The English Boys (4 page)

Five

Of the many times
Daniel had visited the Ashley-Hunts' Mayfair home, none o
f them had involved stealing in through the back door under cover of darkness, the threat of arrest hanging over his head. The house was Regency, with a white-painted stucco façade and an impressive black entryway framed by two tall columns. He had never stepped over the threshold without imagining carriages pulling up to the door and nineteenth-century women lifting their crinolines to avoid puddles. The wrought-iron balconies provided a fine view of Berkeley Square, though he doubted they had ever been used by the present owners. The bow windows had heavy velvet curtains that enclosed the inhabitants in a cocoon of comfort and privacy. It was the sort of place where men were offered port and cigars in the library and discussed politics and world affairs. In fact, he himself had been present on at least three such occasions, although as the junior members of the set, he and Hugh had contented themselves with sitting in the corner and listening to their elders speak. The foyer boasted the requisite vertical-striped wallpaper, as well as more furniture than he had in his entire flat and Caroline Ashley-Hunt's prized collection of Sevres, which rivaled that of the British Museum. To Daniel, the house lacked the warmth of their Gloucestershire home, which, despite an enviable array of Louis XIV chairs and four-poster beds, smelt of wet dogs and horses. He himself had never had any aspirations to such grandeur; more likely he'd be terrified every moment that it was about to be burgled.

When he arrived, the electrified gate was ajar, and even though he moved through it without a sound, sure that no one had seen him, it closed behind him. Hugh must be watching from the security room, he realized, with its half-dozen cameras trained on every side of the house, vigilant against intruders. The rain had stopped, but the wind whipped around his legs and stung his eyes, and he put his head down as he walked around the house. A few dim lights illuminated the exterior, but the ground floor rooms were dark. When he turned the corner, the light was on and Hugh was waiting for him on the step.

“Come in,” his friend murmured, ushering him into the house.

“What's going on?” Daniel asked.

“Let's go in the kitchen. I imagine you could use a cup of tea.”

Daniel shrugged off his jacket and ran a hand through his hair.

“Hang your coat there,” Hugh said, indicating the hook on the wall.

“It's dripping.”

“Marthe will mop in the morning. She's relentless.”

Daniel hung his coat on the hook and followed his friend into the kitchen, where Hugh filled a kettle and leaned against the counter. He looked exhausted, no doubt having spent hours analyzing the situation from every angle. It was the way Hugh coped with things, not that it would work this time. If he expected a rational explanation for what had happened, he was certain to be disappointed. As far as Daniel knew, Tamsyn didn't have enemies, and even if she had, they were certainly not numbered among family and friends at the wedding. There was no sense to be made of it. Her murder defied logic.

“I've gone over and over it,” Hugh said. “I didn't see anyone in the corridor. No one at all. Of course, they could have gone out the other side, but it would have been difficult to avoid the family.”

“I don't know how you can think anymore. It's all going hazy for me.”

“Probably because it's eleven o'clock at night and you've been drinking. Have you eaten anything?”

“No. Have you?”

“I may never eat again.”

“How long were the police here?”

“A couple of hours. It was ghastly trying to hash back through it all. I've made a list, you see,” Hugh said, producing a crumpled paper from his pocket. “Everyone who was in that part of the Abbey is there. The police are adamant that it was someone on this list.”

“Have they any particular suspect?”

Hugh put the paper on the table. “They find it somehow significant that you were the last person known to have seen her.”

“Thank you for adding the word ‘known.'”

“Of course you didn't do it. I'd stake my life on it. In fact, you were half in love with her yourself. I said as much to the police.”

“They didn't believe you, I suppose?”

“They're looking at motives.”

“What possible motive could anyone have?”

“The seven deadly sins: greed, envy, lust; but I don't see how any of them apply here.”

“There were people present that I certainly don't like, but I still wouldn't accuse them of murder,” Daniel replied.

