Silvermeadow (43 page)

On the other side of London, as far to the south of Eros as Kathy was to the north, Brock was working his way through his house, tidying stuff away and putting potentially dangerous things—the toasting fork, the carving knife, the can of rat poison—and fragile things— the sole artwork (a Schwitters tram ticket collage), the laptop, the wine glasses—out of reach of small children, and wondering as he did it if all this was really necessary. He discovered, when he finally sank below the surface of a hot bath, that he really was looking forward to being invaded.

17

B
rock woke the next day with somewhat less confidence, and grew more apprehensive as the time of his guests’ arrival drew closer. It wasn’t a bad morning, with a bit of sun breaking through the clouds, but still, day showed Warren Lane in a colder and more realistic light than night, and there was no avoiding the fact that this was not Disneyland.

The party arrived on the dot of nine, as promised. It was one of the things he liked about Suzanne, her determination to stave off slack timekeeping and other symptoms of chaos. And as he helped them in, each carrying a piece of luggage, he recognised immediately that this was exactly what the children needed and responded to. They were a team, each secure in playing their part.

And he realised too that he needn’t have worried about the place not being interesting enough for them, as they followed him, wide-eyed and observant, exchanging whispered comments, up through the house, from the winding stairs and landings lined with books to the living room with its hissing gas fire and bay window projecting out over the lane and the long bench with computers, out to the kitchen with its eccentric collection of gadgets and air heavy with the smell of coffee, then upwards again to their room under the roof. He and Suzanne left them there, marvelling at the height of the beds off the floor, which grandly raised them up and gave them views out of the dormer window, over the little courtyard at the back of the house and beyond the rooftops towards the very distant prospect of Dulwich Park.

They had had an adventurous journey, Suzanne explained over the cup of coffee which Brock had ready for her. Leaving well before dawn, they had, against her better judgement, breakfasted on the road on generous helpings of sausage and eggs. Ten minutes later they had watched the sun rise in a golden blaze through the eastern mist while Miranda brought up her breakfast on the grassy verge. She had done it uncomplainingly, and Suzanne hadn’t had the heart to remind the little figure, grey and heaving, that she had warned her that precisely this would happen if she had a greasy meal while travelling in the car. After that they did the journey in hops, stopping regularly to avoid further incident.

As she explained all this, Brock was further reassured. With her competence and the kids’ resilience, everything would be fine.

‘I feel like a truant,’ Suzanne said. ‘The shop’s so busy, and I’ve just walked out and left them to it, and it feels great.’

‘Me too.’ He smiled.

‘Your case? You’re sure we’re not in the way? The children have been following all the gruesome details on TV. I’m afraid you’re going to get a request for a guided tour of the murder sites.’

Brock laughed. ‘They’ll probably enjoy Silvermeadow. There’s a volcano, you know. Erupts on the hour.’

‘Yes, I’d heard.’

‘We both need a break,’ Brock said. ‘You’re looking tired.’

‘Is that a polite way of saying haggard?’

‘Never.’

He went to her and gave her a kiss, interrupted immediately by the sound of children’s footsteps on the stairs. They assembled side by side in the doorway and the boy asked solemnly, ‘We wondered if we could visit your courtyard, Uncle David.’

‘Of course,’ Brock said, and led the way.

There wasn’t much to see: several large terracotta pots supporting the scruffy remnants of unidentifiable plants, and a wooden bench placed in the corner most likely to catch a little sun. Next to this bench stood the most impressive object in the yard, to which the children were drawn.

‘What do you think that is?’ Brock asked.

‘A bush,’ Miranda said immediately.

‘No,’ Brock said. ‘It’s a tree.’

‘A baby tree?’ she said.

‘A grown-up one. It’s about the same age as me.’

She frowned dubiously, peering more closely at the twisted roots writhing out of the moss in the shallow blue-glazed bowl, the gnarled branches, the layered foliage of pine needles.

‘Well, it looks old, but it can’t be, cos it’s only little,’ she said.

‘About ninety centimetres tall,’ Stewart suggested.

‘It’s like it’s been shrunk,’ Miranda said.

‘Like looking through the wrong end of a telescope,’ her brother offered. ‘Is it a dwarf?’

‘That’s right,’ Brock said. ‘Would you like to know how I did it?’

