The English Boys (11 page)

Sixteen

Le Petit Café was
nearly a mile's walk from Scotland Yard, but when it wasn't raining and he wanted to stretch his legs, Gordon Murray often headed for its familiar green awning to buy lunch. It was nearly one o'clock and he had ordered a meal for Ennis, too, who'd spent the morning punching at the keys of his computer. When he returned, he placed one of the bags on the sergeant's desk and headed for his office.

“Thank you, sir!” Ennis called behind him, suspending whatever he had been typing to inspect the bag's contents.

Murray closed the door behind him, leaving the lights off. There was just enough light coming through the blinds. Fluorescents gave him headaches and inhibited inspired thinking. In less than an hour, Sir John and Antonia Hodges would be coming to his office to discuss the murder of Tamsyn Burke. He'd prepared his questions and put them in the drawer. For now, he spread a small cloth across his desk and arranged the food items upon it: a thick ham sandwich, a cup of mushroom risotto, and a fat, crusty baguette. He looked up when he heard a knock at the door.

“Yes?”

“Tea,” Ennis replied, placing a hot mug on his desk.

They were so simpatico that Murray hoped they would work together until he retired, even if it meant Ennis wouldn't be promoted. He thanked him for the tea and tasted it. Just the right amount of sugar, he thought. Ennis had closed the door behind him by the time he turned his head. With skills like that, it was inevitable that the sergeant would eventually be kicked upstairs.

Murray's father had been a Detective Chief Inspector, too, of whom he was enormously proud. In his desk at home, he kept clippings of his father's greatest cases, his favorite of which occurred in 1956 when he had located and arrested a Nazi who had been hunted since the end of the war for his crimes at Auschwitz and Birkenau. From the moment Murray learned of it, from a retired colleague of his father's rather than from his father's own lips, he knew he wanted to join the Metropolitan Police. The case had taken six years from the first tip to the actual arrest, a notion that comforted him now when cases weren't quickly solved. It was the persistence, the resolve that one must finish no matter how long it took, that Murray admired most. Of course, everyone preferred the tidy cases: murder weapon recovered, incriminating evidence at the scene, swift retribution to the guilty party; but he also loved the puzzles. The Burke murder case was certainly that: twenty-seven suspects, none of whom were obviously the murderer. In this case, the motive ran deep.

There was another knock at the door.

“I've dug up something for you,” Ennis said, poking his head into Murray's office.

“I've been making calls about the Hodges, and thought you might like to see this.”

Murray took the proffered sheet of paper and read it. “Do you have any confirmation?”

“Not from a bank,
per se
. My source was a director who'd quit this last film before it started. He was eager to talk, I can tell you.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. That is most helpful.”

After Ennis left, he ate and read through the note again before putting it in his desk with his list of questions for the Hodges. He wouldn't have to look them over again; once he had written things down, he would remember.

The Hodges were a glamorous pair, like many of the suspects in this case. Sir John was sixty-four, an outspoken man known for his lavish excesses. His wife, Antonia, was a decade younger than he. She was his third wife, and the only one with whom he had no children. In all, he had fathered seven offspring: three by his first wife, and four by his second. He was known for his charming hospitality and was a favorite among those who had worked for him, for if one were in his good graces, he could be quite accommodating. Hodges was obviously a man who enjoyed the company of the much younger stars in his orbit. It was a noisy, social world he inhabited, very different from the solitary life that Murray knew so well.

The Hodges arrived on time, at two o'clock. Lunch had been eaten and cleared away, and the offending fluorescent light switched on. Murray opened the door and waved them inside.

“Come in and have a seat,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”

“Anything we can do to assist in this nasty business,” Sir John replied.

Murray waited a moment while the Hodges settled themselves in the chairs opposite his desk. He had considered taking them into one of the boardrooms, but he preferred the intimacy of his office, with its maps of London on the wall and the window overlooking Dacre Street. He sat down behind his desk and took out his pad of paper.

“So. We're here to talk about Tamsyn Burke, as you know. Could you tell me how you met her?”

Sir John was a huge man both in personality and size, a man who could intimidate if he so chose. His wife, on the other hand, while polite, was cool. She balanced a large handbag on her lap and looked at him with apprehension.