“One of the bridesmaids, for example.”

“Exactly. Or that odd couple, Dylan Cole and Lucy Potter.”

“They're peculiar, certainly, but insane enough to do something like this?” Hugh tapped the paper with a finger.

Daniel frowned. “May I have a look?”

Hugh slid it over to him. “No one on this list would have hurt her. No one.”

“It's all family and friends.” Daniel sighed. “Do you mind if I hold on to this for a while?” He wanted to look at it later when he hadn't been drinking, but more importantly, he didn't want Hugh obsessing over it when there was nothing he could do.

“All right.”

Daniel refolded the paper and put it in his pocket.

“I'm cursed,” Hugh said, standing. “Literally, I think. I've got the Montgomery curse, passed down on my mother's side. You know—my grandfather was shot by my uncle while they were hunting, and his father was ruined in business. There are stories up the line as far back as you want to go.”

“You're thinking of Lizzie Marsden.”

“God help me. I'd actually thought I'd got over my run of bad luck with that one.”

Six years earlier, they had been friends with a peer's daughter named Elizabeth Marsden. Lizzie was a young hedonist who had pursued them both at Oxford: Diana the Huntress come to life, with bleached blonde locks and a perfect china-doll face. She was an exquisite clothes horse, flashing about in the newest and most risqué designs. She could have had any man she wanted, and often did. During the month or so when Hugh and Daniel had escorted her about London, they were the focus of everyone's attention. Daniel was less than enthralled; she was too perfect, in his eyes, a little calculating and cold. Hugh hadn't minded her frosty demeanor, possibly because he himself was somewhat aloof. The two of them would have made an attractive pair, both tall and blonde and striking, though Lizzie preferred to go about with one of them on each arm. During that time, both Hugh and Daniel were on the stage, Hugh in
Twelfth Night
and Daniel in a contemporary play. It was their first brush with fame and they were enjoying it. They frequented clubs, where they were recognized for the first time, and it didn't hurt to have the most beautiful girl in London at their side.

“Hey, Flirty,” she'd always called Daniel, and though he certainly flirted with beautiful girls from time to time, he had never flirted with her. One didn't need to. In his opinion, she was dangerous. Unfortunately, he didn't follow his instincts and have done with her. The inevitable incident took place at a party in London. There was a raucous crowd, with most of the cast of his play present and some of the other men eyeing him with envy. He'd been talking to a girl who painted sets, and Lizzie had gotten jealous.

“Look what I've got,” she announced, interrupting their conversation. She'd started to pull something out of her handbag, and when Daniel realized what it was, he'd taken her hand and pushed it back in. She had laughed. “Of course. You're right. Let's go somewhere more private.”

“I'm sorry,” he murmured to the girl. He hadn't even gotten to ask her name.

Lizzie had taken him by the hand and dragged him into a bedroom. She took the bag out of her purse and put it on a table, kicking off her shoes before forming snaky little powder lines on the dresser.

“Have some?” she asked.

He shrugged it off. He hated the jitteriness and then the stupor that came over him when he did drugs. He'd worked too hard for what he had to piss it away now on something pointless like cocaine.

Lizzie pulled her blouse over her head and turned toward him. Before he could say a word, she had pushed him down on the bed. Her perfect breasts were visible beneath the sheer bra and he found his hands on her waist, settling her on top of him. It was the only time he slept with her, and he regretted it afterward.

“How long have you known Hugh?” she'd asked while they were still naked.

“Since we were boys,” he said.

“Dirty little boys, I'm sure,” she'd answered, running her finger in light circles over his chest. “I'll bet you were quite the naughty thing.”

Instead of answering, he'd sat up, or tried to, moving her off his chest and onto the bed with a heave.

“I've struck a nerve,” she said, laughing. “What sort of mischief did you get up to? Tell Lizzie all about it.”

“I need a drink,” he'd replied, ignoring her. He'd pulled on his clothes and darted back out to rejoin the party.

