Too Close For Comfort (36 page)

Lawrence Krall was standing in the tatty reception area, as if he couldn’t wait a second longer to see us. He lacked the twinkle he’d had at The Crumpet, his face solemn and closed.
He held open the heavy steel door that led into the bowels of the station, and took us up in the lift to the meeting room where this had all begun. Once we were sitting around the Formica table, he
turned serious eyes on us.

‘First of all, thank you both for taking the time to come and see me here,’ he said. He looked at Roger. ‘Mia should probably cover her ears, but I was frankly intimidated by
how perceptive she was about the various players when we last met. It certainly helped us excavate things.’

My skin prickled with unease. The last thing I wanted was to take centre stage.

‘And of course you found that CCTV footage,’ I said. ‘You were struggling with a lack of hard evidence.’

Lawrence gave a sage nod. ‘And – as you so wisely pointed out – the limits of supposition, rather than proof.’

‘I think we’re all agreed on Mia’s talent,’ said Roger, giving me the kind of patronising smile you might give your star pupil as they step up to receive the fifth form
science trophy. ‘Which is why we both felt it would be useful for us to have a debrief before you return to London. Make sure you’re not leaving with any information that doesn’t
seem important, but is actually more relevant than you know.’

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Krall.

At that moment, I realised – with crushing, hungover certainty – that I should have wasted less of our time together evading Roger’s questions, and more time perfecting the
duet we were duty bound to sing here. ‘I feel fairly confident I’ve got nothing that’s relevant to share . . .’

Roger smoothly interrupted. ‘As I mentioned, my specialism is around trauma, so I’ve been helping Mia work through what might just be garbled shock – particularly with her
friend . . .’

‘Ah yes, Lysette Allen,’ said Lawrence. There was something about the way he said it – the steely precision with which he enunciated the syllables – that made me almost
leap out of my chair and run from the room to warn her that she needed to watch her back.

I’d tuned Roger out but he was still giving forth. ‘And what could potentially be worthy of discussion.’

‘Well, let me get you up to speed with where we are,’ said Lawrence, ‘confidentially of course. And see where any information you have might slot into the current story
we’re telling. See if you approve.’

‘Fine,’ I said, trying to force the tiny word to sound cooperative and open.

Lawrence smiled, his eyes not leaving my face. ‘The CCTV was obviously a game changer. We now have proof that Sarah was with Peter Grieve, in the vicinity of the car park, within two hours
of her death. We’ve tracked down more footage of Peter, solo, in the immediate area within half an hour of her fall. We’ve also had some eye witnesses come forward, who remember them
sitting in a coffee shop close by that day, engrossed in each other’s company. And it seems it was a regular meeting point for them, safely out of the way of Little Copping’s prying
eyes.’

I had more than a little sympathy with that desire.

‘Is there more?’ I asked.

‘There is, yes,’ said Lawrence, his face serious. ‘I’m not sure you’re going to like it, though.’

‘Oh?’ I said. Roger was positively wriggling in his seat, poised for the next revelation.
A woman’s dead
, I wanted to yell at him,
her son’s heart is breaking. This isn’t juicy material for your next lecture.

‘We’ve uncovered what we think is a drug ring, connected to Sarah.’ He paused, let his words sink in. My heart thumped in my chest. Don’t say it. ‘And also your
friend Lysette Allen.’

‘Exactly as you suspected!’ said Roger, triumphant. Lawrence watched us closely: bingo, said his eyes. ‘Well done, Mia.’

‘Well no, not exactly,’ I snapped, turning deliberately towards Lawrence, forgetting in my frustration that, for better or worse, Roger was my boss. ‘Can you
elaborate?’

‘Sarah didn’t come from Little Copping, or anywhere remotely like it,’ said Lawrence. I remembered her parents, the desperation on their faces, the way they’d felt just a
little bit out of place, even when they were disguised in the dark uniform of funeral clothes. There was something about them that refused to blend with the tasteful oatmeal hues of the
Bryants’ well-appointed home. ‘She was from a run-down little town outside King’s Lynn. Not many opportunities. She hung around with a rough crowd, got a caution for being drunk
and disorderly when she was a teenager.’

‘Right,’ I said. Words of more than one syllable seemed to be beyond my reach.

