The Last Girl (55 page)

‘It’s a fucking awful idea.’ Derwent glanced at Caitriona. ‘Sorry about the language, darling.’

‘I’ve heard worse.’

‘It’s not a bad idea,’ Kennford insisted. ‘I might be able to help get you your confession. She won’t be expecting me to turn up.’ He looked imploringly at Godley. ‘Please. I’ve let her down so many times. The least I can do is be there for her. Show her I haven’t forgotten about her, that I do care.’

‘And make sure Lydia’s all right.’ Derwent’s tone was Sahara-dry.

‘Of course. That’s a priority.’

Derwent leaned in, getting in Kennford’s face. ‘You put Savannah first, Mr Kennford. You chose the murderer over the innocent girl, even though you knew Lydia was in danger. You played a game with your daughter’s life, and you’re bloody lucky you didn’t lose. Now, I don’t know how you’re planning to get to Sussex, but you’re not coming in my car. If I have to spend another minute in your company, I’ll puke.’

‘My car’s parked outside.’

Godley looked pained. ‘I can’t stop you from coming, in that case, but you will need to travel with us. I don’t want you to get there first. You could cause us some serious problems.’

‘I think I know better than to get in the way of a police operation,’ Kennford said stiffly. ‘I’ll do as I’m told.’

‘First time for everything, I suppose.’ Derwent walked out before Kennford could reply, leaving an awkward silence and the lingering smell of ill-judged aftershave. He had a diva’s instinct for making a big exit.

Without wasting any more time, I rang the farmhouse and got Zoe, who told me Savannah was still in bed. Lydia was having a late breakfast but she was delighted to come to the phone, and still more delighted at the prospect of going shopping with Zoe.

‘She’s taking me out to get some new clothes. I didn’t really pack enough when I was leaving the house.’

‘That’s understandable. You were under pressure. But going shopping sounds like a good idea. It’s good to get out of the house now and then.’

‘I’ll tell Zoe you said that. It’s exactly what she said to me.’

‘Sensible woman.’

‘I’ll tell her you said that too.’

‘Your dad wants to come and see you, by the way. He’s been asking about how you are.’

‘Really?’

‘He was pretty concerned about you.’

‘Tell him I’m fine. But I’d love to see him. Show him the farm. He’d love the dog, too.’

She sounded like a normal teenager I thought with a pang as I hung up. For the first time, she seemed at ease with herself. And we were going to blow her world apart again, because we had to, because we didn’t have any other choice.

It didn’t make it any easier.

We took the lead on the drive to the farmhouse, me and Derwent and Liv in one car with Godley and Ben Dornton in the Mercedes, and Kennford behind them. It was better to go in mob-handed, to have some extra muscle in the shape of Dornton and another female officer in case Savannah needed to be searched or monitored and I couldn’t do it for some reason. The gate was open when we got close to the house.

‘What do you want to do?’ I asked Derwent. ‘Drive in?’

‘Yeah. We can park in the yard.’ It was the longest sentence he had spoken since we left London.

‘It’s good that the gate’s open. It looks as if Zoe and Lydia left it that way when they went out.’

‘Possibly.’

‘Do you think Savannah’s still in bed?’

‘The house looks shut up,’ Liv offered when Derwent still hadn’t responded after parking the car.

‘The curtains are closed up there.’ I shaded my eyes, peering up at the house. ‘That’s Savannah’s bedroom, I think.’

The second car pulled in behind ours, and then the third. The three men got out.

‘What’s the strategy?’ Godley asked Derwent, who shrugged.

‘Knock on the door. Take it from there.’

‘Are you okay, Josh?’

He didn’t answer straightaway, and when he did it was without looking around. ‘Just keeping quiet until I have something to say.’

‘I should go first.’ Kennford strode towards the front door.

‘I’m sorry. That’s not appropriate.’ Godley turned to me. ‘Is there a back door?’ I nodded. ‘Take Dornton. Go round that way. If you can gain access, do. We’ll meet you inside.’