A few weeks later, Lizzie had shown up at Hugh's house, drunk again, and tried to cause trouble. Daniel couldn't get out of there fast enough. Hugh had called a cab for her shortly before Daniel left. The next morning, her body was found floating in the Thames. Both men were questioned by the police, but from the amount of drugs in Lizzie's system, it appeared she had committed suicide. She was the tarnish in their crowns, a tale dredged up now and then in
The Sun
or in a
Tattler
column. Hugh rarely spoke of her, even after all this time, but for Daniel, it was a scar no different than the one he had on his arm from an automobile accident years before. The pain might go away, but the reminder was always there.

Neither of them had been intimate with anyone for a long time afterwards, taking particular care not to get involved with anyone who used them for their looks or fame as they rose through the ranks, being chosen for plum roles over other actors. They were closer than brothers, looking out for each other more than ever. In fact, Daniel had often thought it a shame that Alex had never been half the brother to him that Hugh was. After her death, no one like Lizzie Marsden figured in their lives again. There had been various girls throughout the years, but none who had really mattered until Tamsyn Burke. She had captivated them both, in a way that the likes of Lizzie Marsden could never do. But now she, too, was dead.

Daniel began rooting about in the pantry, emerging with two potatoes. “I think if we're going to deal with this, we oughtn't do it on an empty stomach. Crack a couple of eggs there and I'll make the chips.”

They chopped and fried in Marthe's spotless kitchen. Hugh stirred the eggs, and Daniel reached over to hand him the salt, bumping him in the arm, an unspoken way of relating his sorrow. In spite of his own grief, he was devastated for Hugh. To be moments away from marrying the girl you loved, only to lose her forever, was an unimaginable tragedy.

After eating a few bites, he pushed his plate away. It was nearing midnight, and for whatever reason, the police apparently wanted to see him. “Speaking of cursed … ”

“Ah,” Hugh murmured. “The police.”

“I suppose I should go round and have a word.”

“It's the middle of the night. Go in the morning.” Hugh raised a brow. “Besides, there's something I haven't told you.”

“What is it?” Daniel asked. He suddenly had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Instead of answering, Hugh took out his mobile and began jabbing at icons with his finger. After a few seconds, he handed it to Daniel.

“What is it?”

“A death threat, sent to me by anonymous email.”

Daniel stared at him for a moment before taking the phone and looking at the screen:
You don't deserve to live. I'm coming after you.

“When did you get this?” he asked.

“About ten days ago. I didn't think much of it at the time. I wasn't even sure it was meant for me.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“Yes, I told them tonight. I had all but forgotten it until … ” He looked down, unable to say the words.

“What did they say?”

“They consider it a credible threat under the circumstances.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Father's stepped up on that one. He's hiring bodyguards even as we speak. The police are looking into it in the meantime.”

“Is it connected to Tamsyn?”

“What other answer could there be?”

Daniel shook his head, trying to take it all in. “What can I do?” he asked.

“Just being here is everything.”

Daniel stood and slipped on his coat, which was still damp. Hugh held out his hand and Daniel took it, looking at the grim expression on his best friend's face. He would do everything in his power to help him. He didn't know how, but he did know one thing: there was nothing he would rather do than find out who had killed Tamsyn Burke.

And then he'd do everything he could to make that person pay.

Six

An hour later, Daniel
came out of the police station knowing little more than he had before he arrived, although he did learn that Inspector Murray had not been among the policemen who had been at the Ashley-Hunts' that evening. According to the desk sergeant, Murray had taken statements at the Abbey, then worked at his desk for a couple of
hours and left at nine o'clock.

“So who went to my flat?” Daniel asked, confused.

“No one from this borough,” the sergeant said. “I'm sure you'll be contacted if any further statement is required.”