‘
You
did it?’ Miranda said, eyes huge. ‘You made a dwarf?’

He took them into the kitchen, where he hunted through the drawers until he found his roll of bonsai tools, the Japanese branch cutters and root shears and scissors and potting stick and binding wire, and told them how he was able to shrink everything about the tree to scale, except for the needles and cones, which tried to grow to normal size.

‘Isn’t that cruel?’ Miranda asked grimacing. ‘Cutting their roots? Isn’t that like cutting their toes off?’

‘It doesn’t hurt,’ said Stewart dismissively. ‘Trees can’t feel things. They don’t have nervous systems.’

‘How do you know it doesn’t hurt?’ she protested. ‘Just because it can’t scream!’

Brock saw the tear begin to swell into her eye and said gently, ‘That worried me at first, Miranda. But there is a way you can tell that the tree doesn’t mind.’

‘How?’ She sniffed.

‘Because it grows perfectly. It’s as healthy as an ordinary tree, and will live just as long, if it’s looked after. Unhappy trees don’t do that.’

‘Don’t they?’ She looked as if she wanted to believe him, but wasn’t quite convinced.

Kathy phoned the Adelphi again first thing and made her abject apologies to Leon. She wasn’t sure if he really believed her when she said she’d totally forgotten about the train until it was too late, because he said little.

‘I could get a train up there this morning,’ she suggested.

‘Yes.’ He didn’t sound enthusiastic.

‘Well, do you want me to?’

‘What’ll you do if you don’t come up?’

‘Oh, work. I’ve got some things to follow up.’

‘I think you’d better do that, Kathy. You’ve obviously got a lot on your mind.’

They hung on in silence for a moment, then she said, ‘I’ll meet you at Euston tomorrow evening, then. What time does the train get in?’

He told her and they rang off. For a moment Kathy was inclined to get on a train anyway and surprise him, but then she got cold feet and decided against it.

She drove to the Herbert Morrison estate, parking on the high street and walking to Crocus Court. Naomi’s grandmother answered the door and invited her in, though Naomi, whom she wanted, wasn’t at home.

‘She’s working at Silvermeadow this morning, Sergeant. Is there anything we can do?’

There seemed little point, but Kathy showed them the photographs of North and the others anyway. They recognised none of them.

‘Never mind,’ Kathy said. ‘I suppose Lisa is at work too, is she?’

‘Oh no. Lisa gave up her job at the mall. She won’t go back there now.’

‘Not as tough as our Naomi,’ Mr Tait put in with satisfaction.

‘Naomi isn’t insensitive,’ his wife said quickly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think that. But she’s more mature than Lisa, better able to face up to reality. Well, she’s had to be, poor little soul. Whereas Lisa is a very sensitive girl. She’s really taken things to heart. Her mum’s quite concerned about her, I think.’

‘Well, I might call round there and check on her,’ Kathy said. ‘Thanks for your help.’

She set off again along the deck, stepping aside for two women with toddlers in pushchairs returning from the shops, and felt suddenly despondent. She’d told Leon that she had a life. What a joke. Everyone else was getting on with theirs, while she wandered round this bleak and sodden housing estate like a stubborn saleswoman peddling something that nobody wanted and in which she herself no longer believed. Yes, that was true, she thought, accusing herself coldly. She wasn’t doing this because she really believed that Kerri’s death was connected to North’s crime; she was doing it because she wanted to make a point to Bren and Leon.

Lisa seemed even more timorous and nervous than the last time. Her mother didn’t introduce Kathy to the man who shuffled away to a bedroom as she came in, clearly not interested in taking part in her conversation with the girl.

‘Sorry to bother you again, Lisa,’ Kathy said, noting the redness round the eyes against the pale complexion. ‘How’ve you been?’

The girl whispered, ‘Okay.’

‘Good. Look, I just wanted to show you a few pictures. See if you can remember seeing any of these people.’ She opened the envelope and took out the photographs once again. Definitely the last time, she told herself.

‘Why?’ Lisa said doubtfully, seeing the men’s faces. ‘Who are they?’

‘They’re just people we want to contact. You may have come across them. Take your time.’

Lisa went through the sheaf slowly, listlessly. ‘No,’ she said when she reached the last one. ‘I don’t know any of these men.’

