The Kill (8 page)

The rest of the house was in a better state than the kitchen, but it was unwelcoming and unloved. I’d looked into a small dining room that was functioning as a junk room and study, piled with paperwork and boxes. The sitting room was furnished in a perfunctory way – two sofas facing each other across a wide coffee table and a single armchair facing the television. The carpet was grey, the curtains dark blue and the effect dreary beyond belief.

The atmosphere in the sitting room wasn’t helping much. There was a reason I was currently hiding in the kitchen. I’d made my escape thanks to foresight in standing near the door. Mrs Hammond was not devastated by grief or silent with misery. She was angry, and she wanted us to know it. She had taken up a position on one sofa, her back ramrod-straight. She glared across at West and Lowry as if she held them personally responsible for what had happened to her husband. The air had fairly trembled with awkwardness.

‘So you’re saying he stopped on his way home. Why would he stop?’

Good question, lady.

West and Lowry fidgeted unhappily, and it was Godley who answered her.

‘We’re still trying to establish what happened in the last few hours. Anything that I could tell you now would be speculation. And I don’t want to speculate. I’d ask you to wait until we’re sure of the facts.’

‘The facts.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘I can tell you some facts if you like.’

‘Please do.’ Godley leaned in. I knew he was hoping she would bring up Terry’s extra-marital activities.

‘It’s a fact that I’ve got two kids. It’s a fact that one of them has special needs. It’s a fact that Terry’s gone and I’ve got to try to look after them on my own.’ She laughed. ‘He was never bloody here in the first place, I don’t know why I’m worrying.’

‘If we can alleviate that worry for you, there will be a pension.’ Lowry sounded relieved to have some good news to share. It didn’t last long.

‘It’s not about
money
,’ Mrs Hammond said, her eyes as bright and unblinking as a snake’s. ‘You don’t have a clue. I earn more than Terry. I always have. Money isn’t the problem. Money can’t buy you someone to share the responsibility of having a son like Ben. Money doesn’t help you make decisions about what’s best for him. He’s sixteen. When he’s eighteen, he’ll be finished at school. Done. Ready to go out into the world. Except that he hasn’t learned anything in school, as far as I know. He doesn’t talk. Can’t write. He’s not going to get a job, or a girlfriend. He’s not going to move out. He’s not going to lead anything like a normal life, and neither am I. And there’s no one to help any more. There’s no one who understands what it’s like. There’s no one who’s in exactly the same position as me.’

‘I’m sure there are support groups,’ West offered. I saw Godley flinch, but it was too late.

‘Support groups,’ she repeated. ‘Oh, well, that makes everything all right then.’

‘Obviously not, but—’

‘You have no idea what my life is like and you have no idea what it will be like. You come to my house to tell me my husband is dead and then you
patronise
me? How dare you?’

There was no easy answer to that. Her words hung in the air until Godley spoke again. ‘Can you think of anyone who would want to harm your husband, Mrs Hammond?’

‘No.’

‘Was he worried about anything recently? Did he seem distracted or unhappy?’

‘He was just the same as usual.’

‘Was it normal for him to be late back from work?’ Godley was sailing close to the wind.

‘He came and went, you know. He worked shifts all the time, so some weeks he’d be here and other weeks I wouldn’t see him at all. I didn’t really keep track. I was busy. I work, as I said, and I look after Ben and Vanessa. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for Terry.’ She stopped and corrected herself. ‘I mean it didn’t leave a lot of time.’

Happy families. I caught Godley’s eye and slid out of the room. Now, on my own in the kitchen, I thought about the Hammonds and wondered if the marriage had been over in all but name. Maybe Mrs Hammond knew about her husband’s affair. Maybe not. It would take a braver police officer than me to raise it with her when she was in such a combative mood.

And that was something else worth noting. We’d been in the house for forty minutes and she hadn’t shed a tear.

I’d been keeping in touch with the conversation in the living room as the senior officers stuttered through their script. Now the noise of the kettle drowned out everything else. I stood in the centre of the room and stretched my arms over my head, fingers linked, arching my back to try to loosen out the kinks in my spine. Left to my own devices, I could feel fatigue creeping up on me. My eyes felt sore, my head heavy. I couldn’t let myself relax yet, but I allowed myself a yawn that almost cracked my jaw.