“We were casting a part in
Under the Greenwood Tree
a few months ago,” Hodges answered, clasping his hands around his ample stomach. “I had picked out a girl I thought could do the part, but I wasn't in love with her, if you know what I mean. Then Ashley-Hunt asked me to take a look at one of the girls we'd hired for some of the village scenes. Actually, I'd deferred that hiring job, so I hadn't seen her before. She was quite lively, and I decided to give her a try at the part if it meant that much to Hugh. After I saw her on the rushes, I was glad I'd listened to him. She made the camera fall in love with her.”

“Did you get to know her personally?”

There was an awkward pause, and Murray looked up from his notes. Hodges was a heavy man with a flushed complexion, but it wasn't his imagination that the man looked even more uncomfortable than usual. He wondered if he had stumbled onto something significant. Perhaps Hodges was the kind of man who seduced his leading ladies, young women who were trying to make a name for themselves and advance their career.

Hodges cleared his throat. “I didn't know her terribly well, no. There were a few parties, but I didn't spend much time with her. Did you, Toni?” He turned to his wife, whose arched brow said more than enough. They were hiding something, whether it had to do with Tamsyn Burke or not.

“No, I didn't. She only had eyes for Hugh. They had gotten serious about that time.”

“How well do you know Ashley-Hunt? Are you friends with his father?” Murray asked.

“Well, I've run across Noel at events, of course, but I've never worked with him or had a meaningful conversation with him,” Hodges said, glad to be on more comfortable ground. “I didn't know Hugh before I began working with him on this film, either. I happened to see him in something Antonia made me watch—”

“
A Midsummer Night's Dream
,” she interrupted.

“Yes, well, that then. I saw him and liked his looks immensely. He's quite tall and has that long, hangdog look about him that is so appealing to women. A few weeks later, I saw a photo of him and Richardson in some rag—”

“
Hello
magazine,” Antonia supplied.

“Whatever,” Sir John said, waving his hand. “The important thing is that when I saw that picture of the two of them at an equestrian event, looking ever so dashing, I knew right then their friendship needed to be transposed to the big screen. They have a chemistry that most producers would die for.”

“It's Richardson,” Antonia said. “He positively smolders.”

“Let's get back on track, shall we?” Murray asked. “Now, you met them how long before you began working together?”

“Was it July?” Hodges asked, turning to his wife. “I called and invited Hugh and Daniel to the house in France. They were quite good company, I can tell you. The house simply sings when it's full of young people, doesn't it, dear?”

She nodded.

“Is the film finished?” Murray asked.

“Everything but post-production.”

“When did the filming end?”

“Well, we began in late summer, and it went on for eight weeks.”

“To your knowledge, did anyone show any sign of disliking Miss Burke throughout the production of the film?”

“Little tiffs flare up in almost every production,” Hodges answered. “Remember last year, Toni, when Finn Brody got drunk and took a swipe at Dominic Cooper? That turned into a major fracas.”

“Were there any during this production, particularly involving Richardson, Ashley-Hunt, or Tamsyn Burke?” Murray asked.

“None that I'm aware of. They were friendly with the crew, and it seemed a pretty amiable lot this time.”

“Did you ever notice anything unusual about Miss Burke?”

Hodges threw his head back and chortled. “She was an odd one, no mistake. Strange fashion sense. I wondered if she was color blind. But she kept the hours, didn't complain a single time, and didn't cost a bomb. I consider that a roaring success.”

“Cost a bomb?” Murray repeated. “Unlike Richardson and Ashley-Hunt, I assume?”

The conversation ceased and the Hodges exchanged a look.

“Of course, if you get actors of the caliber of Richardson and Ashley-Hunt,” Hodges said, “it will definitely cost you. But the film wouldn't be as big without them, especially with an unknown heroine. That's always a gamble. Sometimes it pays off. We needed them both.”

Murray drummed his fingers on the table. “But you've had difficulty financing this film.”

“Where did you hear something like that?”

“Please answer the question.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“That entirely depends. This film of yours could be a success. You've cast two well-known actors in the lead roles. It could be an even greater success after the murder of Miss Burke.”

Hodges's round face began to turn red. If anything, his wife went paler. “That's preposterous,” he protested. “You aren't suggesting I killed this girl for the publicity?”

“I have twenty-seven people present at the time of the murder,” Murray replied. “One of them had a motive strong enough to stab her in the heart. People have killed for far less than earning millions from the morbid curiosity of the film-going public.”

“You're wrong,” Antonia Hodges snapped. “Oh, not that there weren't financing problems, but that we could have had anything to do with her murder.”