Without any way of discovering which investigators had been looking for him, the only thing to do was to go home and try to sleep. That hour of the night, it was an effort to find a cab. Daniel walked for a couple of blocks, wishing he had driven his own car. The city showed scant signs of life at a quarter past two in the morning. When he hailed a taxi, he found that obtaining transportation did not improve his spirits. It felt as though they were flying at warp speed, taking half-mile leaps as he stared blindly through the windows. The food at Hugh's house had sobered him, although not as much as the conversation. He had focused so much on his own feelings of loss that he hadn't appreciated how Hugh felt until then. Perhaps Marc Hayley was right—Tamsyn's death could damage his career. Not that it mattered from a financial perspective. Hugh hadn't chosen acting for the money, and Daniel had sometimes wondered if he loved acting for its own sake or if he was competing with his father's stellar career. Most actors he knew were compelled to do it, though of course some fell into it by chance. Daniel considered himself one of the latter. He was good at a few things, like literature and grammar, and his mother had hoped for quite a long time that he would teach, but he had never seriously considered it. He enjoyed acting because he liked being immersed in a world apart from his own, a false world in which he looked better and sounded wiser, and where everything came out right in the end. Hugh didn't seem to feel the same about it, but Daniel had never been certain.

Finally deposited in front of his building, he paid the driver and hesitated on the step before going in. He lit a cigarette, wondering how life could change so drastically in twenty-four hours. After a few minutes, he went inside, taking the lift up to his flat. He locked the door behind him and went into the bedroom, where he fell upon the bed. He tossed and turned for nearly an hour until weariness overtook him.

The following morning, Daniel woke late. His head pounded as though he hadn't slept at all. It's the first day without her, he thought, staring at the window across from his bed; the first day when the sun will rise and set without Tamsyn alive to see it. As he poured his first cup of coffee, his mobile buzzed, and he peered at it before answering. It would be his mother, of course, wondering how he was doing. Instead, Tamsyn's face stared at him from the screen.

“Tam?” he said, his heart hammering once again. Had it all been a nightmare after all?

“No,” said a matter-of-fact voice. “It's Carey.”

It took a moment for Daniel to calm down and realize it was Tamsyn's sister. “Good God, you called from her phone!”

“I didn't have your number.”

“I'm sorry. It startled me.” He tried to recover himself. “How are you?”

“Holding on. Just.”

“And your parents?”

“I haven't seen them this morning, but they're devastated. They don't understand how this could have happened.”

“I'm sorry,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say.

“I can't think of a motive, Daniel. There's no reason why someone would want her dead.”

“Nor can I.”

“Can you meet me?” she asked. “We need to talk.”

He hesitated, hating himself as he did so. Did Carey blame him somehow for her sister's death? “When?” he asked. “Today?”

“This morning.”

“Yes, of course. Shall I come round to your flat?”

“No,” she answered. “My parents are coming over. They'll be making arrangements.”

“I can meet you anywhere. Just name the place.”

“There's a café in Arundel Street, Angelo's.”

“Near the university. I know it.” He'd dropped Tamsyn there once when she'd met Carey for lunch. “I'll be there in half an hour.”

Daniel hung up, wondering if he should ring Hugh. Instead, he locked the door and made his way to the Underground. It was cold outside, hardly the spring day the previous one had been, and beneath the streets it was colder still. He exited near King's College, hurrying down the Embankment. He found the café and went inside to wait. She arrived two minutes after him and spied him the moment she walked through the door.

Daniel stood as she approached the table. For some reason, he found it unbearable waiting to hear her speak. As different as Carey was from Tamsyn, he knew that her speech patterns and expressions would conjure her sister's face. She wore a brown hooded cardigan and jeans, looking more like a teenager than a medical student. The impression wasn't improved when a lock of hair fell over her face and she brushed it back.

“Have a seat,” he said, pulling out a chair. “I've ordered coffees.”

