‘Boss,’ I shout.
Parnell’s talking to a recently-arrived SOCO and doesn’t come straight away. I walk out into the hall and tug on his arm like an overwrought child wanting attention. ‘Boss.’ He shakes me off, tries to finish his conversation. ‘Parnell, now! Please! You need to come and look at this.’
The SOCO mutters something sour but I couldn’t care less. All I care about is another another pair of eyes confirming what I think I can see.
I literally push Parnell into the living room. ‘Wait there,’ I say, running back to the spare room where I take the collage out of Emily’s hands without explanation. Back in the living room, Parnell’s looking grumpy, jiggling his e-cig in his pocket, and so I bypass all the usual preambles of ‘I can’t be sure’ and ‘Now, I might be wrong’ and cut firmly to the chase.
‘Look.’ I point to the wall then back to the image of Maryanne and Saskia. ‘The paint’s a different colour but the flouncy plasterwork hasn’t changed. Check out that dado rail.’
Words I never thought I’d hear myself say.
Parnell swipes my glasses off my nose and onto his, holding the photo close to his face, looking back and forth, his smile growing wider with each gawp. ‘You know, I think you might be right, kiddo.’
‘Too right, I’m right. It’s unmistakable. It’s unmistakably hideous.’ It’s harsh, but roses and ribbons really aren’t my thing. ‘I’m telling you, Boss, that photo was taken in this flat.’
25
Amber, the teenage daughter, answers the door, sullen-faced and red-eyed. She jerks a thumb towards the family room then tiptoes quickly up the stairs, hunched and uninterested, eager to get back to the sanctuary of her bedroom.
There’s a definite frost in the air. A bleakness that can’t be masked by lavish decorations and cosy festive scents. It’s there in the quietness of the house, the unnatural stillness. The sheer distance between them as they occupy the same space – Gina Hicks sitting stiffly on the window seat, scrolling through her iPad, Nate by the opposite wall, idly browsing The Times. Instantly, I’m thrust back to the countless days when Mum and Dad would skulk around each other, brooding and wallowing in whatever argument had caught light the night before. Just the occasional slammed door slicing through the pained, loaded silence. Me, Jacqui and Noel quietly going about whatever business we’d have usually executed at ear-shattering volume.
The atmosphere is obvious.
Gina knows about Nate’s affair.
However, it’s amazing what a police caution can do to reconcile a couple. The words seem to bond them as they move in sync from the far corners of room to the sofa, side by side, hand in hand, looking for all the world like a staged royal photo.
While I get my notepad out, Parnell explains why we’re here. Explains why he had to caution them in as reassuring tones as possible. ‘We have to cover ourselves, you see? Just in case you have information that can help us.’ Gina barely reacts, her thousand-yard-stare suggests this is just one more punch in the gut and she’s getting used to it. She also must be the only person in the world who appears to have lost weight over Christmas. A grey silk vest sags lightly over her birdlike frame.
‘I appreciate this isn’t an ideal time,’ says Parnell, playing nice, hoping to keep all thoughts of legal representation out of their heads for as long as possible.
‘We haven’t made plans,’ replies Gina. ‘We rarely go out on New Year’s Eve. It’s all a big con, isn’t it? Venues charging through the nose for sub-standard food and entertainment. Taxis are a nightmare .?.?.’
Hear hear.
‘We’re worried for Saskia French’s safety,’ says Parnell, all earnest eyes and open hands. ‘She’s been out of contact for some time now and we believe she may have left her flat in a hurry. Can I ask if either of you have heard from her?’
Gina drops her husband’s hand.
Parnell directs the question. ‘Mr Hicks? Has Saskia been in touch lately?’
Everything about Nate’s body language screams tough guy – the balled fists, the clenched jaw, the taut, raised shoulders.
‘No, she hasn’t,’ he hisses.
Parnell keeps needling. ‘Any ideas where she might have gone then? Places that are special to her? Close friends? Did you ever discuss this type of thing?’
He doesn’t answer, just emits small angry breaths from his nose.
‘I’ll take that as a no,’ says Parnell. ‘And you Mrs Hicks?’
She stiffens, regally poised. ‘No, I haven’t heard from her.’
Looking up from my notepad, I wince slightly, as though the piece of information I’m about to share pains me as much as them. ‘Your son, Leo, has been identified as a man who was heard arguing with Saskia on Christmas Eve morning. We naturally need to speak to you – and him – about this.’
I’m surprised by the calmness in my voice, the professionalism. I feel anything but.
A blast of confused laughter from Nate. ‘Leo? Arguing with Saskia?’
I nod. ‘I think “raised voices” was the actual term.’
‘I wasn’t debating the nature of the altercation, Detective Kinsella.’ The smug fuck is back. ‘I was suggesting there was no altercation at all. Your witness must be mistaken.’ He laughs again to himself. ‘Bloody ludicrous.’
Gina grips Nate’s thigh, quietens him. ‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to speak with Leo. He’s away for a few days, playing at a concert in Vienna. He’s a very talented violinist – and pianist, of course.’
Of course.
She raises her chin. ‘However, I can tell you I sent Leo to Saskia’s flat to deliver an eviction notice.’ Nate shifts, struggling to keep his surprise in check. ‘He mentioned they’d had words, Saskia can be a little fiery, shall we say, but that’s all it was – words. The walls in those flats are so bloody thin, every conversation sounds like raised voices.’
‘You sent a teenager to deliver a legal letter?’ Parnell doesn’t hold back on the parental judgement.
Nate cuts in. ‘Leo’s at that age where he wants to feel part of the family business. We’ve been giving him more responsibility.’
‘And what exactly is the family business?’ asks Parnell, starting to enjoy himself. ‘I’m aware you have a number of non-executive directorships, Mr Hicks, and you own a chain of beauty salons .?.?.’
‘Nail bars, actually.’ He tries to sound blasé but I can tell his feathers are ruffled. No one likes having their background checked.
‘My apologies, nail bars,’ says Parnell. ‘But assuming you don’t do the filing and polishing yourself, what is it that you do on a daily basis?’
‘Property development and management,’ he says, vaguely. ‘Here and overseas.’
‘Property development and management.’ Parnell pretends to look impressed.
I’m not actually sure where Parnell’s going with this. In fact, I’m not altogether sure it’s not just a spontaneous pissing contest.
I pull the conversation back to Gina and Leo.
‘I’m sorry, Gina, you say you got Leo to deliver the eviction notice?’ She nods. ‘But you were in town yourself on Christmas Eve morning. You came into the station, remember?’ Another surprised shift from Nate Hicks. ‘Why didn’t you deliver it yourself? Our station is less than a mile from Saskia’s flat?’
She bristles. ‘Because I had no desire to come face to face with Saskia French, that’s why. Leo was going into town anyway, skating with friends, so I asked him to drop it in.’ She looks at me, disappointed. Like I’ve somehow betrayed her confidence. Betrayed the sisterhood. ‘And as you’ve pointed out, I came into the station, I had last-minute shopping to do. I wouldn’t have had time to go to King’s Cross too.’
Nate frowns. ‘Darling, why did you visit the sta—’