The English Boys (18 page)

“Thanks for talking to me,” Daniel said.

“If you find out something, I would appreciate it if you let me and Lucy know. It's killing her.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Cole stood and opened the door to his office, then walked Daniel through the theater, no doubt to make sure everyone saw them together. At the front entrance, Daniel shook his hand. He hurried outside and dialed Carey's number.

“Meet me at the corner of Broadway and Dacre Street in fifteen minutes. There's something we need to do.”

Daniel took a cab to Broadway and waited another ten minutes until Carey came into view. It had only been a few hours since he'd seen her, and he watched her approach, a bewildered look crossing her face when she realized where they were.

“What are we doing here?” Carey asked. “This is Scotland Yard.”

“We have to talk to Murray. I went to have a chat with Dylan Cole, and we're getting nowhere. I'm starting to think we've done everything we can for now, and I'm hoping we can get some information from him.”

Carey turned toward him, an angry look on her face. “You're giving up. And I don't think he'll tell us anything.”

“It's worth a try.”

He led the way into the building, where they were stopped by security before being allowed to proceed further. Cleared for entry, Daniel headed for the desk.

“We'd like to see Detective Chief Inspector Murray,” he announced.

“Do you have an appointment, sir?” the sergeant behind the counter asked.

“I'm afraid we don't.”

“Your names, please?”

“Daniel Richardson and Carey Burke.”

“Reason for your visit?”

Carey spoke this time. “We're here about the murder inquiry into the death of Tamsyn Burke. She was my sister.”

The sergeant jotted something on the paper and jerked his head to the side. “Have a seat. Could be a long wait.”

They found two chairs apart from the crowd. Daniel spied a coffee machine and stood. “Want something to drink?”

Carey rubbed her temples. “Will it really be a long wait?”

“Probably. Might as well relieve the boredom with a cup of industrial police coffee.”

He took his time getting the cups, then poured the scalding brew and went back to where Carey was sitting. He handed her one of the cups.

“Maybe he's too busy to see us,” she said.

“Maybe he's not.”

“Why haven't they done something? Every day that goes by means a smaller chance of catching whoever did this.”

“I'm starting to think we should trust them. Murray looked like the kind of man who didn't let things go.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“We have to. There's no other way.”

Daniel leaned forward in his chair and laced his fingers. He was losing hope that they would ever find out who killed Tamsyn, though it would be the greatest waste in the world to have lost her and spend the rest of his life having no idea why.

“Excuse me,” the sergeant said, having come around from his desk to stand in front of them. “Chief Inspector Murray will see you now.”

They followed the directions and soon stood in front of Murray's door. Carey gave Daniel a look, and he reached over and squeezed her hand before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

“Come in.”

He turned the knob and gestured for Carey to enter, closing the door behind them.

“Won't you have a seat?” the inspector said, rising from his chair.

“Thank you,” Carey answered.

The room was plainer than Daniel had expected: a few books on the shelves and files on the desk. Nothing flashy like some of the police offices he had seen on the telly or on a film set.

“Inspector, with all due respect, we don't understand why so many days have passed without the police making an arrest in the case,” he began. “There must be some lead that you're not telling us about.”

“The police do not report to family and friends while things are in the investigative stage,” Murray answered. “I'm sure you understand that this case is being taken quite seriously. You're not attempting to involve yourself in some way, are you?”

“No,” Daniel answered. “But it's torture to wait endlessly and read the speculation in the newspapers. Who killed Tamsyn, Inspector? Was it really one of the people there at the wedding? Couldn't someone have been waiting inside the church who left the scene before she was found?”

Murray sat back in his worn leather chair and tapped a pencil on the desk. “There is, of course, that possibility, I'll admit. But I think it very unlikely.”

“Why?” Carey asked, clutching her bag.

“There were people outside. If someone had left suddenly, through a window or door, it would have attracted attention. And, in fact, the Ashley-Hunts had a small security detail outside to make certain that only invited guests were allowed inside, not to mention the press.”

“Surely there were fingerprints in the room. Or some madman let out of the bin the day before, something like that.”

