthing “Useless!” behind DC Davies’s back.
“Have a seat.” I gesture to a chair and retreat behind my desk, trying to regain a professional air. “So, how are things progressing?”
“Lara.” DC Davies gives me a long, hard look. “We have conducted some preliminary inquiries, and we have found no evidence to suggest that your aunt was murdered. According to the doctor’s report, she died of natural causes. Essentially, old age.”
“Old age?” I adopt a shocked expression. “Well, that’s just… ludicrous.”
“Unless we can find any evidence to suggest otherwise, the case will be closed. Do you have any other evidence?”
“Um…” I pause as though considering the question carefully from all sides. “Not what you’d call evidence . Not as such.”
“What about this phone message you left?” She pulls out a piece of paper. “‘The nurses didn’t do it.’”
“Oh, that. Yes.” I nod several times, playing for time. “I realized I’d got a tiny detail wrong in my statement. I just wanted to clarify things.”
“And this ‘man with a beard’? A man who didn’t even appear in your original statement?”
The sarcasm in her voice is unmistakable.