‘Judging by phone records and email accounts we’ve managed to uncover, she kept in touch with some of those people more closely than her husband ever knew. I’d go so far as to
say she had a secret life.’

Why does the past pull on us so insistently, its cold fingers refusing to loosen their grip even when all they offer is the strangulation of our present? The truth seemed so self-evident in that
moment. I should have known – my work meant I should have known enough to keep its allure at bay.

‘And you think that’s what got her killed?’ said Roger.

‘No, not directly,’ said Lawrence. ‘But in going through those records, adding in bank statements and tallying up the timelines, we started to see a pattern emerging. Large
cash withdrawals, calls to a known drug dealer, petrol receipts from the garage on the outskirts of King’s Lynn. The kind of sums we’re talking about are not personal use. And
unfortunately there are cash withdrawals from Lysette’s accounts that tie in too closely to be coincidental. Apparently her behaviour – and her spending habits – had become
erratic months before Sarah’s death.’

Lawrence watched for my reaction. I couldn’t hear this. Couldn’t bear where it might go. Couldn’t bear my own egotistical conviction that I could have changed the course of it
if only I’d spent less of the last year listening to my clients, and more time listening to my best friend.

‘So how does this relate to Sarah’s death?’ I demanded, aware how shrill my voice sounded.

‘We think that Peter Grieve knew what was going on, was even complicit. We’ve found footage of his car number plate in the vicinity of the known drug dealer on one of the dates in
question. We’ve found a burner phone, with texts on it we can only assume were between him and Sarah.’

‘What kind of texts?’ I asked.

‘Loving is the best word I can use,’ said Lawrence.

‘So not sexual?’

He paused, looked askance.

‘No, not as such.’

Roger cut in. ‘So are you saying that your working hypothesis remains that Peter killed Sarah? An intense affair gone wrong, with other complications thrown in?’

‘Exactly,’ said Lawrence, sitting back. ‘And if Lysette – the person closest to Sarah – was involved in some petty drug dealing, she’d have every reason not
to reveal their affair.’

The words burst out of me. ‘But it’s all still a narrative! And if there was drug dealing – which is something I can’t ever imagine Lysette doing – well, whoever it
was would have had to be passing drugs on to someone.’ Those two pairs of heels clacking across the stone floor – Kimberley was part of this. She certainly hadn’t flinched when
I’d called her out on the coke outside. ‘What about their friends?’

I tried to push away the image of her and Sarah, cash over-flowing from their purses, bags bulging with treats. Dealing was too big a word, surely?

Lawrence had drawn back in his chair, his warmth all but drained away. There was something else going on here.

‘Do you have anything specific you want to share here, Mia?’ said Roger.

‘No.’ No one spoke. ‘I just don’t know why you’re assuming that – if any of this is true – Lysette was the only person involved.’ I was spooling
through all of it – every moment of these last, fraught weeks – summoning up my defence. ‘But also, Lysette’s my oldest friend. She’s not an angel, but she’s
also no way a drug dealer. The idea is just ridiculous.’

‘I hear what you’re saying,’ said Lawrence, bringing my blood to boiling point, ‘but it’s marked how much more cooperation we’ve had from the other players.
And if we could win her cooperation, we might be looking at a major drug trial. The person in question has been of interest for some time.’

I spat out her name. ‘Kimberley. She’s been helping you.’

‘Yes, the Farthings have been extremely helpful,’ said Lawrence mildly. ‘Obviously Nigel Farthing’s ministerial position gives him a special insight into the challenges
we face with the war on drugs.’

And some – he was facing the challenge closer to home than they could ever imagine. Both men looked at my flushed face with the expression of a couple of Victorian doctors in proximity to
a hysterical female in need of sedation.

‘You’re quite happy with your hypothesis about Sarah and Peter,’ I said. ‘You’ve moved on to a whole new agenda, haven’t you?’

I’d riled Lawrence now. His dark eyes flashed a warning. ‘If you’re asking if I’m happy about the tragic death of a young mother, I can assure you that I’m not. If
you’re asking if I’m pleased to have the chance to prevent more devastation, then yes, I am. I think you’ll find it’s part of my job description.’

We sat there, eyeing each other. I took a slow, deliberate breath to buy myself some calm. I needed to keep my status in the room. The stakes were higher than I’d ever imagined.

