The English Boys (10 page)

Fourteen

Tamsyn Burke's funeral took
place in the very spot where her wedding was to have been, a
mea culpa
, it seemed, from the Dean and Chapter of Westminster Abbey for having lost her so tragically on her most important of days. The service drew a large crowd.
Apart from the family and friends who had been present on the day of her murder
,
there were other relatives
and business associates who had never even met her
. Inspector Murray and Ennis were in attendance, scanning the room for suspects. Outside the church, onlookers gathered on the pavement with mobile phones held over their heads, snapping photos when Hugh stepped out of his car and walked head down into the building. The Hardy film was weeks away from release and Tamsyn had not been well known enough to have real fans, but such circumstances bring out the morbid. The Burkes followed Hugh inside and sat across the aisle from the Ashley-Hunts, nodding stiffly as they took their seats.

Carey sat with her mother on one side and Nick on the other. She was glad he was there. It was an ordeal only to be managed on the arm of a good friend. She avoided looking at the casket in the front of the room. The first notes from the organ jangled her nerves, echoing in the hollow recesses of the room. Even the murmur of people greeting one another or trying to take a seat was distressing. The majesty of their surroundings did nothing to help, and even before the service began, Carey knew she would never darken the door of the Abbey again. She glanced at Hugh, who sat red-faced and silent between his parents, and at Daniel beside him, who was as stony-faced as anyone in the room. Her own parents sat numbly, having done their weeping at home.

Throughout the difficult parts of the sermon, Carey placed her hand on Nick's arm for support, where the irregular vibrations of his tics passed through his arm and into her fingers like a stream flowing into the mouth of a river, gently but steadily, pulsating and alive, comforting in its constancy. As the service began, she couldn't listen for fear of crying. Instead she shut it out, mentally quizzing herself on the parts of the Central Nervous System: brain, brain stem, mesencephalon, tectum, cerebrum peduncle, pretectum, mesencephalic duct. She imagined the soft pink and white tissue inside Nick's brain and the damaged part that caused the tics, what it would look like to the naked eye, if it could be surgically repaired. Anything was better than listening to the funeral of her only sibling. Occasionally, the sound of sniffling broke her concentration. She was a reserved person by nature, prone to analytical thought and ruled by common sense, but suddenly she felt herself sliding into the Slough of Despond; not just a place of despair, but despair tinged with guilt. She could have been a better sister. She hadn't judged Tamsyn, but she had often feared for her, and now, the worst had come true.

She longed, suddenly, to believe in prayer, to be washed in something pure and true that would cleanse her from the filth of this wretched mess. She believed in God; as a member of the scientific community she believed that adaptation was measurable and therefore indisputable, and that evolution did not occur universally but in fits and spurts; but the thought that an ultimate Creator had time for one among billions of human beings seemed improbable, to say the least. Too many millions suffered every day for him to hear and to acknowledge the cries of one, though believing in God allowed her the hope of heaven, where Tamsyn surely deserved to be.

The service droned on. Carey became sore from sitting motionless for such a long period of time. She massaged her neck during the final prayer and then took her mother's cold, unresponsive hand.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

She looked at her mother. Miranda Burke was young, not yet fifty, with only the slightest hint of gray beginning to show in her hair. Her face, when the girls were growing up, had been creased with laugh lines, though Carey knew the last ten years had taken a toll on her. When Tamsyn had turned fifteen, she had rebelled against authority, and her mother had been left to deal with the consequences. Carey had the sudden wish to see her smile again, but now that wouldn't be possible until she was back in Llandudno, sometime in the distant future when the painful memory of their beloved Tamsyn on the floor in a bloody dress had begun to fade, if that was even possible.

Her mother roused herself from her thoughts. “I suppose so.”

She was wearing a black suit quite proper for someone of middle age, though Carey had refused the custom and donned a green jacket she would have worn to class on any ordinary day. She could imagine Tamsyn would have wanted them to wear something as colorful and irreverent as her own personality, and though Carey had none of her sister's verve, she had made an attempt. Black seemed so final; green, on the other hand, reminded her of leaves and trees and fields, of heaven itself, which lay just beyond their reach.