‘Okay.’ I jogged around the house, taking the path we had used when Zoe showed us the grounds. Dornton was puffing behind me.

‘You’re mental. It’s too hot to run.’

I ignored him. I was on edge, too jittery to walk. It was oppressively hot, though – he was right about that – and when we came round the corner of the house, he whistled.

‘Look at that sky.’

It was dark grey and as heavy as lead. The sun was still shining and the hills were a blistering shade of green and mustard yellow. The grass in the orchard had withered away almost completely and my shoes were covered in dust.

‘Do you think it’ll rain?’ Dornton was staring at the clouds, fascinated.

‘Why are you talking about the weather when we’re here to arrest a murderer?’ I hissed.

‘Dunno.’

‘Can you try to concentrate for a few minutes?’

‘Yeah, all right. Keep your hair on.’ He looked affronted. ‘I was just saying, it looks like rain.’

‘Brilliant. If the whole policing thing doesn’t work out for you, why don’t you retrain as a meteorologist?’ We had made it as far as the back door, which was painted black and looked intimidatingly solid.

‘Because I failed my science GCSE.’ He gave a gusty sigh. ‘I’d have loved it.’

‘Is babbling nonsense your usual response to stress?’ I was straining to hear whether the others had made it into the house yet; I didn’t think they had. I put one hand on the door to test it, and was somehow unsurprised that it swung open.

‘Not even latched. Not very security conscious, are they?’

‘I’d have said they were. But we’re in the country now.’

‘Are we going in?’

I hesitated, trying to decide. On the one hand, we had been told to meet Godley in the house. On the other hand, there wasn’t a sound coming from inside, which suggested they weren’t having any luck with gaining access. Even as I stood there, a thunderous knocking made me jump.

‘They’re still trying to get her to come to the door.’

‘Let’s go in and see if we can move things along.’ I went first. ‘The front door is that way, through the kitchen. You could let the others in.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Upstairs.’ I pointed. ‘If she’s still asleep with that racket going on I’ll be very surprised. I think the house is empty, but I’m going up to make sure.’

‘Be careful.’

‘Send Derwent up when you let him in. He knows where to go.’

I was glad to be rid of Dornton, and also pretty confident that I wasn’t in any danger. There was no point in trying
to
be quiet on my way up the stairs because every step had its own individual creak or snap. It sounded like an old organ played by an arthritic incompetent and I rattled up as quickly as I could, my head up to make sure there was no one waiting for me at the top in the best tradition of horror films. The corridor was empty, the windows tightly closed this time. It was airless and incredibly hot; I could feel sweat trickling down my back. Nothing ever went according to plan. Of course, Savannah had got up and gone shopping with Lydia and Zoe. That was the obvious explanation. There was no reason to think anything was wrong just because the house was quiet, with the exception of the others tramping through the rooms downstairs, talking in low voices.

I did a standard search, routine, checking inside every room along the corridor. I hadn’t noticed that Savannah’s door was ajar, and as I stepped towards it, there was a creak from inside the room. My heart stopped.

And started again as a piteous face peered at me through the gap.

‘Come here, boy.’ I tried to remember the dog’s name. It was something bookish, I thought. I clicked my fingers. ‘Come here, Beckett.’

The dog panted, then licked his nose and I remembered that he was nervous around strangers. He gave a tiny whine.

‘If you won’t come out, can I come in?’

He backed away from the door as I approached, but his hackles were down, his tail wedged firmly between his legs. He didn’t look much like a threat, so I decided to risk it. The room was dim, the curtains still drawn. Beckett sank down in the corner with his head on his paws as I came through the door, looking guilty, but he had no reason to. He was certainly not responsible for what had happened in that room, I could tell from a single glance.

I didn’t know who had cut Savannah Wentworth’s throat, but I was fairly sure they were human, even if only in the most technical sense.

Chapter Twenty-four

‘I WANT TO
see her.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘I should remember her as she was, not as she is now, is that it? Spare me the touchy-feely crap. She’s my daughter; I want to see her.’

