Dark Mirror (19 page)

‘And did you and Tina never meet?’

Both shook their heads, eyeing each other with interest.

Sophie was looking up at the front of the house. ‘This is quite charming, isn’t it? But expensive to rent in this part of town, surely. Was she sharing with a group?’

‘Apparently not.’

‘Really? How could she afford it? I paid her very little really.’

‘Good question. You got any ideas, Tina?’

Tina shot Kathy a dark look, muttered, ‘No.’

Kathy led the way to the front door, and took them through the downstairs rooms. The other women all seemed astonished by the newness and quality of the fittings.

‘It’s very tidy, isn’t it?’ Sophie said.

‘Wasn’t Marion usually tidy?’ Kathy asked.

Sophie said, ‘Oh yes, I think so. Always very organised.’

Tina nodded. ‘You should have seen her room at Stamford Street. She couldn’t believe the mess the rest of us lived in.’

Sophie gazed around Marion’s orderly work room, then went over to the table. ‘It’s all here—my notes, the books, the photocopies we spoke about, and the work she’s been doing this past month.’ She flicked through pages of typescript. ‘Everything I asked. It’s almost as if . . .’ Sophie hesitated, and glanced at Tina.

‘Go on,’ Kathy said.

‘Well, I’m probably imagining it, but it’s almost as if she’d tidied everything up, knowing . . .’ Her voice faded.

‘Knowing she was leaving for good?’ Kathy prompted.

Sophie nodded.

‘Knowing that people like us would be standing here looking at it.’ Kathy went on. ‘So perhaps you can tell me if you find anything else here that strikes you as odd. I’ll let you sort out your things while I have a word with Tina. Maybe you could make out a list of what you’re taking.’

‘Of course.’

Kathy took Tina’s arm and led her out to the sitting room at the back of the house and sat her in one of the two armchairs in front of the fireplace. She took the other, and said, ‘I think it’s time we helped each other, Tina. You said I was wrong in thinking Marion poisoned herself. Well, I’m prepared to keep an open mind on that, but I need help. There’s some reason you’re so sure I was wrong, isn’t there?’

Tina met her eyes for a moment, then looked away. ‘Nothing special.’

‘The pathologist has discovered that she was pregnant, and lost the baby just a couple of weeks before she died. Did you know that?’

Tina looked shocked, and shook her head. ‘No!’

‘She didn’t give you a hint? Think about it, Tina. You said she was the same as usual in the weeks leading up to her death, but surely there must have been something?’

‘I had no idea about a baby,’ she whispered. ‘But there was something, something new, that she said was very exciting . . .’ She frowned, trying to remember exactly what Marion had said, but the memory seemed elusive. ‘Exciting and scary, that’s what she said. But I thought she was talking about her work. I was sure she was. That’s why I didn’t think it had anything to do with what happened. Could she really have been talking about a baby?’

‘Try to remember exactly what she said.’

Tina’s mouth twisted with effort, but she shook her head.

‘Maybe it’ll come back to you. But what I really need to know is, who was the father?’

Tina shook her head hopelessly, and after a while Kathy gave up pressing her. ‘Did you get in touch with Donald Fotheringham?’

‘Yes, I phoned him. We’re meeting later this afternoon. I’d like to hear about Marion’s early life.’

‘Good. He wanted to speak to someone close to Marion. Maybe talking to him will make you remember something that might help me.’

Tina looked around the room. ‘But now I feel as if I didn’t know her at all.’

Sophie Warrender’s voice called from the hall. ‘Hello? We’re just about finished here.’

Kathy got to her feet and went out to them. Emily stood behind her mother, both women carrying bags full of papers and books. Sophie handed Kathy a list. ‘This is everything we’ve taken. Thank you so much.’

‘That’s fine. Tell me, did Marion mention a boyfriend to you?’

‘DCI Brock asked me the same question. No, she didn’t.’

‘How about you, Emily? Did she say anything to you?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’ Sophie asked. ‘Was there some mystery man in the background?’

‘Apparently. She lost a baby two weeks before she died.’

Sophie looked surprised, Emily more so, her mouth dropping open. ‘Oh God, that’s terrible!’

‘Yes. We would have expected him to come forward, but he hasn’t.’