The kettle clicked off and I swung my arms back down, sighing. Then I jumped about a mile in the air as someone spoke behind me.

‘What are you doing? Who are you?’

I turned to see a girl who had to be Terence Hammond’s daughter, a slight figure in oversized pyjamas. She looked younger than fourteen. The button nose that had looked out of place on her father’s face made sense here, giving her an elfin prettiness. Her hair was long and dark. It hung down over the left side of her face, shadowing one of her eyes. The one I could see was a striking shade of grey-green, as clear as well-water. I’d had a look through the noticeboard in the kitchen and knew more about her than her name and age. Vanessa played netball. Vanessa had a dentist’s appointment on Thursday. Vanessa was going to Bordeaux on a school trip at half-term.

Vanessa was standing in the doorway to her kitchen, wearing pyjamas and a huge woolly cardigan. It was ten to six on a Sunday morning and she had every right to look truculent.

‘I’m Detective Constable Maeve Kerrigan.’

‘Do you work with my dad?’ Her voice wasn’t loud but it was clear, every word enunciated.

‘I’m a Metropolitan police officer too.’

‘In Isleworth.’

‘In central London.’

‘Why are you in my house?’ That question came with a childlike lift of her bottom lip; she was trying not to cry.

‘I came with some senior colleagues to talk to your mum.’
To tell her or not to tell her
… I’d waited too long to pour the water from the kettle. If I made the tea with water that had cooled, it would taste vile. I flicked the switch on again.

She raised her voice so I could hear her over the hiss from the kettle. ‘About what? About Dad?’

I concentrated on arranging the mugs, playing for time. ‘Would you like me to get your mum?’

‘No, I would like you to tell me what’s going on!’ The kettle switched itself off halfway through and Vanessa’s last five or six words sounded overloud in the small, shabby kitchen.

I heard an exclamation from the next room, followed by soft, scuffing footsteps, and braced myself for Julie Hammond’s arrival.

‘What are you doing down here? Get back to bed.’ She sounded brisk rather than angry, and matter-of-fact rather than upset. I understood very well that she wanted to let her daughter have an hour or two more of normal life before she found out what had happened. I also understood that her daughter was having none of it.

Vanessa looked stubborn. ‘I heard people talking.’

‘They’re talking to me. Now off you go.’

‘What’s happening, Mum? Is it Dad?’ The teenager’s voice cracked.

The pause that followed told her everything. Mrs Hammond watched her daughter’s face crumple with a curious, detached expression on her own.

‘I’m sorry, Vanessa. He’s gone.’ A brief hug. I noticed the awkward contact between the two of them. You could see hugging wasn’t something they did often. Julie Hammond stepped back. ‘I’ll tell you more later.’

‘What? But—’

‘Go back to your room now. Take a cup of tea with you.’

‘I want to stay here. I want to know what happened.’

There was an undertone of irritation in Mrs Hammond’s voice when she answered her. ‘I don’t know what happened myself. That’s what I’m trying to find out. That’s why I need to talk to the police officers who are in the lounge.’

‘I can sit with you. I can help.’

‘No, you can’t. You’ll just get in the way.’

That was temper, I thought, not no-nonsense parenting, and it hadn’t taken long for it to flare up. Vanessa narrowed the one eye I could see.

‘You can’t keep me out of this. The police will want to talk to me.’

‘And I’ll be present for that.’

The girl looked at me. ‘Is that true?’

‘Yes. Unless you want another responsible adult to be there,’ I added, and saw Julie Hammond’s face darken.

‘I’m her mother and I insist on being present when Vanessa speaks to the police.’

‘I don’t want her there,’ Vanessa said to me.

‘Vanessa!’

‘Mum, I don’t want you there.’

‘This is not the time to punish me for wanting to be a good parent.’ I could hear the strain in Julie Hammond’s voice.

‘It’s not about that.’

‘Then what is it about?’

No answer from Vanessa. I watched the two of them face off. They were about the same height and Vanessa’s slender frame was like her mother’s, but the girl was prettier. At that moment, though, they looked just as stubborn as each other.