Murray frowned, remembering the girl's body crumpled in a grotesque heap of wedding dress stained in blood. “Through which entrance to the Abbey did you arrive?”

“The north door,” Sir John replied. “Just like everyone else.”

“Were the two of you alone when you entered the building?”

“No,” Antonia said. “There was a young woman in the doorway, and some of Tamsyn's family arrived at the same time.”

“Were you acquainted with any of the other guests at the wedding?”

“No,” Sir John answered firmly. “None apart from Richardson and Ashley-Hunt.”

Murray tapped a pen on his desk. “What was the relationship between Tamsyn Burke and Daniel Richardson?”

“They were thick as thieves, all three of them. It was hard to tell who was dating whom. They'd probably known each other all their lives.”

“Not quite,” Murray said, studying them both. “In fact, Ashley-Hunt and Richardson met Tamsyn Burke after they met you.”

“Really?” Hodges asked, looking surprised. “I had no idea.”

Murray stood and walked over to look out of the window. “When did you arrive at the Abbey?”

“Almost a half hour early. Toni wanted to get a good seat. As you can see, a man of my size needs considerable room.”

“So, you were there before most of the other guests?”

“Yes. We spent the time looking at some of the tombs while we waited.”

“Which was your favorite?” Murray asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hodges paused. “I don't suppose I have one. Let's say John Milton, for argument's sake.”

Murray let it pass. “Did you see anything unusual at all while you were there? Anyone acting out of character?”

“No, but we were occupied. A friend of Hugh's, Marc Hayley, introduced himself and a terrible American girl who kept pushing us to put her in a film. She assumed because we gave Tamsyn a part we must be giving roles away.”

“And of course, that's not the case.”

“I resent your tone.” Sir John heaved himself out of the chair. “We've cooperated, sir. I can't think of anything more to say at this time.”

Murray stood and the two men glared at one another for a moment. “Make certain the sergeant outside the door has the information about where you are staying,” Murray said.

Sir John gave a curt nod and then squeezed his wife on the shoulder. They walked out, leaving the door open behind them.

Murray followed them to the door, watching them leave. Money was a powerful motive, but whoever had stabbed that poor girl in the heart had been driven by something far more compelling. He was certain of it. His job was to find what that could possibly be.

Seventeen

Carey jumped when her
mobile rang in her jeans pocket. She was sitting on the lumpy mattress in her flat, jotting notes on a piece of paper she had torn from a notebook. Across from her, Nick looked up from her laptop, where he had been typing.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Daniel Richardson,” she answered. She put the mobile up to her ear. “Yes?”

“I'm three streets away from your flat,” Daniel said. “May I come up?”

“Hold on.” She put it up against her chest and looked at Nick, who was engrossed in what he was writing. “He wants to come up. Do you mind?”

“No,” Nick answered, although the look on his face told her he did. She ignored it.

“All right,” she said to Daniel. “It's in St. Matthew Street.”

“I know where it is.”

“I'm on the first floor.” She ended the call and put the mobile back in her pocket.

Nick had stopped typing on the computer. “He's that actor, isn't he? What does he want?”

“I didn't tell you before, because I thought you might not approve,” she said. “I asked for his help.”

“Doing what?”

“We're looking at the suspects in the case.”

“Don't be stupid, Carey!” he protested. “That's a job for the police.”

“Well, they haven't come up with anything, have they?”

“How do you know? They're not going to tell you. And this sort of thing takes time and resources.”

“I can't sit around waiting for something to happen.”

“What can an actor do anyway?” Nick asked. “He's not an investigator. Oh, wait. I suppose he played one in a film.”

She ignored the remark. “We're just talking to people, that's all. Sometimes you can get a feeling about someone.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

Carey looked about the small, two-room flat. The kitchen had a small refrigerator, a stove, and barely enough cupboard space for a few pots and pans and tins of soup. In the main room, her bed was shoved against one wall, next to a small table and a sofa that had seen better days, if not decades. It wasn't a place to entertain friends. It was one thing having Nick there, who had practically grown up in her house, but Daniel Richardson was another matter. She didn't even study there with her friends. They usually met at the library or a café, and on the rare occasion at Gillian's posh Chelsea digs, where no one dared sit back on the furniture.

Within minutes, Daniel knocked at the door. Carey got up to answer it, ignoring the withering look Nick gave her.

“Come in,” she said, stepping back so he could enter. “Daniel, this is Nick Oliver. He's a friend. He lives next door to my parents.”

