The vindictive edge in her voice was beginning to make sense. Selling the house was designed to punish Kate as well as reorganising Miss Charnock’s finances. I got off the phone as quickly as possible, and not just because talking to Phyllis Charnock was depressing.
The clock was ticking for Kate, from the moment Miss Charnock announced she was selling the house. There would have been no possibility of negotiating with her aunt, I thought, even if they had been on good terms. Six months to find a home, having sunk all of her money into the house she thought she’d inherit. Her business had failed comprehensively. Chloe was still dependent on her and they were both dependent on Brian Emery’s financial support. No wonder she was so keen to secure a lump sum from him.
And he’d said no.
In the kitchen, Derwent said something that made Neela laugh, a long peal of pure amusement. Either she had a very different sense of humour to me or he was trying harder than usual.
When I walked in I found him sitting at the breakfast bar, his expression innocent. The only sign he had been misbehaving was that one of his knees was jumping, and only I would know it was a giveaway. I glanced at Neela, who was bright-eyed and inclined to blush as well as giggle. He couldn’t help it, I thought. Especially when Melissa was turning out to be hard work. A little diversion here and there. Could I blame him?
I could, and I did.
‘I think we’re finished here,’ I said coldly. To Derwent, I said, ‘We need to get back to the office.’
The smile disappeared from his face. ‘Why?’
Like I’m going to say anything more in front of your estate-agent friend. I raised my eyebrows at him.
He slid off the stool, coming to heel like a dog that knows it’s pushed its luck too far.
‘How was Miss Charnock?’ Neela asked.
‘I think she’s enough to put off any buyer, even one who doesn’t mind about the murder.’
‘Yeah.’ She sighed. ‘I’m definitely going to earn my commission on this one.’
30
‘Is that everything?’ I asked.
‘There’s one more box.’ Derwent dumped the one he’d been carrying on the floor and went out again.
Teetering piles of paper almost filled the meeting room table already. I started trying to put it in order, swearing under my breath at the scale of it all.
‘What’s this?’
I looked up to see Una Burt standing in the doorway. ‘The files we took from Kate Emery’s house and everything we’ve pulled together since. All the paperwork, basically.’
‘Why?’
I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand. ‘Did you hear about the house?’
She nodded. ‘Her financial situation was far worse than we thought.’
‘Which makes me wonder if she was doing anything to try to get more money.’
‘Like?’
‘Extra work? Cash in hand? Something illegal? She knew about drugs. She had a supplier for the herbal stuff she sold as a fertility aid. Maybe she started importing something else. A dealer might have objected to her invading their territory.’
‘Then where did the money go?’
I shrugged. ‘She hid it too well. Or maybe Chloe went to find it and they followed her. Take the money, kill the only witness.’
Burt looked at the table. ‘It’s going to take you a while to go through all that on your own.’
‘I was wondering if I could get some help – Colin, ideally. Or Liv?’
‘They’re busy working on Chloe’s murder. But you’ve got Derwent.’
‘I do.’ I pulled a face. ‘It might be more help if you took him away.’
Slightly unexpectedly, she laughed. ‘All right. I’ll find something for him to do to keep him off your back.’
I sat down at the table and began picking through Kate’s life again, looking for any variations in the usual patterns. Most people had fairly predictable lives: a handful of jobs over the years, a couple of bank accounts, a dip into the red now and then. There was a rhythm to their spending: an uptick in December for Christmas presents and in July for holidays, paring outgoings to the bone in January. They paid off car loans and invested in their pensions and got a good deal on a new TV and the whole tale of their lives was laid out like the Bayeux tapestry once you knew how to read their financial documentation.
Kate’s bank accounts told a different story.
‘Find anything?’ Derwent, leaning over my shoulder with a mug of tea. His, it became apparent when he sipped it a split second before I thanked him for making it for me.
‘Cash.’
‘What about it?’
I flipped back through the statements, pointing to the figures I’d highlighted. ‘She started taking out cash in May. Phyllis told her in April the house was going to be sold. She gave her niece six months to get herself organised. I’d have expected Kate to cut down on her spending and increase her savings so she could manage a rental deposit but she started taking out the maximum from cash machines between three and five times a week. Different machines, different places. Always the maximum.’
‘So? Maybe she started using cash so she’d be more careful with her spending. Makes a difference when you see the money go, doesn’t it?’
‘But she never used it. All her spending was still on her debit and credit cards. Even small sums.’
‘OK. So what was she doing with it? Paying someone off? Hiding it?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I know we didn’t find it.’
‘What else?’
‘Nothing yet. Give me a chance. I’ve only just started.’
‘You need some help,’ Derwent said.
‘Not from you.’
‘Wasn’t offering. Hold on a second.’ He strolled out and a couple of minutes passed before Georgia appeared in the doorway.
‘DI Derwent told me you needed me.’
I suppressed a sigh and filled her in on what we’d learned about Kate.
‘So she had no money. Why didn’t she get a job?’
‘Doing what?’
‘She was a nurse, wasn’t she? Before she set up her company, I mean.’
‘She’d let her registration lapse.’
‘I think she was still working in that area, though, wasn’t she?’ Georgia started burrowing through the files, frowning. ‘I’m sure I saw something when I was looking for the child psychologist reports. Here.’ She handed me a letter on headed paper.
‘A short-term contract at the Rosebery Clinic, whatever that is.’ I checked the date. ‘But this is from two years ago.’
‘That’s the last mention of a real job I found. If you’re looking for work, you start off by going back to the places you’ve worked before, don’t you? Unless you fucked up.’
‘Absolutely.’ I found my phone and called the number on the letter.
‘The Rosebery Clinic, Anita speaking, how may I help you?’ She sounded smoothly professional, her voice unapologetically posh.
I identified myself and explained I was ringing because of an active murder investigation. The silence on the other end of the line was charged with reluctance to get involved, but there was curiosity too.
‘I’m not sure if we can help.’
‘Is the Rosebery Clinic a medical clinic?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Specialising in …’
‘Reproductive healthcare. Fertility, specifically.’
‘IVF?’ That was all I really knew about fertility treatments.