Even Kerry seemed charmed. Smiling back, she said, “We’re here to meet someone. A Mr. Cusick.”
“Oh, right. Chris is in the Snug. He told me to look out for you. I’ll take you back.”
They followed him to a small room tucked into the left-hand side of the rear dining area. It was a cozy space with comfortable furniture, low tables, and a wall of bookshelves at the far end.
A man sitting in one of the armchairs and typing busily on a laptop looked up, then put aside his computer and rose to greet them.
“Thanks, Darren,” he said to their guide, holding out a hand to Kerry, then Gemma. “I’m Chris Cusick.” He motioned them into adjoining chairs. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea?”
Gemma had seen a beautiful latte on a patron’s table as they walked through the dining area. “I’d love a latte. Thanks.” She’d missed her coffee that morning, as well, and was feeling it.
“Yes, the same,” said Kerry, looking blissful at the thought.
Cusick stepped out for a word with Darren, then came back and sat down. He was tall, lightly bearded, with Jess’s ash brown floppy hair, and he moved with a grace and intentness that reminded Gemma forcibly of his son. “Thanks for meeting me here,” he said. “I’m sure you’re wondering why.”
“I thought you were a banker,” said Gemma.
He grinned, his teeth white against the beard, but Gemma saw hollows under his eyes. “I am a banker. An investment banker. I spend most of my day on my computer.” He waved a hand at the laptop, closed now. “Which I could certainly do at home. I live just at the top of the garden,” he added, with another gesture that made Gemma want to focus on the movement of his hand. “But, my girlfriend, Parminder—my partner, if you will—is a flight medic for air ambulance. She works nights.” Again, the flash of a smile. “That’s when all the fun stuff happens, apparently, although I don’t get it.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I toddle along here most mornings to give her some peace and quiet.”
“I can see why,” said Kerry as Darren brought their coffees. She looked as if she might purr.
“You wanted to talk to me about Reagan,” Chris Cusick said when they’d taken their cups. Gemma had the feeling that in spite of his genial manner, he was quite used to directing the conversation. She wondered how that had worked with Nita.
“I was absolutely shocked when Nita told me what happened,” he went on. “Reagan was a nice girl. And she was great with Jess. I still can’t believe she’s dead. And now Nita says you think she was murdered.” He watched them intently as he spoke. Gemma had the impression he was hoping they’d tell him he was mistaken.
“You didn’t believe your wife, Mr. Cusick?” asked Gemma.
“Ex-wife,” he corrected, sharply. “And Nita can sometimes be a bit . . . dramatic.”
“You mean she makes things up to get your attention?” said Kerry, having drained half her latte in one swallow.
His eyes widened, but then he shrugged again. “She’s been known to exaggerate things, on occasion.”
“You two are in regular contact?”
“We have joint custody of Jess. And I own the Cornwall Gardens house.”
Kerry nodded and drank more of her coffee. “Very generous of you, I’m sure, Mr. Cusick.”
“It’s Jess’s home, too.”
“You were still living there when Reagan came to work as nanny?” Gemma asked, earning one of Cusick’s laser glances.
“Nita and I separated six months after Reagan started. If you’re wondering, Detective, whether I had an affair with Reagan, I did not. We were friends, and I was very glad she was able to give Jess some support during the divorce. Parminder, my girlfriend, liked her very much, too.”
“Mr. Cusick,” said Gemma, “you know we have to ask. Can you tell us your whereabouts last Friday night?”
“Of course.” He seemed not at all offended. “It was Parminder’s night off. We had dinner with friends, then we came here for drinks, actually. The bartender makes a terrific passion fruit martini.”
“And you left here about what time?”
Cusick shrugged. “Close to midnight, maybe. The bar can be pretty busy here on Friday nights, but it had emptied out. Then, we went back to the flat and watched a film. I try to stay up with Parminder on her nights off, if I can manage.”
Kerry tapped his girlfriend’s contact information into her phone and had started to thank him for his time when he interrupted her. “Have you seen Jess? Is he doing okay? This has to have been a terrible shock for him, but he’s not returning my calls. Or Parminder’s, and he usually wants to hear all the gory details of her call-outs. He’s not due to stay with us until Friday and I’m worried about him.”
“I have seen him,” said Gemma. “He seemed quite angry and upset. Your wife told us he’s not communicating with her, either.”
“Poor little bugger.” Cusick frowned, then set down his coffee cup with a decisive clatter. “I’m going over there to talk to him this evening. Weekday visits aren’t in our agreement, but Nita will just have to lump it for once.”
“Mr. Cusick.” Touching his arm as he started to rise, Gemma asked the question that had been bothering her. “Do you by any chance know where your son was last Saturday morning? Apparently, he left the house early without telling his mother where he was going. She was frantic to find him missing, especially after she learned Reagan was dead. A friend finally tracked him down that afternoon at his ballet class at the Tabernacle.”
“Nita didn’t tell me that. Christ.” He shook his head, his mouth pinched in irritation. “I can tell you exactly where Jess would have been. And why he didn’t tell his mother. Jess takes classes several afternoons a week at the London Boys Ballet School in Finsbury Park. That’s one of the reasons Nita insisted on keeping Reagan on, so that Reagan could drive him there, although I think he’s old enough to go by himself, on the tube. The tryouts for the eleven-plus advanced program were on Saturday morning. Jess will have gone, and he won’t have told Nita because she forbade him to do it.”
“Why?” asked Gemma, puzzled. “I’d have thought the more opportunities for a boy as talented as Jess, the better.”
“That’s not the way my wife sees it. The London Boys Ballet School is the only all-male ballet school in the world, and they’re doing terrific things. But nothing matters to Nita except the Royal Ballet. Nothing else has mattered to her since Jess was three years old and his teacher told her he had promise.”
This was where it had all started, Kincaid thought as he slowed for the bridge in Henley-on-Thames. Seven months ago, he and Gemma and the children had been on their way back from a visit to Glastonbury when he received a call on his mobile from Chief Superintendent Denis Childs. They were still getting Charlotte settled into their home, and Childs knew Kincaid had requested a parental leave of absence starting the next week.