A movement in the hall caught my eye: Godley. He came forward, taking charge.

‘This is a matter that can be resolved later. We won’t be speaking to anyone in the family until tomorrow at the earliest.’

Vanessa looked around at him. ‘Who are you?’

‘Superintendent Charles Godley. I’m leading the investigation into your father’s death.’

‘Why does there have to be an investigation?’ She turned back to her mother. ‘What happened to him, Mum?’

‘He was murdered.’

‘Murdered?’ Even in the badly lit kitchen I could see the blood draining from Vanessa’s face.

‘Yes, murdered. Someone shot him on his way home from work.’

Vanessa’s lips moved as if she was trying to say something, but all that emerged was a sigh. I leapt forward to catch her as she slid to the ground but Godley was there before me, lifting her up and carrying her into the sitting room. He laid her on one of the sofas and put a hand to her neck to check her pulse. Almost as an afterthought he brushed her hair back off her face, so for the first time we could see her properly.

There were four police officers in the room and all of us went completely still. I don’t think I was even breathing.

High on Vanessa’s right temple was a bruise with a raised welt in the middle of it. The injury was a day or two old, so we were probably seeing it at its worst. It stood out on her pale skin like wine spilled on silk.

Godley stepped back and looked at Julie Hammond. ‘Did you know about this?’

‘No.’

‘Do you know how she got hurt?

‘I don’t. You’ll have to ask her.’

‘I will,’ Godley said, and I knew from his tone that he thought Julie Hammond was lying.

I was fairly sure he was right.

Chapter 5

‘Where the hell have you been?’

Derwent was standing at the top of the hill, watching me as I climbed towards him. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and his feet braced a mile apart. He looked at ease with himself for once, and also dishevelled.

‘You know where. Breaking the news to Hammond’s family,’ I said.

‘Is that all? What took you so long?’

‘Talking to the wife. Meeting the daughter.’ I checked the time. ‘We were only gone for a couple of hours.’

‘It felt like longer.’ Derwent was looking past me. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

I knew who he meant without looking. Godley, who had hung back when I got out of the car because he wanted to make a phone call. ‘I don’t know.’

I did know. I could have told him the precise moment the superintendent had checked his phone and saw the abusive message. It was right before Godley began to extricate himself – and me – from the Hammonds’ house. I’d taken a dazed Vanessa upstairs with her mother’s help and watched as Julie put her to bed, and when I came down Godley was making a move to leave, in a hurry. He had promised that one or both of us would return to talk to the family, that day or the next. He had made arrangements for a family liaison officer to stay in the house, and for two community support officers to stand outside. The press were beginning to sniff out the details of the story; it was only a matter of time before tabloid journalists and news crews found the house. He had assured Mrs Hammond that he would keep her informed, shaken hands with West and Lowry, and strode out of the house, leaving me to follow as quickly as I could. The car journey back to Richmond Park had been silent, for the most part. Godley was brooding and I was terrified he’d guess I had seen the message. I made meaningless notes on what I had seen and done at the Hammonds’ house, pretending to concentrate on what I was writing.

I’d been hoping our return to the crime scene would distract Godley from his woes, but the phone call didn’t seem to have improved his mood. If anything the gloom was back with reinforcements. Derwent knew Godley all too well, unluckily for me.

‘He’s got a face like a wet weekend.’

‘I know.’

‘Did you two have a fight or something?’

‘No. Of course not.’ I felt myself blush and knew it made me look as if I was lying. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘What isn’t?’

That thing I’m not supposed to know about.
‘Whatever’s making the boss look grumpy.’

Derwent was staring at me. I studiously refused to look back. He would lose interest. Or Godley would reach us and Derwent would have to talk to him instead of waiting for me to crack.

It took Godley a long time to walk up the hill to meet us, and Derwent didn’t look away for a second.

‘Josh, what have you got to tell me?’ The superintendent was frowning. I could see the tension in his jaw. The corners of his mouth were turned down. The giddiness I’d seen in him earlier that day was gone, apparently for good.

With great reluctance, Derwent turned away from me to face Godley. ‘The body’s gone. The post-mortem will be this afternoon, according to Hanshaw. Three o’clock, he said.’