Let the Dead Speak (Maeve Kerrigan #7)

‘I promise you, we’ve got the best people out looking for her and Bethany, and they won’t give up until they find the girls.’

Beside me, Pettifer shifted his foot on the gravel, a subtle movement with a message for me. Don’t make any promises we can’t keep. I liked having him with me. He was a solid presence, stable enough to trust. Plus, he had driven from London while I curled up on the back seat. I wasn’t a fan of in-car napping usually, unlike Derwent, but I was too tired to carry on.

It was far better to have Pettifer with me than Georgia, but I still didn’t want to think about the look on her face when, in the corridor of the hospital, Una Burt had told me to take her with me to Lewknor and I’d said no, so firmly that Burt hadn’t so much as tried to argue with me.

‘Are the boys here?’ I asked again. ‘I spoke to their school and they said they were at home for the weekend.’

‘We wanted to have them here. My wife wanted them here. I think – all of this has left her very upset. It’s worrying for all of us.’ His eyes were wet all of a sudden and he rubbed at them. ‘Sorry.’

‘No need to apologise. I do need to speak to both of them, I’m afraid.’

‘I’ll need to get my solicitor.’

‘It’s not a formal interview,’ I said. ‘Any appropriate adult would do.’

‘I’m not taking that chance,’ Brian Emery said, and for the first time I recognised the steel in him that had made him a successful businessman. Then he smiled. ‘It won’t take long to get him here. He lives five minutes away.’

The solicitor arrived exactly eight minutes after Brian phoned him, sweating slightly in cords and a checked shirt with a green sleeveless fleece over the top. He was a big man and he made the sitting room feel small when he appeared in the doorway. ‘Sorry. Gardening. Anything for Brian.’ He stuck out a hand that was still damp from being scrubbed and I pretended not to notice the soil that was lurking under his nails.

‘DS Maeve Kerrigan and DS Chris Pettifer.’

‘Harry Miles.’ He was fifty-something with curling grey hair that started far back on his head but finished well below his collar, as if to compensate for coming up short at the front. He was still handsome in a florid, well-fed way. I looked into his shrewd blue eyes and I knew better than to underestimate him even if he wasn’t a criminal solicitor.

‘What is it you want with the boys?’ he asked.

‘We’re investigating the death of their stepsister’s mother.’

‘Kate,’ Brian Emery interjected.

‘Quite.’

‘Their stepsister has disappeared.’

‘Very upsetting,’ Miles said. ‘But I don’t see why you want to speak to the boys.’

I turned to Brian Emery. ‘Does Nolan have a car?’

His throat worked as he swallowed. ‘At school.’

‘Has he used it recently?’

Miles was watching me. ‘Brian?’

‘He, uh …’ His eyes were pleading with me. ‘You’ve spoken to the school.’

‘I have.’

Emery gathered himself together and turned to his friend. ‘Nolan has been suspended. He left school late last night. The groundsman noticed his car was missing at midnight. He got back at half past two and tried to sneak in unobserved. They were waiting for him.’

‘Where had he been?’

A helpless shrug. ‘We collected him this morning and he didn’t say anything. He’s been in his room ever since. Nathan doesn’t know either.’

‘He’s here too?’ Miles checked.

‘We brought him home as well, but only for the weekend. Nolan’s suspended but the head told me it’s very unlikely he will be allowed to return to the school.’ From the look on Emery’s face it was the end of the world.

‘Let’s speak to them,’ I said. ‘Nolan first, if you don’t mind.’

‘What’s going on?’ Belinda Emery, in velour tracksuit bottoms and a mismatched sweatshirt. I didn’t think she’d brushed her hair. Her face was pale, her eyebrows patchy where she hadn’t drawn them in.

‘They want to speak with the boys.’

‘Well, they can’t.’ Her nostrils flared. ‘Stop them, Harry.’

‘I think it would be better to let them interview them here, Belinda. The alternative is the local police station.’

‘What?’

I nodded. ‘He’s right. But I’d rather talk to them here too.’

‘This is harassment.’ She looked from Miles to her husband. ‘Can’t you do something?’

‘I think we need to let them do their jobs,’ he muttered.

Her face twisted. ‘You’re pathetic.’

‘Belinda …’

‘This is all Chloe’s fault. Your daughter is ruining my son’s life,’ she spat.

‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she snapped.

‘Not to me. Which son do you mean, for starters? You said life, not lives. So which one?’

Her face darkened. ‘I don’t want to talk to you any more.’

‘Fine.’ I looked at Harry Miles. ‘Nolan first, then Nathan. We’ll wait in the sitting room.’

It took Harry Miles ten minutes and a lot of swearing to get Nolan downstairs and into the sitting room. He had a fine, deep voice and the house was small enough that we could catch almost every word. I almost felt sorry for Nolan when he shuffled into the room behind Miles. He looked bewildered and paranoid, as if all his worst fears were coming true one after another. I found, though, that I didn’t much mind being the personification of his worst nightmares when I thought about what William Turner had told me. Nolan sat down where Miles told him to and I tried not to dislike him for the sheer amount of money he had spent on his clothes. He wore expensive trainers, designer jeans, a branded sweatshirt, a fat metal-strapped diver’s watch. He was holding his phone and it was, inevitably, the latest iPhone, although the screen was cracked and the casing was battered.

‘Put that down,’ I said, pointing to the coffee table, and after a moment he did so. Trained to obey instructions. Posh schooling was good for some things.

I knew he was eighteen but he looked older, his face bloated and red. He had a long straight nose and full lips; there was potential there for him to improve if he got a better haircut and lost some weight, but I couldn’t tell which way he would go. When he looked at me, his eyes were sullen.

‘Nolan, do you know why we want to talk to you?’

‘No.’

‘It’s about Chloe, your stepsister.’

He laced his fingers and looked at Harry Miles for guidance. Miles looked back blandly.

‘Where did you go last night, Nolan?’

‘What?’ He hadn’t been expecting it. ‘Nowhere.’

‘You left school before midnight and you got back at half past two.’ I looked up from my notes. ‘That’s a long time to be nowhere.’

‘It’s nothing to do with Chloe.’ His face was reddening. ‘It was … personal.’

‘Go on.’

‘I’m not saying any more.’

‘Did you go to London, Nolan?’

‘No.’

I turned to Pettifer. ‘Do you think he thought of changing the plates?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘So we’ll get him on ANPR.’

‘What’s ANPR?’ Nolan’s eyes flicked from me to Pettifer.

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