Nick nodded. Carey knew he was hoping he wouldn't have to shake hands and betray his tic to a complete stranger, a famous one at that.

“I assume you're here to talk about what to do next.” She saw Daniel raise a brow at Nick and she tried to smile. “Don't worry. He's reliable.”

“There's someone I'm concerned about,” Daniel said, still eyeing Nick.

“Who?”

“That tough-looking bloke who was at the wedding. You remember. Spiked hair and a leather jacket, sitting by himself. Is he a friend of the family?”

“Ciaran Monaghan,” Carey answered. “We knew him in school. He went out with Tamsyn when they were young.”

“What do you know about him?” Daniel asked, picking up a book that was lying in a stack on the floor and examining the cover:
Immunological and Autoimmune Disorders in Developing Nations
. He put it back quickly.

“He works in London now, somewhere not far from here, I think. I run into him sometimes.”

“Can we get his address?” Daniel asked.

“I can probably get it,” Nick replied, shrugging. “My mother teaches with his aunt. Not that I think we should get involved.”

“I'm surprised Tamsyn didn't tell me he was coming to the wedding,” Carey said. “And I do think you should find it, Nick, if you don't mind.”

“I have to talk to my mum anyway, I suppose,” he replied. He stood and went into the corridor to make the call.

“What ended the relationship between Tamsyn and Monaghan?” Daniel asked when Nick was gone.

“I don't know. She never told me.”

“And who is that, anyway?” Daniel asked, cocking his head in Nick's direction.

“A family friend from Wales. I told you.”

“He wasn't at the wedding.”

Carey hesitated. She didn't want to tell him about Nick's problems. It was too complicated to explain with Nick standing ten feet away. “He couldn't come, that's all.”

“Was he close to Tamsyn?”

“They didn't like each other,” Carey admitted. “They never have.”

“How do you know he wasn't already in London?” Daniel persisted. “He could have slipped into the Abbey without anyone noticing and killed her.”

“I doubt that, because I picked him up at Paddington Station on Monday.”

“He's got a guilty look about him.”

“You're acting like he's a suspect.”

“Right now, everyone's a suspect.”

A minute later, Nick came back and sat down on the sofa. “My mum will try to get the address and email it to me. If she can figure out how to do that.”

“Tell me about Monaghan,” Daniel said, leaning against the wall near the window.

“He's a wanker,” Nick answered.

Daniel folded his arms. “Would Tamsyn have asked him to the wedding, or do you suppose he crashed?”

“I don't know,” Carey said. “I never saw the invitation list. But why would he do that? Do you think he was still in love with her?”

“Maybe he was blackmailing her, to get to Hugh's money,” Daniel said. “Or he could have decided to talk her out of it. His last chance, as it were.”

“I can't imagine that Tamsyn invited him,” Carey said after a moment. “She wasn't the sort to look back.”

“I wish we could look through her emails,” Daniel said.

Carey froze. “Nick, you're computer savvy. You could probably hack into anything.”

“No, I can't,” he said. “You're overstating my abilities. I've taken a couple of courses. I know about as much about it as you do.”

“If someone was threatening her, there could well be some kind of electronic trail,” Carey continued. “There might even have been threats made against her. Why didn't we think of this before?”

She pulled her laptop off a shelf and turned it on, then glanced up at Nick. “Would you mind making tea? I have the feeling we'll need it.”

“You don't happen to know her password, do you?” Daniel asked, sitting down beside her.

“I might, actually,” Carey said. “She mentioned once that I would know it from a clue.”

“What was the clue?”

“She said it had to do with her favorite book as a teenager.”

“What was that?”

“
The Scarlet Letter.
I assumed she meant the author's name was her password.”

“Who wrote it? Melville? I'm afraid I'm not up to date on nineteenth century American authors.”

“No, Melville wrote
Moby Dick
. Hawthorne wrote
The Scarlet Letter
.”

She went to the web mail site and typed Tamsyn's email address in the appropriate box. Then she tried a password.

Hawthorne
Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

Nathaniel
Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

scarletletter
Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

thescarletletter
Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

“This is impossible,” she said.

Nick grunted from the kitchen. “There are endless variables.”

“Keep trying,” Daniel answered.

nathanielhawthorne
Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

“What were the names of the main characters?” Carey asked.

“No idea, but you could look it up online.”

“Of course.” She opened a new screen and typed
The Scarlet Letter
in the search box. Within three seconds, there were thousands of websites offering information. She clicked on a book site and scanned the page. “Here we are.”

hesterprynne
Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

dimmesdale
Invalid ID or Password. Try again.