I blew my hair off my forehead, or tried to. It was so hot that it had stuck in several places. How completely typical that I had been left to try to cope with Philip Kennford, to soothe him and prevent him from crashing into the crime scene that the others were investigating even now. Women’s work, they called it when they thought no one was listening. Making tea and holding hands. There was more to being a family liaison officer than that – and there were plenty of male officers who counted it among their skills, too – but I’d never done the necessary course to qualify. There was no point in limiting myself to a nurturing role if I didn’t absolutely have to.

‘This is a murder investigation, Mr Kennford. The only people who should be upstairs are the investigating officers and the pathologist, when he gets here. Anyone else who is in the room runs the risk of contaminating the scene.’ Despite myself, I could feel irritation start to build. ‘And you know this better than I do.’

‘Because I’ve used it to get murderers off.’ He laughed harshly. ‘By God, someone’s teaching me a lesson about that now. I’ll be a campaigner for the death penalty in future. I’ll never do another murder trial, unless I’m prosecuting.’

‘Is that your take on why this has happened? To influence your career?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. It makes as much sense as anything else.’ He walked back and forth, pacing like an animal in too small a cage. I was standing at the foot of the stairs, my arms folded, with what I hoped was a stern expression on my face.

‘Look, there must be something you can do. Let me see her. I should identify her officially, shouldn’t I? I’m her closest relative.’

‘There will be a formal identification process, yes, but not here and not now.’ I looked at him, curious. ‘Why is this so important to you? It’s really not a pleasant sight.’

‘I don’t know. To say goodbye. To believe she’s gone, maybe.’ He shrugged his shoulders a couple of times, turning it into a twitch that I didn’t think he could completely control. ‘Oh, fuck. I’m sorry, but I just think it would be better if I saw her.’

‘You don’t want to do that, mate.’ Derwent came down the stairs behind me. ‘We’re not talking a little nick here.’

‘I want to know what happened. Was it the same way Laura died? The same type of wound?’

I didn’t have to think about it; I had already compared the two. Laura’s neck had been cut down to the bone, which was not the case with this one. Nevertheless, I hedged a little. ‘We’ll have to wait to hear from the pathologist, but it’s not as deep.’

‘Or as long.’ Derwent was standing behind me, and now he lifted my chin, drawing his finger across my throat. ‘Laura’s injury was from ear to ear, essentially. Savannah’s is more of a stab to the jugular.’ Two fingers rested on the vein, pressing a little bit more firmly than necessary, I thought. ‘The knife was moved from side to side to widen the hole but it’s less of a slash, more of a stab, if you see what I mean.’

‘God.’ Kennford had gone very white.

‘You asked for the details.’ He let go of me. ‘Want to go up and have a look, Kerrigan? You didn’t get much of a chance to see.’

I went, not because I wanted to gaze at Savannah’s dead body but because I wanted to get away from Philip Kennford, and from Derwent. My neck tingled where he had touched it, and not in a good way – more as if I had just had a close encounter with some poison ivy. Derwent was being typically provoking in sending me upstairs when the man in front of him was literally twitching with his desire to do the same, but Derwent would enjoy that. He would also enjoy keeping Kennford downstairs, I thought. And would do it far more effectively than me.

Savannah’s room seemed very crowded when I went back in, with Godley leaning over the bed staring down at her. Liv and Dornton were standing well back, gloved hands crossed in front of them.

‘Maeve. What are you doing here?’

‘Derwent sent me back up.’ I crossed to the foot of the bed, watching Godley’s torch play over the dead woman’s throat. Her eyes were closed and her teeth were caught on her lower lip; her last pictures would not be as beautiful as usual. In the light of the torch, I could see that Derwent had been telling the truth about her injury. The blood had flowed down both sides of her neck, pooling under her head and soaking the mattress. She had been sleeping naked and the sheet was tangled around her waist. There was something vulnerable about her unclothed torso, something uncomfortably skeletal about how thin she was when she was no longer animated and gracefully alive. ‘What do you think?’