“Do you mind if we come in?” asked Kerry. They were still standing on the doorstep and she gave a pointed glance at Jean Armitage’s house, two doors down. “And it really is important that we talk to you and your husband.”
“Oh, all right.” Mrs. Su ushered them ungraciously into the hall. And there she left them while she went down the stairs into the basement. They heard her call, “Ben? There’s—” The sound was cut off by the thud of a closing door.
The doors to the sitting room were closed as well. There was nothing on the walls, just as there had been nothing about the exterior of the house to give a clue as to its inhabitants.
Ben Su preceded his wife up the stairs. Gemma’s first thought was that she hadn’t expected him to be so good looking. He was tall and lithe, with thick dark hair just beginning to gray a little at the temples. His handsome face was, like his wife’s, set in lines of anger. But while Lisa Su looked petulant, he looked . . . dangerous. Gemma took an instinctive step back, but there was nowhere to go.
“What do you want?” he asked in precise, unaccented English.
“We’re investigating the death of a resident here on the garden,” said Kerry. “Reagan Keating. I believe you knew her.”
“What are you talking about? We don’t know of any death. We can’t—”
“The nanny?” his wife said, interrupting him. “The nanny? She’s dead?”
Kerry glanced at Gemma. Was it possible that they really didn’t know? She supposed it was. They had no friends among the neighbors, as far as Gemma knew, and they seemed to be away from home all day. The monstrous unfinished extension must block any view of the garden from the basement and ground-floor rooms.
“Yes, the nanny,” Gemma answered, by now thoroughly irritated by the pair. “She was killed sometime Friday night, in the garden. We understand you held her in some way responsible for the death of your son.”
The bulge of Mrs. Su’s eyes grew more pronounced. “Who told you that? We only said that if she’d been more careful—”
“Lisa, that’s enough,” barked her husband. To Kerry and Gemma, he said, “We know nothing about this, and neither of us spoke more than half a dozen words to the girl. Now, if you don’t mi—”
“Mr. Su. Mrs. Su.” Kerry was looking pinched. “We’re sorry to take up your valuable time. But a young woman has been murdered. Did you see anything, or anyone, out of the ordinary on Friday night?”
Lisa Su shook her head. “I was staying the night with my sister. In Milton Keynes.”
“Mr. Su?”
For a moment, Gemma thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he said, “Out with clients from the bank. I was late back.”
“How late?” asked Boatman.
Again, the slight hesitation. “About three.”
“Can you confirm this?”
“Of course I can confirm it. But you can talk to my solic—”
“It was that boy,” broke in Lisa Su. “The dancer. That was what Ben said to her. If he hadn’t bullied our Henry, Henry wouldn’t have hidden in the shed. I know he wouldn’t. Henry didn’t like tight spaces. And he’d never have lost his inhaler if something hadn’t upset him. Ben told her that.”
“You told Reagan that?” Gemma asked Ben Su. “When?”
But it was Lisa who answered. “At the stupid garden party. Where no one talked to us.” Her big eyes glistened with tears.
“Wait.” Gemma had to stop herself giving Lisa Su a shake. “Are you saying that Jess Cusick bullied your son?”
“Christ, what an unpleasant couple,” said Kerry as they walked away. “The question is, are they that horrible because their son died? Or was the son a little twat because his parents were worse twats? And now they’re even more awful than they were before?”
“I don’t believe for a minute that Jess Cusick bullied Henry.” Gemma was still furious. On the back of a card, Ben Su had scribbled the names and numbers of his colleagues from the bank, and of his wife’s sister. Then he’d added his lawyer’s number and told them to contact the solicitor with anything further. It had been all Gemma could do to keep a civil tongue in her head.
Kerry looked over at her as they reached the car. “I think we need a drink. That was hazardous duty.”
Gemma had to agree. She’d already arranged for Wesley Howard to watch the kids. That left Kincaid unaccounted for, but Gemma wasn’t going to ring him to tell him that she was going to be late.
Kerry’s pub of choice was The Hansom Cab on Earl’s Court Road, next to Rassells garden center where Gemma had been the previous Saturday, and just a few steps from Kensington Police Station. The pub’s front room was small and unpretentiously relaxed, with comfortable furniture and an impressive center bar. The clientele seemed to be local, and regulars. Boatman chose a table in the corner and sank into an upholstered chair with a sigh of pleasure.
“My feet are killing me,” she said, surreptitiously slipping her shoes off under the table. “This place has quite a history, you know.” She gestured round the pub. “Although you wouldn’t think it to look at it now, Piers Morgan was a co-owner for a while, along with his brother, Rupert, and another posh bloke called Tarquin Gorst. Can you believe that? Piers, Rupert, and Tarquin. Poncey gits. It was a celebrity hangout. Thank God that’s a thing of the past. Now, this is just a decent pub with good beer and very good food.”
The waitress, a friendly girl with tattoos to rival Agatha Smith’s at the distillery, came to take their orders. Boatman went for bitter on tap. Gemma, studying the bar, spotted a familiar logo. “I’ll try the Red Fox gin. With tonic.”
“You liked him, didn’t you?” said Kerry, when the waitress had gone.
“You mean Edward Miller?” Gemma thought about it. “Yes. I suppose I did. Although that doesn’t mean I’d rule him out as a suspect. But I take it you didn’t care for him.”
Kerry shrugged, her expression rueful. “Old prejudices, I suppose. Nothing against him personally.” When Gemma waited expectantly, she sighed and went on. “I was a bright girl. My parents scraped together nearly every penny they earned to send me to a fee-paying day school so that I’d have a good education. So I spent six years being looked down on by people with accents like his, who didn’t think I was good enough to be there.”
“A big chip, then,” said Gemma, with an understanding grin.
“Beer-sized,” agreed Kerry when the waitress had brought their drinks. She lifted her pint glass. “Cheers. Here’s to getting to the bottom of this damned case. I’d really like to pin it on one or both of the Sus, but I suspect their alibis will pan out.”