“I wish it were that simple, Mr. Richardson. Unfortunately, it's not. For one thing, there is a complete lack of DNA evidence in the case. Of the dozen or so fingerprints found in the room, the only ones we've identified so far belong to the two of you and Hugh Ashley-Hunt, and I hardly think you'd be persevering toward the end of finding a murderer if it were in fact one of you. Another difficulty is the murder weapon. It's a common knife sold by thousands all across the country. There's no way to track down where it was purchased or by whom. I will say that I have my eye on one or two suspicious persons. At this point, I'm still sifting through information and watching everyone very closely. One must be patient in these matters.”

“Who are the suspects?” Carey asked, leaning forward.

“I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say,” Murray replied. “I could, of course, be wrong about my assumptions, and there's not enough evidence yet to make an arrest. Only time will tell.”

“I don't understand,” Daniel said, standing. “Friends and family were in that church, not people who hated her.”

“On the contrary, that's precisely who killed her,” Murray said. He turned to Carey before continuing. “You see, Miss Burke, this wasn't a random act at all. Whoever killed your sister was someone who had a deeply personal reason for wanting her dead.”

Twenty-Four

The tea had grown
cold, but Carey took a swallow of it anyway. The pot had been weak and tasted only of the sugar, which she had added too liberally. The saucer had a chip along the edge, and she walked back into the kitchen to toss it in the bin. She had hardly slept in the two days since she and Daniel had spoken with Inspector Murray, and she had heard nothing from either of them. It was over. There was nothing more to do. Whoever had killed Tamsyn had destroyed their lives and walked away. In spite of herself, she imagined it sometimes: the killer pulling out a knife and stabbing Tamsyn, face to face. Then he would have stashed it in the plastic bag before joining them all in the room of family and friends when the police arrived. She tried to remember if anyone had been breathing hard or seemed agitated, but nothing stood out in her memory, nothing at all.

Sighing, she picked up her mobile and looked at the blank screen. Nick still wasn't answering her texts. She thought about sending him an email, but decided against it. She would speak to him the next time she went home. He was sensitive and easily hurt, but as much as she wanted to rectify the situation, she couldn't do it long distance. She didn't have the strength.

There was no one to talk to about Tamsyn now that Daniel had given up. Carey threw herself onto the bed and lay down on her side, pulling the duvet over her shoulder. She longed, suddenly, to be home, in her old room at her parents' house. They had kept it intact, down to the last peeling Coldplay poster, for weekends and holidays when she came to stay. In fact, if she could have studied medicine in Llandudno, she would be there still, filling her sister's shoes as best she could. On her rare visits home, Tamsyn had refused to stay over, opting instead to stay with friends. Her parents had long since given up that battle.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. She thought of her room in Llandudno, with the quilt made by her grandmother and the small desk tucked in a corner, littered with favorite objects from trips with friends. She enumerated them now, like counting sheep: the mug from Cardiff Castle, full of colored pencils; a stack of drawing pads, half full of dreamy sketches of flowers and birds from walks taken with Nick; a recorder from a local festival; pennants from school; a trinket jar with a ring inside, a pretty, if modest, band with a pair of intertwined diamond chips from her first boyfriend, Evan Davies, who'd refused to take it back when she broke up with him; and various scarves and hats she sometimes still wore. It was a room resplendent with the hopes and dreams of a young girl, the girl that in some ways she still was. She pictured the ring, imagining where Evan Davies was now, and wondered if he remembered the summer they went out together.

She thought of him fondly, but without regret. Sometimes she pondered the future and had difficulty imagining herself with anyone at all. Medicine was a difficult life and there would be loans to repay and conferences to attend and articles to write, if one were to be truly successful. Even thinking about it required more energy than she could summon.

She fell asleep, waking several hours later. It had grown dark, and she lingered a few moments before sitting up and looking for her alarm clock, which had fallen off the bedside table.
Eleven
o'clock
, she thought, frowning. She would never get back to sleep now. She threw back the comforter and put a kettle on the stove. The silence of her flat, which had never bothered her before, seemed almost suffocating. It was time to go home. She would pack a bag and take the train tomorrow.

While she waited for the water to boil, she snatched her phone from the seat of a nearby chair. She would text Daniel and let him know. After all, it would be unfair if he tried to contact her and discovered she'd left London without a word.

I'm going to my parents' for a while. Text if you hear anything.

