The Aura (10 page)

A high counter carrying a “Reception” sign was staffed by a tired-looking woman who picked away at her keyboard. She looked me up on the computer and then directed me to a room down the hall. I walked slowly, noticing the beige lino floor, a popcorn ceiling, and bright neon lights that flickered and buzzed. A faint smell of disinfectant and burned coffee filled the air.

A clerk handed me the statement I had made to Officer Wilson the day before. I skimmed it and signed, then rolled my thumb and fingers over an ink pad and on to a piece of card. It was all done in minutes and I hurried back to the front entrance.

Rubbing at the ink stains on my fingers, I pushed the outer door open with my shoulder and heard a yelp of pain. Mortified, I realized the door had hit someone coming in. That someone was Inspector Clarke.

“Miss Benedict.” He greeted me with that smile that lit up his green eyes. “You’ve done your fingerprints, I see. Thank you.”

I regretted not doing my hair or not putting on any make-up, and then felt guilty for worrying about such trivialities when Rebecca was dead.

“Can I have a few minutes?” he asked me. “There’s a decent cafe around the corner if you have time.”

Nodding, I followed him outside, turning my coat collar up against the driving rain, worried about being even later to work, but glad of the opportunity to find out more about what had happened to Rebecca.

We settled at a table in a quiet corner with styrofoam cups of coffee, straight black for him and a latte for me. It was warm and humid inside and the windows were opaque with condensation. Taking off his wool coat, Clarke draped it over the back of his chair. I kept mine on, as much because I still felt shivery and chilled as to hide the fact that I was wearing the same sweater I’d been wearing when I saw Clarke at Rebecca’s flat the night before.

“Have you found out anything more about how Rebecca died?” I asked.

“I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions,” he said with a faint grin. “But not yet. I’m expecting the autopsy report later today.”

“Did you find out when she died?”

He took a sip of coffee and pulled his notebook from his jacket pocket. I waited, hoping he would tell me more. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and took another sip of coffee.

“Miss Benedict, I wonder if you could tell me more about your relationship with Miss Williams? How did you know her?”

Surprised by the question, I told him about being friends during college and then not seeing each other until she walked into the conference room at Bradley Cohen.

“And would you count yourself as a good friend?”

“Yes,” I said and then thought about it. “Well, not really. We’d only just started seeing each other again and hadn’t got much beyond the small talk about jobs, boyfriends, that kind of thing. It had been a few years since I last saw her.”

Nodding, he wrote something in his notebook. “And why did you think the photo was of the boyfriend? Did she tell you it was?”

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “No, she didn’t. I just assumed. I didn’t know she’d had a brother, or that he was dead. She told me it was just her and her parents. They live in Bournemouth.”

Something stuck in my throat. “Did you tell them? About Rebecca?”

Clarke inclined his head in what could have been a nod, or a bow of prayer. I thought of my short conversation with Mr. Williams and tears blurred my vision. He had seemed kind and gentle. How could he and his wife handle the death of their daughter, just a couple of years after losing their son?

“That’s a crappy job,” I said, wondering how Clarke could do it. He was so young, too young surely to be dealing with death and violence every day.

He gave a thin smile and nodded. “The worst part. Always.”

“Did they know more about Rebecca’s boyfriend? His name or where he lives?”

“No.” He didn’t seem willing to say more. After a long pause, he asked. “Are you doing all right? You’re still looking very pale.”

I took a slug of coffee and put the cup down on the table.

“Yes, I’m fine. You’re treating this as an accident, right?”

He nodded but didn’t speak. “So why are you involved?” I asked. “I mean, you’re a detective, but it seems that there’s nothing to detect.”

Clarke smiled. “It’s just routine. When I get the coroner’s report, I’ll close the case, in all likelihood.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “Why? Do you have a different view?”

I decided to say what had been on my mind ever since the moment of walking into Rebecca’s apartment.

“Well, I suppose I do.” My voice shook and I took a gulp of coffee. “It just seems unlikely that she fell. She was a dancer in college and had amazing balance. You could still see it in the way she walked. She had great poise.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Accidents happen,” he said. “You’d be amazed at the range of accidental deaths I’ve seen. The most unlikely people dying in the most incredible circumstances.”

