Let the Dead Speak (Maeve Kerrigan #7)

‘So Chloe was using the house too,’ I said. ‘Nice.’

‘Her mum had the keys. She must have nicked them. When you’re a teenager, you’d give a lot for a house of your own,’ Derwent said, his expression remote. Trotting down memory lane, I assumed.

‘Who was she with?’ I said.

‘She spent a lot of time with that boy down the road, Oliver Norris said.’ Georgia looked at me with a frown. ‘What was it – Turner?’

‘Didn’t we get a DNA sample from him?’

Blank faces all round. I rubbed my forehead, wondering if I’d forgotten to put the request through.

‘We can get it now,’ Derwent said. ‘We’re going to Valerian Road for the searches, anyway. Might as well drop in on Turner and see what he has to say for himself.’

‘Then I’m definitely coming with you,’ I said.

‘We can manage,’ Georgia Shaw said.

‘I’m sure you can.’ I smiled at her. ‘But he likes me.’

I should have known better.

I stood on the doorstep and hammered on the door with the side of my fist, not for the first time. Derwent leaned against the gatepost, his hands in his pockets, smirking.

‘I’m glad you think this is funny.’

He shrugged. ‘You have to laugh, don’t you?’

‘Not really.’ I shaded my eyes to look down the street. At least Georgia had gone into number 32, armed with her search warrants. An audience of one was bad enough.

I bent down and peered through the letterbox. Turner was sitting on the stairs, rolling a cigarette.

‘Open the door, William.’

‘What do you want?’

‘A chat.’

‘Mum said you were here last night. It’s beginning to feel a lot like harassment.’

‘It’s not harassment,’ I said patiently. ‘And where were you last night?’

‘Out.’

‘Where?’

‘With some mates.’

‘What time did you get back?’

‘Dunno.’ He leaned back against the step behind him. ‘She said you asked to search the house.’

‘It’s routine.’

‘It doesn’t feel routine to me.’

‘I’m worried about Chloe and Bethany, William. You can understand that, can’t you?’

‘They’ll come back.’

‘Are you saying that because you know where they are and you know they will be back or because you want it to be true?’

‘I don’t know where they are.’ He sniffed. ‘Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?’

‘That and some other things. I need your DNA.’

He had been licking the edge of a cigarette paper, but he stopped. ‘Why?’

‘To rule you out.’ Or in. ‘I told you we’d be needing DNA from you.’

‘I thought you’d given up on that.’

‘Nope. And I could lift it from one of the cigarette ends you’ve scattered around out here, but I’d rather do it properly so there’s no mistake about it. You don’t have a problem with giving me a DNA sample, do you?’

He sighed. ‘Look, I’m cooperating.’

‘So open the door.’ My patience was running out.

Slowly, with bad grace, he uncoiled himself and came down to open the door. He leaned against the frame, his face sullen.

‘You haven’t found the girls.’

‘No.’

‘But your priority is coming round and bothering me. That makes sense.’

‘There are other people looking for them,’ Derwent said. ‘Have you heard from them since yesterday morning?’

‘No.’

‘Are you in a relationship with either of them?’

‘No.’ The amber eyes moved from Derwent to me. ‘I told you that already. Don’t you two talk to each other?’

‘As little as possible,’ I said, truthfully. ‘Are you going to let us in?’

‘Not unless I have to.’

‘Then we can take your DNA here.’ I took out the kit we used for taking samples and showed him the tool like a large cotton bud inside a plastic case. ‘I need to swab the inside of your cheek.’

‘Why don’t you want us in your house, sonny?’ Derwent was frowning.

‘I just don’t.’

‘Makes me think you have something to hide.’

‘You can think what you like,’ Turner said.

‘Is your mum here?’ I asked.

‘She’s at her knitting club.’ He grinned. ‘I still don’t want you in my house.’

I was tired of the bickering. ‘Open wide.’

He did as I asked and I swabbed his cheek carefully. A car drove past, slowing almost to a stop. Turner’s eyes went dark and I glanced over my shoulder.

It was Oliver Norris’s Volvo. He was driving in the company of two other men I didn’t know. There was something about a car full of men that always made me suspicious but I fought the feeling down. Sunday: they would be coming back from church, more than likely.

I was expecting them to park near Norris’s house but the car carried on down the street, turning at the end, out of sight.

‘Has he spoken to you?’

‘Norris? No.’

‘He thinks you know something about where the girls might be.’

‘Him too?’

‘They spent a lot of time with you.’

‘Only because I’m always here.’

‘Why don’t you have a job?’ Derwent, the question bursting out of him as if he couldn’t hold it in any more.

‘Bad lungs. All winter, it affects me. I do a bit now and then but cash-in-hand, like, or I’d lose my benefits.’

‘Couldn’t have that.’

‘I’m entitled to them.’

Derwent’s mouth twisted but he let it go, to my relief.

‘Do you know any reason why they would run away, William?’ I asked.

‘No.’

‘Were they in a relationship?’

His surprise was comical and, I thought, unfeigned. ‘No. No way. Just friends.’

‘All very friendly round here, isn’t it?’

‘You have a dirty mind.’ He gave me a long, appraising look and I heard Derwent snort.

‘William, if I find out you know something about the whereabouts of either or both of those two girls, I will make it my business to have you prosecuted for whatever charges I can dream up.’

‘Yeah, OK. I believe you. But I don’t know anything you’d find useful.’

‘Do you have a car?’

He looked wary. ‘Yeah. It’s that Corsa. The blue one.’

I made a note of the registration number. ‘Don’t go anywhere, Mr Turner. I don’t want you disappearing. And stay away from the Norrises unless you’re trying to cause trouble.’

‘Tell them to stay away from me.’

‘I already did.’ I frowned. ‘Look, if anyone bothers you, you have my number. You can get in touch with me—’

‘I’ll cope.’ He stepped back into his house and shut the door in my face.

I turned back to Derwent.

‘Don’t say anything.’

‘Not even that it’s nice to see you haven’t lost your touch?’

‘Not even that.’





20


Eleanor Norris let us into her house, her face pale but composed. The house smelled of cooking, of lamb and rosemary and roasting potatoes, and I caught Derwent sniffing appreciatively.

‘I thought you’d be at church,’ I said.

‘I didn’t go. I didn’t want to. In case they came back, I mean. I prayed here.’ She pointed to a well-worn bible that was lying on the hall table, as if she’d put it down to answer the door.

‘Is that where your husband is?’

‘He should be back by now,’ she said vaguely. ‘Lunch is ready.’

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