Carey waited a few minutes for a reply, which didn't come. For some reason, she felt hurt. It's his fault, she thought. He'd agreed to get involved and then dropped it the second it got complicated. Then she shook herself. She was oversensitive after all she had gone through. She had relied on him, and that had to stop. He wasn't family. He wasn't even a friend, really. She set about making tea and then crawled back into bed, perching her laptop on her knees. She would order a ticket online and save herself the bother in the morning. The earliest train left Euston Station at 8:10 a.m., and she'd have to take the Tube from Charing Cross even earlier. The trip took three and a half hours, but she never minded that. It gave her time to think. After she bought her ticket, her mobile buzzed. She picked it up and saw that Daniel had texted.

When?

“Seriously?” she murmured aloud. She texted him back.

In the morning.

That's it? she thought. He isn't even going to call? Perhaps they had said everything that needed to be said. Inspector Murray had been vague, and everything looked hopeless. She tried to calm her temper. It wasn't Daniel's fault that they couldn't make heads or tails of the case, any more than it was hers. They didn't know how to start a proper investigation. Evidently, Scotland Yard didn't either. Sighing, she threw a few things into a bag, wishing she could leave tonight. She didn't relish a long night of tossing and turning.

Daniel didn't text again, and she shrugged it off. What did it matter when there were people at home who needed her? Her responsibilities would shift now, though just how, she wasn't certain. It might be necessary for her to go home more often, or look for a program in neuromuscular diseases closer to Llandudno, if such a thing existed.

She went to bed but couldn't sleep. Pulling back the curtain, she lay on her pillow, staring out at the night sky. Of course, she could see little of it from here; the buildings all around obscured most of the view, but when she was out of doors in a park or on a large green, she always looked at the constellations. As a teen, she'd been given a book on them, and she and Nick had spent long evenings searching the twilight with cheap telescopes and binoculars almost as worthless as the cardboard tubes they'd devised as children. She hated how hard it was to focus through any sort of device; her peripheral vision always drew her eye away and prevented her from concentrating. It was much easier to see what could be observed with the naked eye, and in any case, the wider view of stars and Saturn and meteoroids was much more dramatic. They had always hoped to see a comet one day. Nick had said if they only spent long enough searching, they would discover one, like Halley, and they would call it Carey's Comet. Sometimes he mentioned it even now, in his emails.
I was watching for Carey's Comet tonight
, he had written only a few weeks before, and she'd thought it touching that he remembered the silly, obscure thoughts they'd shared when they were young. It made her feel connected to him, and glad to know someone cared about her no matter what. She hadn't meant to neglect him after Tamsyn's funeral, but she wasn't herself just now. He had to understand that, surely.

Early the next morning, Carey was at Euston Station. The crowds were overwhelming, people pushing and shoving their way through to their various destinations. She bought a newspaper out of boredom and wished for a cup of coffee as she stood, waiting. A family with children was standing next to her, the young boys bumping into her with their toys and knapsacks. It would be hard to travel with small children during peak hours, she knew, trying not to be annoyed by them. The youngest was two or three, with a heavy tin truck he rolled back and forth on the ground, twice running over her feet and once banging her in the ankle so hard she cried out. His parents didn't even look at her. She rubbed her ankle and tried to move away from them, but the crowd behind her had grown too large for her to get far. She was about to step into the aisle when she felt a strong hand grasp her arm just above the elbow. She turned in surprise to find Daniel standing behind her. He shrugged his shoulders at her inquiring look.

“What are you doing here?”

“I'm coming with you. I want to see where you and Tamsyn grew up. Maybe there's some sort of clue there.”

“Oh, no,” she declared. A knot of anxiety worked its way from her stomach to her throat. “There isn't, really. Tamsyn rarely went home. And honestly, there's nothing there for you to do. I'm just going to spend time with my family. They're taking it hard.”

“I want to go,” he said, refusing to budge. “I need to.”

“There's not enough room for you,” she lied. No matter what, she couldn't let Daniel Richardson board that train. “Why didn't you ring me first?”

“I knew you'd say no.”

“Well, you're right. You've gotten up early for nothing.”

Daniel shrugged again. He might have been used to getting what he wanted, but she wasn't her sister. She didn't have to bring him along. In fact, she couldn't.