“Thank you,” she answered, sitting down. “Let's get straight to the point. I think we should reconstruct the scene to try to figure out exactly what happened. We need to make a list of everyone who was in that part of the Abbey yesterday.”

“I already have one,” he said, tapping his pocket, where he had tucked the list from Hugh.

“May I see it?”

He paused for a moment and then handed it over, watching as she read it through twice.

“Are you certain this is everyone who was in that room? I didn't think to look.”

“Oh, I looked, all right. I was the last one questioned, so I had plenty of time to watch people being called in. This is absolutely correct.”

“It's hard to imagine someone she knew this well … ”

“I know,” he said, cutting her off. He wasn't certain he could stand this, and he had no idea how she could, either. “Perhaps you shouldn't try to get involved with things. I'm sure it must be painful.”

“Don't tell me what to do.”

“I only meant—”

“Oh, I know what you meant,” Carey snapped. “You meant, ‘Leave it to the police.' Well, I can't. Tamsyn was the only sister I had. I can't do nothing. And I should think you, as her friend, would be glad to help.”

“Of course,” he stammered.

“Good. I'm sure we can figure things out.”

“We can't interfere in the police investigation, you know,” he said. “They take that sort of thing quite seriously.”

“If we leave it to the police, it will take forever, if it gets solved at all,” Carey said. “I'm not going to have my parents sit through a protracted investigation while the whole thing is rehashed in the papers every day. Someone out there killed my sister, and I intend to find out why.”

“That's admirable. I'm just not certain how effective it will be.”

“Either you help me or you don't.”

Daniel could see it was no use. She would not be dissuaded. Then again, in her position, he probably wouldn't be either.

“All right,” he said. “But there's something you need to know. Hugh received a death threat about a fortnight ago. The police are looking into it.”

“Oh, god. What about Tamsyn?”

“This threat came to him, not the two of them. He didn't even know if it was a serious threat.”

“Even more reason for us to get started,” Carey said. “Let's divide up
this list: family, friends, acquaintances. Hold on, I have some paper.”

He watched as she fumbled in her bag and took out a pen. The coffees arrived and he took a gulp of the scalding liquid to fortify himself.

“Family,” he repeated, trying to expedite matters. “That would mean you and your parents. None of whom, of course, are suspect. I say we go straight to some of the others, like Cole and Potter.”

“You mustn't jump to conclusions. Inevitably, they're wrong. I could have hated her for all you know.”

“But you didn't.”

“You can't know that for certain. You don't know me very well.”

“That's true, I don't,” Daniel agreed. “But I'm still certain you had nothing to do with it. Otherwise you'd never be here trying to find out who did. Now, back to family. That would include Hugh, wouldn't it? I mean, they were minutes away from becoming man and wife.”

“Next you'll say his family counts as her family, too.”

“Well, say what you want about the Ashley-Hunts, but they're no murderers. I've known them for years.”

Carey set her pen on top of her paper. “Perhaps this was a mistake after all.”

“All right,” Daniel said, sighing. “It's just hard to think of anyone on this list as a cold-blooded killer.”

“Then think of it as eliminating them, one by one, as possible suspects. We're exonerating those who are innocent of a crime.”

Her jaw was set with such determination that he couldn't even begin to argue with her. What would Tamsyn have wanted? he asked himself. And suddenly he knew that if she could, Tamsyn Burke would come back from Purgatory or Heaven or wherever her soul now resided and insist that he help her sister in this impossible, final act of sisterly love.

It was the least he could do.

“How long have you known Hugh?” Carey asked.

Daniel put the list on the table. “We met when we were thirteen, when we were both recommended for Junior Guildhall, an acting class. I wasn't having an easy time of it. You know, the kid from Brighton without money or connections, a complete outsider in a cutthroat environment. I was on the verge of quitting just to escape the bullying when Hugh rescued me. We've been as close as brothers ever since.”

“Tamsyn loved him, too.”

Daniel sighed. “When's the funeral?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“So, if one of these people is a murderer, are they more likely or less likely to come?”