‘Oh well, can’t be helped.’ Kathy shrugged and began to gather them up again.

‘I know her though,’ Lisa said tentatively, pointing to one of the enlargements from the security cameras in the mall. It showed North as he had been caught on film ten days before, holding the hand of a child.

‘You know the little girl?’

‘Yeah, she lives here, on the estate.’

‘Are you sure?’ Kathy said doubtfully. ‘The picture isn’t all that clear.’

‘Well it looks like her. Kerri . . .’ She hesitated, biting her lip. ‘Kerri used to baby-sit her.’

‘Kerri knew her? Have you any idea what her name is?’

‘Mandy, I think. Yes, Mandy. I don’t know her other name.’

‘Where did you see her?’

‘I went with Kerri one evening. We stayed there with Mandy till her mum came back from the movies.’

‘Did you meet the girl’s mother? What was she like?’

‘I don’t remember really. Like you, I think. Yes, fair hair, like Mandy.’

‘About my age?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Was that the only time you saw the girl?’

‘I’ve seen her around, with her mum. I do remember what she looked like.’

Kathy looked hard at her, becoming more convinced, aware of her heart thumping. ‘That’s good, Lisa. Very good. Did you ever see her with a man?’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘And you say she lives on the estate?’

Lisa nodded. She was sounding reluctant now, and Kathy realised that she was leaning forward in her eagerness to hear the answers, making the girl anxious. She forced herself to sit back and appear relaxed.

‘Well, that’s interesting. Don’t suppose you remember where exactly?’

‘In one of the other courts. Tulip, I think.’

‘You still eating chocolate bars?’

The girl nodded.

‘How about if we went down to the corner shop and I bought you some as a reward for helping me?’

The girl glanced towards the kitchen where her mother was doing something, the radio on. ‘Okay.’

‘And on the way you could show me where Mandy lives, eh?’

From her car, Kathy called Brock’s home number. When he answered he sounded out of breath.

‘Kathy? What’s up?’ She could hear children’s laughter in the background.

‘Sorry to intrude, Brock.’

‘We’re just on our way out. What is it?’

‘I think . . . It’s possible that I’ve found the little girl North took with him to Silvermeadow two weeks ago.’

‘What!’

‘I showed Lisa some pictures. She identified the girl as someone that Kerri used to baby-sit. Someone who lives on the Herbert Morrison estate.’

‘
What
!’ This time Brock’s voice was a bellow. ‘Kathy . . .’ He recovered himself. ‘You’re making a habit of this, aren’t you? Dropping bombshells.’

‘I hope this one’s more productive. I wouldn’t have bothered you until I’d checked this out, but then I thought, if there’s any chance that North is with them—’

‘Yes! Quite right. Where are you now?’

‘On the high street, parked outside the estate.’

‘I’ll meet you at the incident room in Hornchurch Street as soon as I can get there.’

As she made her way there Kathy reflected that if North was in Tulip Court then they had been coming and going within yards of him all this time. And, whether he had murdered her himself or not, he must surely be the reason that Kerri Vlasich had died.

It took several hours to secure Tulip Court without the residents realising what was happening. During this time the tenant of the flat was identified from council housing department records as Sophie Bryant, a single woman living with one child, a five-year-old girl. Once Brock was satisfied that the area was secure, a policeman in a postman’s uniform went up to the flat with a registered parcel marked for a Mr Brown at that address, and rang the bell. After getting no reply he rang the adjoining flats, and learned that nothing had been seen of the Bryants for several days. Their visitor, a middle-aged man known as Keith, hadn’t been noticed for a week.

Later that evening Brock, Kathy and two detectives entered the flat using keys supplied by the housing department on production of a search warrant. It was clear that Mrs Bryant and her daughter had taken most of their clothes and personal belongings with them. The whole apartment had been carefully wiped clean of fingerprints.

When he got home to Warren Lane that night, Brock found that Suzanne had a cooked dinner ready for him. The smell of it, beef bourguignon, percolated deliciously through the house and lifted his spirits as soon as he stepped through the front door. He opened a bottle of burgundy and they ate a companionable meal, telling each other about their day. The pantomime had been a great success, and further expeditions had been planned for the following day.