‘So how can I help you?’ I asked, forcing myself to smile. Roger gave me a look of quiet approval.

‘Firstly with information,’ said Lawrence. ‘What led you to believe that Sarah was taking drugs before she died?’

‘I can’t even remember,’ I said, my stomach lurching with the knowledge that my statement was more lie than truth. ‘It was maybe implied more than it was
spoken.’

Roger leapt in. ‘Didn’t you mention a conversation with your ex-partner, Lysette’s brother?’

Lawrence gave a slow smile.

‘Possibly, but it was more than that. There was general chatter. Nothing specific.’

The last thing I wanted was them questioning Jim on my behest. Lawrence eyeballed me, unimpressed.

‘Let me level with you. We’re not looking to pursue charges against Lysette. What we do want is as much clarity on Sarah’s death as we can get prior to the inquest, and also a
way into a major drug operation that extends across the whole south-east and beyond.’

Lysette’s face last night – stray specks of powder around her nose, her eyes crazed – had been a picture of desperation. Whatever secrets she was carrying around were
destroying her. But being locked in an interview room, being forced to reveal what it was that she’d been party to, the darkness of which I suspected ran far deeper than Lawrence even knew
– could be the ultimate destruction.

‘If there is a whole drug gang that Sarah was mixed up with, surely that means there could be other suspects for her murder?’

Lawrence’s tone was icy. ‘Possibly.’

My brain was whirring, thinking back to what Patrick said when he heard Krall was on the case.

‘Did you always know? Did you always think there was something bigger going on? Is that why you were assigned to this?’

He shrugged, cagey. ‘We had our suspicions. I didn’t know that Lysette’s brother was your ex-partner?’

I tried to match his evasiveness. ‘More like childhood sweetheart. We went out for a summer when we were teenagers.’ Lawrence didn’t speak. ‘Water under the bridge.
He’s married and I’m . . .’ I willed my voice not to crack. ‘I’m engaged.’

He’d sensed my breaking. I was fatally weakened now, more prey than equal.

‘So you don’t think that Lysette Allen has taken drugs in recent months?’

The room closed in on me, airless and stifling. The lie I’d have to tell was too stark, too damning. Roger’s eyes were trained on me. I drew myself up in my seat, almost haughty.

‘I do really want to help you, Lawrence, but I don’t feel able to answer that question.’

‘But you’re her friend.’

My throat felt tight, my skin blazing with heat. ‘You never know everything about another person though, do you?’

I felt sick to my stomach. In my refusal to answer, I’d given him the answer he wanted. Roger looked distinctly unimpressed, but Lawrence leant back in his chair, struggling to keep the
satisfaction out of the smile he gave me.

‘Mia, the last thing I want to do is compromise you. You’ve been enormously helpful, and the work you’ve done in the community has been a huge support to us. Let’s leave
it there for today, and if we need to interview you more formally, I’ll be in touch.’

He had what he needed: the winning hand of cards which would ensure that Lysette had to fold. What had I done? Words started to tumble out of me.

‘Lysette isn’t – if she got herself mixed up in something, it will have started with the best intentions. She loved Sarah. Sarah loved her. She’s – she’s
someone who goes all in. It’s what I’ve always loved about her too.’ Both of them looked utterly unmoved by me. I blundered on, frustration and desperation a dangerous cocktail.
‘If you’re pressurising Lysette with what you think she’s hiding, you should keep an open mind. I’d guarantee she’s not the only one with secrets. I’d look hard
at why Kimberley’s so keen to keep control of the story. It seems to me that she’s the one with the most to lose.’

‘Again, is there anything specific?’ asked Lawrence.

It suddenly seemed so clear to me what was happening. The Farthings’ power and influence being used to devastating effect. If Kimberley lost her sheen, things might look very
different.

‘Ask her about Susan,’ I said. ‘Do you remember, the ex-nanny I told you about? I’m sure there’s something connected to her – something that happened –
which she’s determined to keep quiet.’

Lawrence didn’t even deign to note down the name, simply stood up.

‘Thank you again. I’d ask that you don’t share any of what we’ve discussed with Lysette – or indeed with anyone – at this stage. We’re at a particularly
critical point in the investigation.’