“Do you want to go to the pub, Mum?”

Miranda shook her head. “Not especially. But we should go anyway, for Tamsyn.”

Carey was disappointed, but there was nothing to do but go with them. She squeezed her mother's arm. Of course, even if she didn't feel like making small talk, she could spend the time observing the attendees. Was it possible that the murderer would come and sit among them and lift a glass in Tamsyn's honor? The thought revolted her, and yet, anything was possible if someone was hardened enough to stab the sharp end of a knife into a beautiful living being.

Most of the people walked from Westminster Abbey to the Regency Arms several blocks away, but the Burkes and Nick Oliver squeezed into a cab and jostled through traffic to arrive at the pub a few minutes early.

“I suppose I'll have to talk to people,” Carey remarked to Nick as they walked through the door.

“I suppose,” he agreed.

She looked at him for a moment. “I'm sorry. This is awful, I know. Especially this, crammed in a small room with lots of people we don't know.”

“Or want to,” Nick added.

She watched her parents and Nick find a table and sit down. She didn't care for alcohol but ordered a half pint to be socially correct, wondering how long they would have to stay. She never went to pubs. For one thing, there was never time. She was either in class or studying; even her mobile phone was always set to vibrate so that it wouldn't interrupt whatever sentence she happened to be writing and make her lose her train of thought. For another, she rarely socialized beyond the study group she had joined. They were an interesting lot who had come together during their first term at university: Jared Chin, a Chinese student from Guiyang whose father, a worker in a small umbrella factory, wanted him to become a doctor; Roddy MacInnis, who was studying medicine to best his brother, a barrister; Gillian Stewart, who was a few years older and had returned to university after losing her parents in an accident; and Fiona Dickson, who had inherited a fortune from her great-uncle and decided to pursue the career she had dreamed of since childhood. All of them were serious, apart from Roddy's occasional and generally unwelcome attempt at humor. From time to time they would get into arguments over a method of diagnosis or treatment, but mostly they were a congenial group in which there were no weak links. Carey had originally suspected that she might have to carry the load when someone faltered, but they had proved sound and reliable, all of them getting excellent marks.

She saw that her friends had come to the Regency Arms to support her on this dreary afternoon. They huddled around a table in the corner and nodded at her in sympathy, as unused to taking time off or having a drink as she was. Carey went to greet them, though she didn't feel like engaging in conversation with anyone. It was too much effort.

As she lifted her glass to her lips, her mobile began to vibrate in her coat pocket, startling her and causing her to slosh ale on her sleeve. She reached for a napkin and dabbed at it, her back to the crowd. Irritated, she took the phone from her pocket and saw there was a message from Daniel Richardson.

Don't talk to me here.

Although she hadn't seen him arrive, she could suddenly feel his presence somewhere behind her. She fought the impulse to turn around and scan the crowd. Instead, she fumbled with the keypad to send a reply.

How did you get my number?

I have my ways. Does anyone look suspicious?

Right now, everyone does.

He didn't reply. Carey longed to abandon her glass, but it served as a means of avoiding conversation. It was odd, seeing Daniel's name on her mobile. She knew that half the girls in London would have taken her place in a heartbeat just to have the chance to talk to him, but she was different. Anything relating to sex or the male species was nothing more than a distraction when one was studying medicine. Waiting for his response, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Miss Burke. I'm sorry for your loss.”

She knew the deep, elegant voice before she turned around. It belonged to Dr. Henry Landrake, one of her biology professors. He was unusually attractive for a university professor, so unlike the balding academes she vastly preferred. His forceful personality and reputation among the students caused her to avoid as much contact with him as possible.

“Thank you,” she managed, just.

“She was a lovely girl.”

Carey had forgotten that Tamsyn once met her after Landrake's class. He had demanded an introduction, which she had reluctantly given. Landrake was like that, prying into her personal life. She'd had the sickening feeling all term that he was trying to sleep with her.