“More likely, I think,” she said after some hesitation. “They wouldn't want to be conspicuous by their absence.”

He had to admit she was right, but the thought of sitting through the funeral with a killer in their midst was more than unfathomable. It was terrifying.

Detective Chief Inspector Gordon Murray of Scotland Yard held the same opinion. He had rung Tamsyn Burke's parents and inked the funeral into his agenda book. In the meantime, he had men following three of the wedding guests: Marc Hayley, Alex Richardson, and Ciaran Monaghan, although if nothing unusual turned up within the next forty-eight hours, he would turn his attention elsewhere. For the moment, he was not monitoring the activities of the other Richardson brother, Daniel, who had been seen by a number of witnesses arguing with Sarah Williams shortly before the body was found. It had been a heated conversation, and from the witnesses' perspectives it was clear that Sarah Williams was angry over being jilted by Richardson. The murder inquiry was also complicated by the death threat that Hugh Ashley-Hunt had received, but of course at this early stage it was impossible to tell if it was related to his fiancée's murder. Now they had to find the source of that email and determine if there was any connection.

Tamsyn Burke had been stabbed with an ordinary knife, which had been stashed in a plastic bag and then stuffed in an urn. Unfortunately, there were no discernible prints on the weapon, which the lab had confirmed. It was damned unfortunate when there was no physical evidence left behind.

Murray looked up when he heard a knock at the door. “Come in.”

It was his subordinate, Detective Sergeant Ennis, with a handful of files. “As you requested, sir,” he said.

Murray looked back down at the form in front of him and signed his name at the bottom. “Did you find anything interesting, Sergeant?”

Ennis was an earnest young man of twenty-eight, eager to learn as much as he could from Murray.
He'd
become indispensable in the six months they had worked together. His mother, a native of Jamaica, had married an Irishman; the couple had settled in London, where an interracial marriage was more acceptable than in his father's Gaelic village. He was tall and wiry, with a wide, prominent nose and short, cropped black hair. Since working for Murray, he'd become something of a clothes horse, and it had elicited comments among his peers, none of them complimentary.

For the last few hours, Ennis had been running background checks on the twenty-seven people on the suspect list. Murray was interested to see if there had been any previous arrests or convictions among them.

“A few of them have had priors,” Ennis said, handing over the files. “It goes way back. Owen Burke had four arrests for drunkenness in the '80s and '90s.”

“The victim's father.”

“Right. More recently, Lucy Potter was arrested for theft but not convicted. Alex Richardson has a few minor drug charges. Ciaran Monaghan and Marc Hayley have each been charged once with assault.”

“How recently for Hayley?”

“Three years ago. He lost his temper and got into a fight with a reporter in a wine bar in Ealing.”

“Not exactly unexpected behavior for an actor.” Murray flipped through the files, and after a couple of minutes set them on the corner of his desk. Nothing appeared to point to anyone as a murderer.

“What do you think, sir?”

Murray tapped his finger on the desk, frowning. “One thing's for certain. No one could have stabbed that girl to death and been so nonchalant about it unless they'd killed before.”

After Ennis left, he looked at the clock on the wall. It was already after six. He hadn't moved much in the last two or three hours and his neck was getting stiff. Leaving the files on the desk to review in the morning, he took his jacket from the coat rack behind the door and made his way through “A” Division, mulling over what he had read. Something seemingly unimportant, some minuscule fact, perhaps, would filter through the long list of suspects and motives and make its way to the top. He just had to sift through things until it happened. In the car park, he made his way through the sea of dark vehicles and unlocked his Audi. His brow furrowed in concentration as he started the car. Who stands to benefit from this murder? he wondered.
As he pulled onto Broadway, he saw that the traffic was bad again. It was always bad these days. When he went out on a case, he usually had Ennis drive him. As it was, he was thinking of giving up the car and relying on the Tube.