‘Perhaps he’s married,’ Sophie said, and a small frown crossed her face. ‘My husband’s mother, who lives with us and met Marion a couple of times, saw her once getting into a taxi with an older man. When she asked Marion about it, she seemed embarrassed. She said it was her tutor. Do you remember, Emily?’

‘Yes.’ The young woman bobbed her head awkwardly. ‘In Covent Garden.’

‘Did Marion say anything else about Dr da Silva to you?’

‘Only that she got quite frustrated by his directions to her,’ Sophie said. ‘I told your chief inspector. They seemed to have quite a few disagreements. But I never got the impression from her that there was anything romantic going on. How about you, darling?’

Emily bit her lip, looking very pale. ‘I’m not sure. She told me once that I should be careful when I got to Oxford and watch out for men who tried to pretend that they were interested in my brains, when all they were really interested in was something else.’

‘You think she was referring to her tutor?’

Emily nodded. ‘Yes.’

There was a small sound at Kathy’s back, and she turned to see Tina standing behind her, listening to their conversation.

‘Well . . .’ Sophie Warrender checked her watch. ‘We must go. Thanks again.’ She shook Kathy’s hand. ‘Please let me know if I can help in any way. I must say I find this all very disturbing. I shall miss Marion a great deal. I would really appreciate it if you would let me know how things progress. Maybe I could write a letter of condolence to her parents. Do you have their details?’

Kathy gave her Sheena Rafferty’s address, then Tina said quickly, ‘Can I get a lift back with you? Anywhere near a tube station would be fine.’

Sophie shot a questioning glance at Kathy, then said, ‘Of course.’

Kathy closed the door behind them, returned to Marion’s work room and sat down at the table. Through the front windows she watched the three women getting into the car and felt a surge of frustration. She was sure that Tina knew more, but the girl had long ago developed a tight-lipped resistance to authority. She wondered if she might open up more to Emily, or Donald Fotheringham.

She looked around her as Marion would have done, the last time she sat there, just over a week before: the orderly stacks of papers on the table, the neat line of pens, the bookshelves on one side, the pinboard on the other. She stopped and looked again. Something was different, and it took her a moment to realise that the display of pictures and connecting threads was changed in some way. Something was missing, she felt, though she couldn’t place what it was, and she experienced an uncanny sensation, as if Marion herself had come back in the interval and rearranged her board.

Kathy picked up the list of items that Sophie had taken. There was no mention of the pinboard, but perhaps she hadn’t thought it important enough. She took out her phone and dialled Sophie’s
mobile. No, the other woman said, they hadn’t touched anything on that wall. Kathy’s sense of unease faded as she realised that forensics had probably returned to collect further samples, then surged back when she remembered that she had the only house key. They couldn’t have got in without her knowledge.

She looked around the room again, searching for some other sign, and her eye stopped at a gap in the bookshelves. It hadn’t been there before, she was almost certain, because she thought she remembered what had been—Anthony da Silva’s biography of Rossetti. That didn’t appear on Sophie’s list either.

Before she left she checked the windows and doors once more, finding no signs of forced entry, then took photos of Marion’s room with her mobile phone.

•

Kathy found the estate agent on her second attempt. Bryan Dawkins showed Kathy into a small glass-partitioned room in one corner of his office. He was a plump, cheerful, enthusiastic man—as he would be, Kathy supposed, given the price of houses in the neighbourhood.

‘Yes, we handled the sale of 43 Rosslyn Court,’ he said. ‘I read about that dreadful poisoning in the London Library, of course, but I just didn’t make the connection with our Ms Summers. Please take a seat.’

‘Tell me about the sale of the house.’

‘She spotted it herself. Apparently she’d been looking in this area, and saw our sign outside the house. She came in and asked for particulars, and I showed her around. She fell for it immediately, it was exactly what she was looking for, so she went ahead, all pretty straightforward.’

‘What was the selling price?’

‘Seven twenty-five. She didn’t haggle.’

‘Seven hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds?’

‘Yes. It was a good buy. It’d only just come on the market. The seller had done it all up—new kitchen, bathrooms, wiring, every-thing—then his company posted him abroad and he had to sell up.’

‘Did she discuss how she was raising the money?’