Carey gave a tight smile and lifted her glass, only to freeze when he put his warm, smooth fingers around her wrist.

“Don't forget, I'm always here for you should you ever need anything.”

“School's going well,” she said, avoiding his meaning.

“I meant in a personal capacity as well.”

“Thank you,” she said again, hardly daring to breathe until he re
moved his hand from her arm. Over the glass, she caught Fiona's
raised eyebrow. She hoped Fiona didn't think something was going on between them. Surely the sheer number of hours they spent working together contradicted that possibility. As if sensing her discomfort, her friend moved toward her, and Landrake left to get a drink.

“I was up half the night,” Fiona said. “Even though we're between sessions, I'm desperate to work ahead for next year.”

Carey was relieved that she hadn't offered condolences or made some sort of vague, prying remark. It was tiresome, trying to respond to them. “I'm anxious to get started, too.”

“That's understandable. Maybe we can get together next week. I wouldn't mind staying ahead of the boys.”

Jared and Roddy were engaged in a spirited discussion behind them, possibly about boating. Roddy had been trying to get their whole group organized for a picnic and outing in the country, which everyone else in the group had resisted.

“We need the occasional change of scene,” he'd said.

“No, we don't,” Gillian had replied.

“Of course you don't. Who would want to waste time relaxing?”

Gillian had nodded. “We don't need to develop lazy habits.”

He'd been disappointed, but reliably good-natured the next time they'd seen him. Carey caught his eye now and smiled. He was the odd man out sometimes, but well-meaning.

She was lucky to have friends who would drop everything just to be there for her when the bottom dropped out.

Her mobile began to vibrate again. She slid it out of her pocket and looked at the screen.

There's someone you need to talk to. Meet me on
the Blue Bridge, St. James's Park, 20 minutes.

Carey glanced across the room at Nick. He was a good friend, talking to her parents and her aunt and uncle. She made her way through the crowd until she reached their table.

“I'm feeling a bit tired. I'd like to go now.”

Nick stood. “I'll come with you.”

“No,” she said. “I just need some air. Can you please see Mum and Dad back to the hotel?”

“Of course,” he answered.

“I'll ring you later, then.”

Carey kissed her mother's cheek and touched her father's arm before turning to leave.

She didn't even have to look in his direction to know that Daniel Richardson was watching her every move.

Fifteen

At St. James's Park,
Carey walked out onto the bridge, which spanned the length of the lake. Daniel Richardson was nowhere in sight. A band of tourists took photographs of Westminster Palace at the other end, their cameras glinting in the glare of the sun, which had suddenly appeared between the clouds. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky, listening to the flap of wings overhead and the water slapping against the bank below. She took a deep breath and realized she was hungry. Usually when she imbibed the rare pint, it dulled her interest in food, but now she thought of rich pasta, pesto, and garlic, things she rarely craved. She studied the water, trying to put the thought out of her mind. Nearby, a flock of pelicans flapped their feathers in the sunshine as if to assert their dominion over the lake, St. James's Park, perhaps even London. For one futile moment Carey wished it were just a normal day, not the day her sister was being buried. She felt guilty being alive.

She turned, looking for Daniel, wondering if she had imagined the whole exchange.

She was scrolling through her texts when he appeared at her shoulder.

“You startled me,” she said. She took a step back and stuffed her mobile into her pocket.

“Sorry. I couldn't walk out with you,” he said. “I didn't want anyone to notice.”

She didn't answer. An elderly couple walked past, smiling and relaxed. It was easy to forget that normal life was still taking place all around them. She thought back to a week earlier, when she'd ended the term with good marks on her exams and was looking forward to buying new textbooks for the autumn term. She had been happy, as happy as she'd ever been. Life had a rhythm and routine that was comforting, but all of that was gone now.