“I think that's too complicated,” she concluded. “Let me try something else.”

ScarletA
Welcome to your inbox. You have four new messages.

“Perhaps I should look at these alone,” Carey murmured, glancing at them.

“I cared about her too,” Daniel argued. “I want to know what happened.”

She paused for a moment and then nodded. Of the four new messages, two were from the bridal shop where Tamsyn had purchased her dress, one was from their mother, and one from Ciaran Monaghan.

“I can't believe it,” she said. “I thought he was completely off the radar.”

Ignoring the others, she clicked on Monaghan's email.

April 1
From: Ciaran Monaghan
To: Tamsyn Burke
Re: Wedding

Yes, I can be there. But I'm not sure I understand. Want to enlighten me?

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“Look in her Sent Messages box,” Daniel suggested.

Carey pressed a few keys and found the original email from Tamsyn. It did nothing to elucidate matters.

April 1
From: Tamsyn Burke
To: Ciaran Monaghan
Subject: Wedding

Thanks for talking to me this afternoon. Have you made a decision yet?

“She must have answered his last email in person. Are there any other messages between them?” Daniel asked.

Carey scrolled back through the email listings. “Nothing to or from Monaghan. Absolutely nothing.”

“What about that email Tamsyn got from your mother?”

“Would you mind if I read that one alone?”

“Of course,” he answered. He stood and went to the window, giving her space.

Carey turned away, taking her laptop to the opposite corner of the sofa for complete privacy. After a few minutes, she began tapping away.

“What are you doing?” Daniel asked.

“I'm deleting some of the messages.”

“What for?”

“Because now you know the password, and there are some things in here that are strictly private.”

“Were there messages from anyone else on our list?”

“Yes, and I'll show those to you. There are two from Lucy Potter, and one each from the bridesmaids we know from Wales. I'm afraid they don't explain much.”

April 3
From: Lucy Potter
To: Tamsyn Burke
Re: News

I can't believe you asked. The answer, of course, is yes. And I would like to bring Dylan, if you don't mind.

April 1
From: Lucy Potter
To: Tamsyn Burke
Re: News

So surprised to hear from you. I didn't know they had computers where you come from. Oh, is that bitter? Didn't mean to be. It's just been a long time, hasn't it? I've seen you in the magazines, of course. Who would have thought one of us would have made it to the top? So, what's the question you wanted to ask me?

April 15
From: Natalie Swindon
To: Tamsyn Burke
Re: A surprise

Tamsyn! How are you? I couldn't believe it when I saw your email! We've been absolutely thrilled for you, all the news we've heard in the past year or two. Things are busy here. The shop's doing great. Did you know Marianne works here at the shop with us? We're having a grand time. Oh, I saw Jasper Cornwall a couple of months ago. You remember him, I'm sure …
best looking boy in school. Married now, though, drat the luck, to some English girl. They were in town to see his parents, with their two-year-old son in tow. I have to admit, I was glad it wasn't me that was tied down with a kid already, no matter how attractive Jasper is. I miss you! I miss you! I miss you! Next time you're here, we'll go out for drinks and have a splendid time. I can't wait to see you. Love, Natalie

“Jasper Cornwall,” scoffed Nick. “What a tosser.”

Carey ignored him and kept on reading.

April 17
From: Marianne Gaines
To: Tamsyn Burke
Re: Bridesmaid

I'm sorry it took a while to answer your email. It was such a surprise to hear from you. I think it's very nice of you to ask Natalie and me to be in your wedding, if you're sure you haven't got smarter friends in London who would want to
do it. I've never been to London, but Natalie says it will be fun. Of course, Natalie makes everything fun, doesn't she? Thanks again for thinking of your old friends.—Marianne

“Nothing else?” Daniel asked.

“Nothing.”

“What about her mobile?” Daniel asked.

Carey looked at him. “I have it. I can check the history.”

“It's worth a look, but don't get your hopes up. We know she most likely spoke to everyone on our list. You should check it for messages, though.”

Carey closed the computer and glanced at Nick, who was staring at her. The kettle suddenly shrieked at its boiling point just as he got a text.

“I have it,” Nick said, looking at his mobile. “Monaghan's address.”

“What do we do?” Carey asked.

“We go there,” Daniel said. “Then we'll see.”

“I'm coming with you,” Nick said, pocketing his phone.