’I suppose so,” I said. I felt disheartened but decided to keep asking questions. “What time did she die? She was supposed to be meeting her boyfriend, don’t forget. Maybe he was there when it happened?”

“Initial estimate of time of death is around six on Sunday evening,” he said.

That was more than forty-eight hours before Nick and I found her. I shivered.

“Tell me more about this boyfriend,” he said. “You never met him?”

“No. All she told me was that his name is Edward and that he travels a lot. That’s it. Maybe he’ll contact the police when he realizes Rebecca’s not answering his calls or texts? I mean, he must get worried at some point and then he’ll reach out to someone. Perhaps he’ll ask Nick?”

Clarke played with the lid on his cup, bending back the piece of plastic that covered the opening until it broke off in his hand. He looked at it before answering.

“This boyfriend seems to be a bit of a mystery. You said that his shaving cream and aftershave were removed from the bathroom cabinet? If he moved out, he may not expect to hear from her, or be in touch with her in any way.”

“Oh, right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

I paused, unsure whether to share another idea I’d had. “I was wondering about Rebecca’s apartment,” I said finally. “It’s in a very expensive part of London. I know she had a good job, but I was thinking it might be out of her pay range. I mean, we’re only three years or so out of college. I’m certainly not making that kind of money. So maybe the boyfriend was paying for it and you could perhaps trace him through a rent check or something.” I tailed off, feeling embarrassed that I was making suggestions to a professional.

Clarke nodded, with a hint of smile. “Good thinking, Miss Benedict. I’d thought the same thing. I’ll follow up on that.”

In the long silence that followed, Clarke shifted in his chair and stuck his legs out in front of him, leaning back as though he was in a comfortable armchair at home.

“Yesterday you said something about looking out for Rebecca,” he said. “Can you tell me more? Why did you feel you needed to look out for her?”

I really have to learn to keep my mouth closed, I thought. There was no way I was going to try explain the aura to Inspector Clarke.

“It was that she seemed vulnerable, you know? The boyfriend seemed to have her on a short string. She set her schedule around when he was home.”

Clarke’s expression indicated that he had expected more but he nodded.

“Ok.”

The ensuing silence was broken only by the pattering of rain on the windows. I drank more of my coffee, starting to feel a slight buzz that was so much better than the dog-tired fatigue I’d started the day with. But the increased energy also took the edge off the numbness I’d been feeling since finding Rebecca’s body. I took another gulp of coffee to hide my sudden emotion. I’d never see her again. We wouldn’t go to the play we’d planned to see. We wouldn’t drive around in my Dad’s Fiat 500 and flirt with Italian waiters. I wouldn’t take her to my favorite museum in Florence or up the Campanile. None of that would happen now.

Clarke handed me a clean and pressed white handkerchief even before I realized I needed it. I blotted the tears from under my eyes.

“You must be a good listener,” he said, in an apparent non sequitur. I raised an eyebrow, not sure what he meant.

“I know you haven’t seen much of Rebecca, but you’ve taken the time to consider what she’s told you about this rather mysterious boyfriend, to analyze what the missing aftershave might mean. Not many people do that. Most of what we say goes in one ear and out the other. In my job, I’m often asking questions, talking to witnesses, trying to construct a backstory for a victim or a perpetrator and you’d be amazed at how hard it is. We don’t communicate with each other very well at all.”

I felt my cheeks redden. In my real life, as I thought of it now, the life I’d led before, I’d be as inattentive and unheeding as the people he was describing. It was only because of the aura that I’d been paying attention, listening to the nuances of what Rebecca told me, trying to uncover a clue, a thread that would have helped me to save her.

Clarke straightened up in his chair and glanced at his watch. “I should be going. Are you all right? Do you have far to get home?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m going straight to work. Just a few stops on the Tube. It’s no big deal.”

“Do you live alone?”

“What?”

He laughed. “I’m sorry, That came out wrong. I just want to know if you have anyone who will be with you. Look after you for a few days. Finding a body is enough to throw most people into a tailspin. Do you have somewhere you could go? Family?”