Daniel took her arm and began to steer her along the bridge, northwards through the traffic of the Mall. Crossing to Marlborough Street, he hailed a cab. Carey waited for him to give the driver directions.

“The Dorchester, please,” he said, settling back into his seat.

“We're going to a hotel?” she asked. She had no idea what she had expected, but it certainly wasn't that.

“I've figured out how to start. There's someone you need to talk to.”

“Who?”

“Anna Parrish.”

“Anna Parrish? The actress?” Carey asked, surprised. “Why do you want me to talk to her? Aren't you the one who knows her?”

“I've never met her, but Marc Hayley says she insisted on coming to the wedding with him, that
she wanted to talk to Tamsyn
. We need to find out why she was so keen to come. I think because you're a woman, you might have more luck with her.”

“How would I go about it?”

“Go into the hotel and ask to speak with her alone.” He looked over the lake. “Look, I know it's awkward, but she could turn around and get on a plane to go back to the States tomorrow and we'd have missed our chance.”

“Then what?”

“If she doesn't shed any light on the situation, we'll decide what to do next.”

Carey looked at her watch. “It's after five.”

“Perfect time to catch her. It's too early for supper.”

The traffic was dense. Carey rarely rode in cabs, which felt stuffy and close compared to the Tube. It was an unnecessary expense as well, and she could hardly stop herself from watching the meter ticking away pound after pound. Daniel seemed unconcerned.

“What do you know about her?” she asked, turning to study him.

“Well, she's American, obviously. Not exactly top tier in the acting game, though she's very well known. That's probably due more to her, shall we say, lifestyle than to talent.”

“And they came all the way to London just for the wedding?”

“Yes. I mean, it doesn't surprise me that Hayley flew back for it. He's an old friend of Hugh's. But Anna's different. I made a couple of calls and found out she even asked for a few days off from the show she's working on in Toronto.”

“Oh,” Carey said. “What does that mean?”

“Trust me, it's difficult to stop production and take off a few days. Who knows what she had to do to get it.”

The cab eased to a stop in front of the hotel and Carey got out.

“Aren't you coming?” she asked.

“I'll wait for you at the pub on the corner.”

She leaned back into the cab. “I don't know what to say.”

“Look, this woman might have had something to do with your sister's murder, or know someone who did. Anything you can find out will be helpful.”

Carey drew her jacket around her and stepped back from the cab. She turned to face the hotel, nodding at the doorman as she entered. The lobby was crowded with patrons, some of whom had enjoyed afternoon tea in the Promenade and were leaving the building. She wracked her brain for a mental image of Anna Parrish, whom she had glimpsed at the Abbey: average height, with a preference for high heels and a round, curvaceous body, not one of those waifs one saw on the television who existed on yogurt and tofu. She had dressed to attract attention at the wedding, in an expensive red silk dress. A woman like that would be easy to pick out of a crowd, but she was nowhere to be seen. Carey would have to inquire at the desk. Then something caught her eye: a shiny black crocodile Hermes handbag.

She looked up at the owner of such an extravagant item and saw that it was indeed Anna Parrish. She was sitting in a gold brocade chair, sending a text.

Carey took a deep breath and forced herself to walk toward the actress. The woman had shoulder-length dark hair that fell around her shoulders and green, cat-shaped eyes. She wore a black blouse over a pair of jeans with tall, black pumps.

“Miss Parrish?” Carey asked.

Her voice sounded more confident than she felt. Perhaps it was wrong for her and Daniel to investigate, independent of the police inquiry, though it had been three days and the official investigation had turned up nothing so far. If she couldn't even approach someone in a public place without feeling every nerve in her body revolt, she wouldn't be able to pursue it at all.

“Yes?” Anna Parrish gave her a cursory look and then a second glance, her demeanor changing when she recognized Carey. “Oh, I'm sorry, Miss … Burke?”

“Yes, I'm Carey Burke.” She dug her fingers into the strap of her bag. “Look, I apologize for being blunt, but did you know my sister?”

