‘I don’t think we’re going to have any problems with bringing them in. They’re not known and they have no warnings – but obviously, take care.’
My stab vest was digging into me but it wasn’t optional. Houses were full of weapons, and more than one officer had been injured that way. It happened when you least expected it. That was another reason for wanting to have surprise on our side and for knocking on doors at dawn. Sleepy, confused, half-dressed people were generally docile.
It was such a still morning, the slightest noise carried. A metallic sound made me turn to check behind me. It was a key turning in a stiff lock and the rattle of a chain. It came from the house nearest us: number 6. William Turner’s home. The door opened and Turner stepped out, taking up his regular position against the frame. He already had a cigarette between his lips, the lighter cupped in his hand. A worn denim shirt, jeans, bare feet: it looked like the tail end of his day rather than the start of it. He looked up and froze.
‘Fucking hell. To what do I owe the pleasure at this time of night?’
I leaned over the garden gate and hissed, ‘Keep your voice down. We’re not here for you.’
‘Is that right?’ He flicked his lighter and bent his head to touch the flame to the end of the cigarette. It flared and caught, the loose tobacco burning unevenly. Then he narrowed his eyes at me. They were bloodshot, the skin around them puffy from lack of sleep. He was young and pretty enough that the slight hint of a dissolute life made him more attractive, not less. ‘Arresting someone?’
‘Nothing so exciting.’
‘Oh, come on. At this time of day, it has to be something good. I might ring round the newspapers. Tip them off that something is happening. They love to be the first to hear about a new development, don’t they?’
My jaw had clenched. The papers had been full of Kate’s picture – the windswept one from the beach – and long, speculative articles for the past few days. I had been here before. Slowly, subtly the focus would shift from ‘murder investigation’ to ‘police incompetence’. The last thing we needed was their attention at this stage, when we were still groping in the dark – when we were taking a chance and hoping it paid off.
‘If you tip anyone off, your life won’t be worth living. This isn’t a game, Mr Turner. This is a murder investigation.’
‘Found a body, then?’
‘Still looking. Maybe we should come and see if it’s down the back of your sofa.’
He held up his hands. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
‘Then don’t make me make you prove it.’ I stared at him for a moment longer, until he looked down at his feet and nodded.
Behind me, a clatter of knocks on a front door made me jump. Turner stood on tiptoe to see better, his mouth falling open, the laidback slouch forgotten.
‘Who are you looking for?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Not Chloe. You need to leave her alone. You can’t harass Chloe. It’s wrong. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel. She doesn’t know anything anyway.’
‘No one is harassing anyone,’ I said, irritated. ‘We’re trying to find out what happened to her mother.’
He shook his head. ‘I know how the Met works. Find a suspect, make a case.’
‘Well, it didn’t work on you, did it?’
‘Not for want of trying.’ He swallowed. ‘Seriously, you wouldn’t fit her up.’
‘Seriously, I wouldn’t.’
After a second, he nodded, and I turned away to see lights coming on in the houses on either side of the road. Morning had officially broken on Valerian Road.
At number 32, the door was standing open, the hall beyond it full of people. All of them seemed to be talking at once.
‘You can’t just barge in here in the middle of the night, uninvited.’ That was Oliver Norris, bare-chested, his pyjamas slung low on his hips. Eleanor was literally clinging to him, her eyes wide with shock, her hair all over the place.
‘They can do what they like,’ Morgan Norris drawled from halfway up the stairs. ‘Isn’t that right? That’s the message here.’
‘We’d like to talk to both of you.’ Una Burt looked from Oliver to Morgan, as implacable as ever.
Up at the top of the stairs, Chloe made a noise like a whimper. Bethany caught her hand and held it, tight enough that I could see her fingers bleaching the blood from Chloe’s skin.
‘What do you want to talk to us about?’ Oliver blustered. ‘What could you possibly think we can tell you? I’ve answered your questions already.’ He noticed me and jabbed a finger in my direction. ‘Her. I spoke to her. Twice.’
‘These relate to developments in our enquiries,’ Burt said blandly. ‘And we feel they’re best answered in a formal interview. So we’re here to arrest you.’
‘Arrest us?’ Morgan Norris was wearing sleep shorts and a T-shirt and should, by rights, have been feeling self-conscious. He looked anything but, leaning against the wall, completely at ease.
‘Yes.’
‘So we need solicitors.’
‘This is crazy,’ Eleanor wailed. ‘This has nothing to do with us. Chloe—’
‘Leave Chloe out of this.’ Oliver Norris shrugged his wife off. ‘It’s to do with me. And with Morgan, apparently.’ He looked over his shoulder at his brother. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done, Morgan, but when this is over you’re going to have to find somewhere else to live.’
‘Not the time, Ollie.’ Morgan yawned and pulled his T-shirt up so he could scratch his stomach. ‘Any objection to us getting dressed before we come with you?’
‘No, but you’re going to have to do it with one of my officers watching,’ Burt said.
Morgan grinned at me. ‘Do I get to pick which one?’
‘No,’ Derwent said flatly before Una Burt could answer. He was glaring up at Morgan as if he was willing him to drop dead then and there.
‘Shame.’ Morgan looked back at Burt. ‘Will you be searching the house?’
‘I have a warrant to do so, yes.’
‘Then you’d better know I have some pot in my room. Not much. About five quid’s worth.’
‘Morgan,’ Oliver snapped. ‘For God’s sake.’
‘It’s not a big deal unless they choose to make it one,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure they have more important things on their minds.’
‘DI Derwent will accompany you to your room. You can show him where it is.’ Every now and then I realised that DCI Burt knew exactly what she was doing. For the first time, Morgan Norris looked mildly uneasy. I’d have felt the same way if I was going to be confined in a small space with Josh Derwent when he was in that sort of mood.
‘But I don’t understand.’ Eleanor was looking from her husband to her brother-in-law. ‘What does this have to do with us? With both of you? What have they found?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care.’ With poorly concealed irritation, Oliver moved her out of his way. ‘I’m going to call Gareth and my solicitor and get all this sorted out. With any luck, I’ll be home for lunch.’