“I'm coming with you,” he repeated in her ear.

They were deadlocked. What would her parents say? They had always gone to such lengths to keep their lives private. Nick wouldn't be happy to see him either. Carey turned away and watched as the throng of people began to move toward the train.

“I'm sorry, but there are a few things I need to take care of,” she said, glancing up at him. “I'll ring you if anything happens.”

“The last I heard, all citizens are free to travel,” he said, moving forward along with the crowd.

She tightened her grip on her bag and followed him helplessly. He made his way through the cluster of people, his bag slung over his shoulder, and boarded the train without once looking to see if she was still behind him.

Arrogant prat, she thought. Sighing, she followed him into the car. Without a word, he took her bag and stowed it in the luggage compartment.

She looked on her ticket for the seat number, watching as Daniel moved down the aisle to find his own. She found her place and sat down with the newspaper clutched in her hands, staring out the window. How was she going to explain this to her family? She would have to ring before they arrived, because she knew Daniel wouldn't stop until he'd come to the house. Stealing a glimpse, she saw he was listening to music on his iPod, his eyes closed as if he had forgotten her existence. Carey turned, fuming, as an older man in a crisp blue-striped suit came and stood over her, holding up his ticket.

“Are you the window seat?” she asked, picking up her handbag to dig through it to find hers. She hadn't looked at it that carefully.

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “I can take this one.”

She gave a wan smile and then turned back toward the window. The train jerked to a start and began to move down the tracks. She focused her gaze as far in the distance as she could, knowing that if she looked at the ground rushing by below, it would make her feel ill. After they had rolled out of London, she took stock of the situation. The businessman was engrossed in a book, Daniel looked as though he'd fallen asleep, and the forward rush of the train calmed her nerves. She took out her mobile and dialed her parents' house. Her mother answered after just one ring.

“Mum, it's me,” Carey murmured. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Miranda Burke asked. Her voice wavered, as it had since the day Tamsyn died. They would be fragile for a long time.

“I'm coming home. I'm on the train now, but there's a problem.”

“What sort of problem?” her mother asked. Carey could hear the concern in her voice.

“Daniel Richardson is coming with me.”

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the phone. “I don't suppose you invited him.”

“Of course not, but I can't very well stop him either.”

“I'll take care of it, then,” Miranda said after a moment. “I'll talk to Karen. She'll be happy to lend a hand.”

“Good,” Carey said, relieved. “And I'm sorry.”

“I'm glad you're coming home. It will do us a world of good to see you.”

“Be there soon,” she said in a low voice.

“Be safe.”

The words echoed in her ears long after she ended the call. All a mother ever wants is for her children to be safe. Tamsyn's death had ruined everything. Her mother would worry every time Carey was out of her sight from now on, and she couldn't blame her. At least for now, she was relieved that the immediate concern was taken care of. She could take Daniel Richardson to her parents' home, let him have a cup of tea and a meal, and convince him there was nothing more that he could do there. Why would he want to waste his time like this anyway? The killer was in London, not in a remote corner of Wales. She closed her eyes, trying to take her mind off everything; a task that seemed, at this moment, simply too difficult to manage.

Sometime later, she jerked up in her seat, jostled from sleep. The newspaper had fallen to the floor, and she couldn't tell from the landscape where they were. She fumbled in her pocket for her phone to check the time and found it was nearly half past eleven. They were due to arrive any minute. A glance at Daniel confirmed he was indeed still there, engrossed in his book. She squinted in order to read the title from three rows away, but couldn't manage to do it. Instead, she accidentally caught his eye, and he smiled at her as if they were on a jolly holiday with a busload of friends and had been inadvertently separated. She tried to smile and turned back around, drumming her fingers on the armrest, wishing she had never texted him about coming home at all.

When the train stopped, Daniel stamped his foot, which had gone numb. He was grateful to get up and move around, following Carey to the luggage rack to retrieve their bags. Carey's had fallen behind some of the others and was wedged in, taking an extra effort to pull it out. They made their way through the station and found Owen Burke waiting for them near the entrance. Daniel followed Carey over to her father and watched as she hugged him hard. He set down his bag to shake the older man's hand.