‘Her solicitor dealt with all that. After we shook hands that day I didn’t see her again. There was one condition that caused a bit of discussion. They wanted to settle in three equal payments spread over six months. The seller wouldn’t have it, and in the end Ms Summers agreed—must have fixed up bridging finance, I suppose.’

‘So she didn’t give any indication where the money was coming from?’

‘’Fraid not. Is there a problem?’

‘Not really. Just trying to get a picture of her,’ Kathy said. ‘We haven’t been able to speak to her immediate neighbours yet. Know anything about them?’

‘Yes, I do actually. We handled both properties within the past five years or so. One is a Middle Eastern gentleman, rarely stays there I gather, and the other is a doctor and his family, at present doing a stint at a hospital in Alberta, Canada. So it’s not surprising you haven’t been able to catch them at home.’

‘What about the furnishings in the house, Mr Dawkins? Did the previous owner leave any of them?’

‘Oh no, it was completely bare. Everything in there now will have been put there by Ms Summers. I believe she did have someone in to redecorate the place when she first moved in. I recommended someone.’

Kathy thanked him and got the name of the solicitor who had acted for Marion; his office was further along the high street. On the way there she phoned her contact at Forensic Services, who
confirmed that they had not returned to the house since Kathy had been there on the previous Friday.

‘I think someone’s been in there since we left,’ she said. ‘Could you do another check for fingerprints? Especially the downstairs front room, the study.’

The man groaned. ‘Come off it, Kathy. We’re up to our ears. I thought this one was well and truly tied up. Suicide, yes?’

‘Maybe not. I’ll put in a formal request.’

‘Well, it probably won’t be this week, unless you can persuade my boss.’

‘Also, could you send me a complete set of all the photographs you took in the house, please? Thanks.’

•

The solicitor had recognised Marion’s name in the newspaper reports, but hadn’t thought to contact the police. Or rather, Kathy suspected, he didn’t see the need to get involved. He seemed to know very little about his client and had done no other business for her apart from the house purchase.

‘Confident, intelligent young woman. Seemed very pleasant. Tragic business.’

‘Did she talk about her personal circumstances?’

‘Said she was a student. A relative in Scotland had left her an inheritance that she wanted to invest in property as her security for the future. I agreed that the house she had in mind would serve admirably.’

‘Did she say anything about this relative? A name?’

‘No, I don’t believe so. The only thing was that she wasn’t sure when probate would be granted, and she didn’t want to lose the house. We tried to delay completion, but the seller wanted things wrapped up.’

‘What happened?’

‘The money came through. She paid.’

‘How?’

He frowned. ‘A bank draft, as I recall. Is that important?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Do you suspect fraud?’

‘I’m trying to establish if Ms Summers had any substantial debts at the time of her death, and hence what her assets might amount to.’

‘Hm, well, it wasn’t a building society mortgage.’

He got to his feet and went to the door, saying a few words to a secretary, then returned to his seat. ‘Won’t be a moment.’

‘Do you know if she had another solicitor?’

‘She didn’t mention it. You’re thinking of a will, perhaps? Have you traced her next of kin?’

‘Her mother’s living in London, other relatives in Scotland, but none of them seems to have been aware of a substantial legacy.’

‘I see.’

The secretary brought in a file which the solicitor consulted. ‘Yes, here we are. A draft from the Banque Foche SA in Geneva made out to ourselves in the sum of 1.1 million euros. After completing the purchase there was a balance of almost twenty thousand pounds that we returned to Ms Summers.’

‘Why a Swiss bank, did she say?’

‘Apparently the relative had business interests in Switzerland.’

‘Do you know this bank?’

‘No, I can’t say I’ve come across them before, but there are many banks in Switzerland.’

‘All very discreet, no doubt.’

The solicitor allowed himself a small smile. ‘No doubt.’

‘
T
his is Detective Chief Inspector David Brock,’ Kathy said curtly, coming into the room quickly and pulling up a chair at the table.

Nigel Ogilvie blinked at him uncertainly. ‘Er, how do you do?’

Brock grunted non-committally and sat heavily in the other chair, tossing his newspaper onto the table. He folded his arms resignedly as if he had far better things to do, and his eyes strayed back to the paper, folded to the sports page.