For all her cashmere and clove-scented domesticity, you’d have to be a robot not to feel a stab of sympathy. A sick parent is no fun. A sick parent, a prostitute tenant, and a link with a murder victim must be the absolute pits.
Nate puts his arm around his wife’s shoulders, nuzzles her head. ‘Look, darling, obviously the fact that this dead woman was in our flat is unfortunate, but in terms of Saskia, is it honestly such a big deal? Christ, remember that chap from the Camden flat? He turned out to be some sort of bogus tradesman, a complete fraudster. Saskia’s never given us any trouble whatsoever, so is it really our business how she earns her living, distasteful as it is .?.?.’
Gina’s head snaps up. ‘It is my bloody business if she’s turned my property into a knocking shop. You heard what they said, that dead woman was working there.’
I step in to referee. ‘If it’s any consolation, that’s not our concern. You do what you have to do with Saskia, there won’t be anything formal from our side.’ There’s a flicker of relief but it’s infinitesimal under the heavy mask of worry. ‘Mrs Hicks, you said, “my property” just now. Who exactly is the owner?’
‘It’s mine.’
Parnell takes a seat on the Chesterfield. It’s a bit low for his tastes and I see a twinge of regret as he tries to make himself comfortable. ‘Saskia gave your husband’s name,’ he says. ‘Why would that be?’
Gina scoffs. ‘Good old-fashioned sexism, I imagine. I just stay at home raising children and baking organic strudels, don’t I, darling? God forbid anyone thought I had a career of my own once. Investments of my own.’
The argument fails to ignite when the eldest son walks back into the room carrying a violin case. He gives his parents a bemused stare, as if he hasn’t seen them look anything other than wholly composed and efficient his entire life and he senses this might mark some kind of seismic sea change. One that might benefit him if he plays his cards right.
‘Not a good time, Leo,’ says Gina, massaging her forehead with her index fingers.
‘So I’m not getting a lift then?’ He looks like an estate agent although I suspect it’s a posh school’s school uniform. Sixth form, probably.
Gina gives us a look of ‘See, that’s all I’m good for.’
‘Hey, can I drive myself, Mum?’ he says, pushing his luck. ‘I’m insured on the Lexus.’
Nate Hicks pulls out his wallet, rips out two twenties. ‘Dream on. Walk up to the high street and get a cab, all right?’
‘It’s fucking brass monkeys out there.’ He snatches the money anyway.
Nate shoves him out of the door – a little rougher than horseplay to my eye. ‘Put a hat on then. And watch your bloody mouth, Leo.’ When he turns round, he’s grinning apologetically. ‘Concert this evening, St Paul’s. Sorry about the gutter language, he’s going through a geezer phase at the moment. It’s rather grating.’
Parnell smiles. ‘In this game, you meet all sorts of lads on the cusp of adulthood. Trust me, yours isn’t doing too badly if he’s playing the violin at St Paul’s and not mugging old ladies.’
Nate rubs at his jaw. ‘I know, I know. It’s just teenagers and toddlers in the same house, it gets a bit much.’
‘Been there,’ says Parnell, ‘It’s tough, especially when you’re a bit, well .?.?.’
A surprising laugh from Gina. ‘You can say it. A bit older. Geriatric, they call it at the hospital. A geriatric at forty-two. The cheek.’
Another smile from Parnell. ‘Same as my wife.’
There’s a silence as they wait for us to speak again. It’s clear from the way Nate is edging subtly towards the door and jiggling the change in his pockets that he thinks our work here is done.
We sit out the silence, see what it brings.
When he eventually speaks, his voice is stuttery and chummy. Middle-class charm personified. ‘So, er, obviously we’re very grateful for you letting us know, officers. Is there, er, anything else we can help with? Do you need us to sign anything with regards to taking things from the flat? Do you need keys? Would a spare set of keys help?’ A fond glance to Gina. ‘Although knowing where things are isn’t really my forté, is it, darling? Do we even have a spare set? We can certainly get some cut.’ We let him ramble, let his fawning helpfulness burn itself out. ‘Aside from that, I don’t see what more we can tell you?’
I look confused. ‘Well, with all due respect, I thought that would be obvious? I’m assuming your wife told you about our first visit?’ They nod tentatively. ‘We need to understand why a murdered woman, who was staying at a property you own, was also spotted on this road – well, at the gates to this road – and in a café just down the way on a couple of different occasions.’
I leave out the word ‘possibly’. It always spoils the fun.
Nate opens his mouth but Gina cuts in, sounding dazed. Like she’s woken up in a dream where everything’s back-to-front. ‘You think we knew this woman? I told you when you came before, I’ve never seen her before in my life.’
‘Well, yes, but you can see why we’re making the connection, surely? A witness has stated .?.?.’
Nate makes himself bigger, the classic macho wide-legged stance. ‘What fucking witness?’
Leo Hicks isn’t the only one going through a geezer phase, it seems.
Parnell picks up on this. ‘Could you watch your mouth please, Mr Hicks. There’s no need for gutter language. The identity of our witness doesn’t concern you.’
He doesn’t back down but shortens his stance. ‘Oh, yes it does, if you’re going to come into my house and accuse my wife of being a liar.’
‘I never said I don’t believe your wife. Maybe it’s you that recognises her?’
‘I don’t, as I told the officer who returned with the photo late last week. Not that I needed a photo, it’s been all over the news.’
A realisation dawns on Gina. ‘God, we won’t be on the news, will we? There won’t be journalists on the close? I mean, I’d love to help, I really would. It’s terrible what’s happened to that poor woman, but honestly, this is just ridiculous. We haven’t the faintest idea who she is.’
Nate looks at his wife. ‘Of course we won’t be on the news. This is wanton exploration, that’s all. There’s no credible witness. It’s what they call a fishing expedition.’
I step into his personal space but keep my tone light. ‘And under what we call the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act, we can request to see your phone records at any time, Mr Hicks. How do you feel about that?’
He gives me a thin-lipped smile. ‘Not a problem, Detective .?.?. I’m sorry, I forget your last name. I can get them for you now if you’d like? I’m sure I can download a fully itemised bill online. How many copies would you like?’
Parnell stands up, quicker and smoother than I’ve seen in a long time – less clicky. ‘We’ll retrieve them ourselves, Mr Hicks, if we decide we need to, but thank you.’ He nods towards Gina. ‘Thank you both for your time, we’ll see ourselves out.’
*
‘The smug fuck,’ I say. ‘“Excuse my gutter language.”’
We sit in the car on the pebbled driveway – partly just to unnerve the Hickses, partly so Parnell can have a blast of his e-cig before driving back. He’s gone for Green Tea and Menthol this time, and mixed with the quintessential blend of takeaway fried chicken and pine-scented air-freshener that always seems to hang heavy in Parnell’s car, I start to miss the scents of middle-class Christmas fairly quickly. I’d wind the window down if there wasn’t a chill outside that could bring a tear to a glass eye.
‘Could it be pure coincidence?’ I ask.
Parnell drums the steering wheel with his spare hand. ‘What, that she was living in their flat and a completely unconnected looky-likey turns up at the gates here?’ He stares through the windscreen, marvels at a grey squirrel attacking a bird feeder. ‘Could be,’ he says, eventually. ‘I’m actually part of a rare breed who believes coincidences can happen.’
I’m not sure if I am. Conspiracy out-glams coincidence by a country mile.
Still, I’m a pragmatist.
‘The kind of lawyers the Hickses can afford will get a hard-on at the word “coincidence” though, that’s our problem.’