Anna Parrish studied her for a moment before speaking. She
glanced about the lobby at the dozen or so people talking and reading magazines. “Perhaps it would be best if we had some privacy.”

Carey nodded, following her to the lounge, which was almost completely deserted this time of day. A couple of men sat in a corner conducting a business meeting. Anna walked over to a pair of club chairs tucked out of the way and looked at Carey.

“Is this all right?”

“Of course.”

She watched as the actress sat down in the chair and kicked off her four-inch heels. She set the shoes next to her handbag on the table between them and sighed.

“I hope you don't mind. These shoes are killing me. I couldn't get a cab and had to walk several blocks in them.”

“Not at all.”

“Well?” Anna asked. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“Not really, thanks. I wanted to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind.”

“Why? I mean, aren't the police working on the case?”

“Yes. Of course. It's just that I want to understand a few things for myself.”

Anna sighed. “It must have been awful. I don't know how you're coping so well.”

“I'm not sure I am.”

Anna looked around at the nearly empty room. “Do you think I could smoke here?”

“There aren't any ashtrays.”

“Then I probably can't. The world is becoming a totalitarian state when you can't have a simple cigarette. What is it you wanted to ask me, anyway?”

“Did you know my sister?”

“I hate to go all Bill Clinton on you, but define ‘know.'”

“Had you ever met her?”

“No, I hadn't. This is my first trip to England.”

“You came as a guest of Marc Hayley, didn't you?”

“Yes,” she answered, tucking a few falling strands of hair behind her ear. “Marc and I have a sort of casual relationship. We've known each other for a couple of years.”

“And he invited you to the wedding?”

“Well, not exactly.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“What do you mean?” Carey leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“I mean, I asked him if I could come with him. I knew he was close to Hugh. Pardon me for saying so, but it's a big deal to bag a social event as big as this one.”

“I heard you asked Marc Hayley to come because of Tamsyn, not because of Hugh. Is that true?”

“Marc must have said something to you.”

“No. Actually, I've never met him.”

“Then how … ?”

“Does it matter?”

Anna shrugged. “I suppose it doesn't. It's not that important, really. I had a letter from your sister, oh, about a year ago. It intrigued me, and when I found out she was marrying Hugh Ashley-Hunt, I wanted to come and meet them.”

“You had a letter from Tamsyn?” Carey asked, incredulous. “A year ago, before she was even involved with Hugh? What sort of letter?”

“It was odd. She wanted to know if I had any background information about Marc.”

“I'm sorry, I don't understand.”

“Well, neither do I, really. That's one thing I was going to do: ask her what kind of information she wanted.”

“Did you reply to the letter?”

“Yes. I told her I had only known Marc for a couple of years and hadn't ever met his family. I didn't even know he was friends with Hugh until after I got the letter. I have no idea what she was getting at.”

“Do you still have it?”

“At home, back in LA. But I haven't been there in over a month. I've been shooting a sitcom in Toronto.”

Carey frowned, taken aback. What information could Tamsyn have wanted from a complete stranger about someone she had never met before?

“Is it possible that I could have it after you get back?”

Anna shrugged her shoulders. “Sure. Why not?”

Carey reached into her handbag, a canvas catch-all that was meant for carrying as many university textbooks as she could lift, and drew an envelope from its recesses. She extracted the letter inside it before writing her address on the back of the envelope. She held it out to Anna.

“I don't know exactly what my sister was trying to do, but it may be important.” She stood. “Thank you for your time, and for being kind enough to answer my questions.”

“I'm really sorry about everything.” Anna reached out a sympathetic hand.

Carey shook it briefly. “Thank you.”

She turned to leave, slinging her bag over her shoulder and stuffing her hands into her pockets, puzzled. What an odd thing it had been for Tamsyn to do, contacting Anna Parrish about Marc, especially before ever meeting Hugh. Maybe the letter would shed some light on it, but somehow she doubted it. She stepped out of the hotel and headed in the direction of the pub down the street, where Daniel would be waiting. Perhaps he could make some sense of it all.