“My brother,” I said. “But he’s in Italy, for a funeral.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Someone you knew?”

“Yes, a friend of my father’s. She died last week of a stroke.”

“My condolences,” he said. “That and now Miss Williams. That must be hard on you.”

And Sophie too, I nearly said out loud.

“Not great,” I agreed. I was mired in misery, but he didn’t need to hear that.

Two young women walked past our table, both giving Clarke a sidelong glance of appreciation. He didn’t look like a detective. In his well-tailored suit and black wingtips, he could have been one of the City finance guys; he had that same air of self-confidence.

He pushed his chair back, slipped on his coat and followed me out, hurrying forward to hold the door open for me. We stood under the awning for a few seconds.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk with me,” he said.

We said goodbye to each other. I watched him walk away under the relentless rain. Just as I turned around to head towards the Tube station, I caught sight of Nick in a Burberry coat and scarf, carrying a black umbrella and walking in the direction of the police station.

“Nick!” I called, and he lowered the umbrella.

“Hi, Kate. Just going to the station to do my fingerprints. Have you done yours?”

I nodded but didn’t speak. Even in the torrential rain, I could see the aura moving around his head and shoulders.

When I walked into the office, Annie waved me over to the reception desk. “Darth Vader’s been demanding to know where you,” she whispered, even though there was no one else around. She always called Alan Darth Vader.

“You have five messages, and there’s a meeting going on in Josh’s office.” She handed me the message slips.

“Good luck with DV.”

I punched the button for the elevator and used the short ride up to smooth my hair and apply some lipstick. At least I should look as though I was trying.

Alan, Josh and Ben were grouped around Josh’s desk, looking at something on his computer. Alan pushed his chair back when he saw me come in. He crossed his arms.

“Good afternoon, Kate,” he said. “I don’t recall approving flexible hours for the staff. Must have slipped my mind completely.”

I didn’t have the energy to fight with him.

“Rebecca’s dead,” I said.

Josh jumped up from his seat. “What?”

“An accident in her apartment.”

“Who are we talking about?” asked Alan.

“Rebecca Williams, Montgomery’s Financial Director,” I said.

Ben’s mouth dropped open.

“Jesus Christ. You’ve got to be kidding.” Alan shot a look of disbelief at me. “How do you know?”

“I found her, found the body. After she was missing for two days I was worried about her and went to her apartment.”

“I hope this doesn’t mess up our contract with Montgomery,” Alan muttered. I glared at him.

“How could you even think like that? God, Alan. I don’t think you have any feelings for anyone. She was sitting here in this conference room last week and now she’s dead.”

Josh came over to me and gave me a hug. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “About all of it.”

I knew he was apologizing for not believing me when I told him about the aura over Rebecca, but we couldn’t say anything more there in the office.

Alan’s face went red with the effort, but he managed an apology too. “It’s not that I don’t care,” he said. “She seemed like a very nice person. It’s just that we could do without any disruptions.”

“I’m sure there’ll be no impact on the project,” I said. “The contract is signed. Peter Montgomery will find someone else to handle the finances of it all, don’t you think?”

“Yes, yes. Probably. Damn.”

It wasn’t clear how word got out, but it did. In the middle of the afternoon, I locked myself in a cubicle in the bathroom just to get away from the onslaught of questions. Even the team members who hadn’t worked on the Montgomery project professed to be shocked and saddened, and pressed for details of how she’d died. I was glad when it was time to go home. I couldn’t pay attention to what people said, meetings seemed pointless, project planning was a waste of time. We were insects scurrying around, busy busy, oblivious to the foot that was going to crush us to death at any moment.

***

Josh caught up with me in the lobby to ask if we could go out for dinner. I was too tired for a long evening out, so we settled for a drink at the Hare and Hounds. We found a table near the fire, away from the blare of the television and the draft from the main door. Logs burned in an antique tiled fireplace, the smell of smoke mingling with the odor of beer-sodden carpet. Condensation ran down the wavy glass of the old windows, gathering in pools on the sills.