‘I checked with the local coppers,’ Belcott said. ‘It’s a quiet area. They couldn’t think of a similar incident locally in the past five years.’
‘Oliver Norris told me we should look at a guy called William Turner.’ I said it quietly, knowing Belcott would take it as a criticism of his work, and maybe it was. Fairness made me add, ‘I don’t think he can be relevant, but Norris said he lives nearby and knows Chloe. He was arrested for attempted murder a few years ago but never charged.’
‘Why not?’ Burt asked.
‘Insufficient evidence, I think. I’ll look it up and speak to the SIO before I go back to Putney.’
‘You should certainly speak to him. Get some idea of what he’s like. I don’t want to ignore anything at this stage.’
Speak to SIO I wrote in my notebook, so Burt could feel reassured that I was listening to her.
‘So where does this leave us?’ Burt looked around the room.
‘I’d like to know more about Oliver Norris,’ I said. ‘He’s a bit too helpful and he keeps coming up with important information at the precise moment we need it.’
‘And you said he was paranoid about explaining why his fingerprints might be all over Kate Emery’s bedroom,’ Derwent said. ‘Nothing suspicious about that, is there?’
‘He’s ultra-religious, though.’
‘So? Repressed.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Chris Pettifer said.
‘But possibly,’ I said. ‘I didn’t like him.’
‘Whoever did this was at ease in the property,’ Derwent said. ‘They knew where to find drain cleaner. They knew where they could shower off the blood. They knew where to take a body so they could dispose of it without being seen, and they were strong enough to handle a body. This wasn’t a stranger who blundered in off the street. This was someone with a plan and they executed it pretty perfectly.’
I nodded. ‘As far as I can see, only one thing went wrong for them. If Chloe hadn’t come back early, no one would even know yet that Kate Emery was gone.’
7
I was on my own when I arrived at William Turner’s address, and glad to be. Georgia had gone to collect CCTV footage from the local shops and show Kate Emery’s picture around, trying to reconstruct Kate’s movements before the attack. She had gone with bad grace.
‘It feels like admin.’
‘That’s exactly what it is.’
‘It’s not going to help us find who killed her.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘But I want to see William Turner.’
‘Do you? Because I don’t.’ I picked up my phone. ‘It’s going to be more of a waste of time than looking for CCTV, I promise you.’
‘He sounds interesting. Oliver Norris thinks he’s the devil incarnate.’
‘I wouldn’t put too much faith in anything Norris said to us.’ I started dialling the number I’d found for the SIO in the Turner case.
‘Then we should talk to him again.’
‘About what? The weather?’ I leaned back. ‘The next time we talk to Norris, we need to know exactly what happened to Kate Emery so we can find out how his version differs from the truth. At the moment, all I can say to him is that I don’t believe him. I’ve got nothing to throw at him. When the forensics come back, we’ll see if there’s anything to make him feel uneasy, but as things stand we have to let him go about his business. And you should do the same.’
She had gone, but she hadn’t liked it. I had other things to worry about, like William Turner. I thought about him on the drive to Putney, and the incident that had earned him his reputation. The SIO had remembered the case well. It wasn’t the kind you forgot.
I found a parking space on the other side of the street from Turner’s house and walked across. I would have liked a second to collect my thoughts but there was a young man standing in the doorway, smoking a tiny, pungent roll-up. He watched me stop at his front gate, and his expression was wary under a veneer of insolence. He was mixed race and had the kind of good looks that suited a sullen expression: high cheekbones, a full mouth, a face saved from being too feminine by a square jaw and strong, dark eyebrows. What was it Oliver Norris had said? Good looking and he knows it? He had close-cropped hair that showed off the shape of his head, and skin like honey. He wasn’t big – slight was the word that came to mind – but he was wiry and I thought he was probably stronger than he seemed. He wore a grey V-necked T-shirt with jeans that were skin-tight and ripped at the knee. His feet were bare.
‘William Turner?’
He took a long drag before he replied in a slow, husky drawl that I thought he’d probably practised. ‘That depends. Who’s asking?’
I held up my warrant card and he stepped down from the doorway to inspect it, moving with feline grace.
‘Maeve Kerrigan,’ he read.
‘Detective Sergeant Maeve Kerrigan,’ I said. ‘I’m part of the team investigating what happened up the road.’
‘Yeah, what did happen? I saw all the excitement. Everyone coming and going. Very intriguing. Nothing much ever happens here.’ He flicked the butt of his cigarette away then folded his arms across his chest, pushing his biceps with his fists to make himself look bigger.
‘Do you know the residents of number twenty-seven?’
‘A little. I know what they look like.’ He had stepped back a bit and found some high ground on a loose brick that was by the gate so he could stare into my eyes. His irises were light brown, almost gold, like a lion. Like a predator. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. Humans were still animals when all was said and done.
‘But to speak to?’
‘No. You know what London is like. No one knows their neighbours.’
‘Depends on the area.’
‘And the neighbours.’ He laughed softly. ‘No one wants to know us so we don’t know them. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because someone told you to come and talk to me. Because I’m the local scum so if something’s happened in the street it must have been me.’
‘It’s my job to talk to potential witnesses. You live in this street and I’m told you spend a lot of time out here watching people come and go.’
‘You’re told that.’ A slow smile spread across his face. One of his front teeth was crooked, overlapping the other by a couple of millimetres, and it was strangely charming. ‘Let me guess. Who could have told you? So many suspects. This is like doing your job, isn’t it? I can see why you like it. It could have been Narinder across the way, but I think she likes to see me out here. She’s always watching.’ He lifted a hand and waved. I turned in time to see a curtain fall back into place in the house opposite. ‘It could have been the bitch next door but she was away for the weekend. Anyway, she’s too snobby to talk about me. She likes to pretend we don’t exist. So who hates the fact that I dare to show my face in public?’ Turner stroked his chin, pretending to ponder it. He had a few days’ worth of stubble but it was sparse and fine. ‘Who doesn’t like me talking to his daughter?’