The Last Girl (37 page)

‘No. With a friend.’

‘Is it suitable for your daughter to stay with you?’

He wavered, but came down on the side of the truth. ‘Not really. I don’t think either of them would like it. It’s a female friend, as it happens.’

‘A close friend?’ Derwent couldn’t have been expecting
an
answer and he didn’t get one, unless you counted Kennford’s nostrils flaring.

‘Well, as you’re not able to provide her with a safe home yourself,’ Godley said gently, ‘perhaps it’s for the best that she’s with a family member. Someone close to her in age, rather than her aunt.’

‘You think so.’

‘In the absence of any evidence to the contrary, yes.’

‘Who is this friend you’re staying with?’ Derwent demanded.

‘No one you would know.’

‘One of your old clients, maybe?’

Kennford stiffened. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘We had an interesting chat with one of your ex-girlfriends, DC Kerrigan and I. A Miss …’

‘Adamkuté,’ I supplied. Derwent couldn’t or wouldn’t get his head around her name, even for the pleasure of revealing to Kennford that we knew about her.

‘Niele?’ Kennford rocked back on his heels, looking shaken, then tried to smile. ‘Where did you dig her up?’

‘Never you mind.’ Derwent frowned and scratched his head, pretending to be puzzled. ‘Here, it wasn’t strictly ethical what you did with her, was it?’

‘It was a private matter. Nothing happened until she was no longer my client. The only point of interest is how we met, and lots of people form relationships with those they meet through work.’

‘You were bloody lucky she never got around to making an official complaint.’ Derwent turned to me. ‘Did you get the feeling she was still a bit annoyed, Maeve? Because I had the impression all she needed was a little bit of encouragement to take it further.’

‘You could be right.’

‘Do you think we should go round and speak to her again? Maybe see how she’s feeling since we raked it all up again?’

‘You can play games with me all you like but you can’t pretend that Niele isn’t a criminal. No one will believe anything she says.’ The colour had risen in Kennford’s face.

‘Ah ah, Mr Kennford. Not a criminal. All charges were dropped at half-time, weren’t they? Because of your brilliant advocacy, it appears.’

‘What about the fact that she’s an extortionist? How would that go down?’

Derwent shrugged. ‘You tell me. Did you report her for it at the time?’

‘No.’

‘Did you give her any money yourself?’

A muscle in Kennford’s jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. ‘Vita paid her off.’

Derwent shook his head, all in sorrow. ‘But Vita’s not such a great witness any more, is she? Niele can say the money was a gift. It’s probably a defence you’d be happy to run with, if you were her barrister.’

‘She’s a drug addict. Did you know that? And she runs with a bad crowd. Serious criminals, I mean. The sort of people who do violence like that.’ He pointed at the noticeboard that hung behind him, the pictures a symphony in grey and red. They blurred into one image from a distance. Blood on the pavement tended to look the same no matter who had shed it.

‘Her being a druggie and into gang stuff – none of that stopped you from shagging her blind,’ Derwent pointed out.

‘Which was my mistake, I’ll admit. But aside from an error of judgement, I did nothing wrong. It was consensual and it ended. She is exactly as reasonable about it as you would expect her to be, given that I dumped her. Don’t tell me you fell for her “he took advantage of me” line, because it’s bullshit.’

‘She got pregnant, didn’t she?’ Derwent sucked air through his teeth. ‘Would have thought you’d have been
more
careful, given all you knew about her background and so forth.’

‘Accidents happen.’

‘Accidents leave medical records that will corroborate her case.’

‘She didn’t do a DNA test.’

‘How do you know?’ Derwent dropped the false bonhomie. ‘Listen to me, Mr Kennford. You come in here and threaten us with a formal complaint when we’re just doing our job, so you have to be prepared to get the same treatment. If you want to take this further, feel free. But I will personally go round and sit with your Lithuanian lovely while she writes her letter to the Bar Council, and help her spell all the long words. And even though I might not believe you took advantage of her, I think she’ll convince them very nicely.’

‘You’re a
shit
.’ Kennford was trembling with anger.

‘No, Mr Kennford, I’m a copper who’s trying to work out who killed your wife and your daughter, and I’m doing my best not to let your frankly annoying attitude put me off. They deserve answers and so does Lydia.’

‘And what do I deserve?’

‘Oh, Mr Kennford. You ask questions for a living. You should know better than that.’ Derwent shook his head, grinning widely. ‘I’d start telling you but we’d still be here at midnight.’

‘Is that all we can do for you, Mr Kennford?’ Godley was as urbane as ever, ultra-civilised in contrast with his DI. ‘Or was there anything else you wanted to talk to us about?’

‘There was one thing.’ He slid his hand inside his jacket and took out an envelope that he flicked across the table to Godley. ‘I’d like you to have a word with this prick.’

‘What is it?’ Derwent was straining to see.

‘A sympathy card.’ Kennford’s jaw was clenched. ‘It came in the post this morning.’

‘To which address? Your house?’ Godley asked.

‘Chambers.’

Godley opened the card to read it, so I could see the image on the front, a white lily leaning on a cross. ‘With Sympathy’ was looped across the top in silver cursive script. It was just the wrong side of tasteful. ‘“I’m sorry to hear of your bereavement. Jesus will look after them, and he’ll look after you if you let him into your heart. Maybe this is an opportunity for you to come to Him. I hope you find happiness. C. Blacker.” Do you know who that is?’

‘Yes, and so should you,’ Kennford snapped.

‘Christopher Blacker,’ I explained, not actually surprised that the boss had forgotten his name. ‘He was unhappy with the job Mr Kennford did when he represented him on a rape charge. We spoke to him yesterday.’

‘And told him what had happened, presumably. So I have to put up with patronising shit like that.’ Kennford pointed at it, his finger shaking. ‘Tell him to stay the hell away from me.’

‘You could take it at face value, mate. Forgiveness, as sold by Clinton’s Cards.’ Derwent tweaked it out of the superintendent’s hands so he could read it himself. ‘Think he was serious or ripping the piss? He told us he’s a Christian. He might have meant it.’

‘I don’t care if he meant it or if he didn’t. I view it as harassment. I don’t want to have anything to do with him and I’d appreciate you telling him as much.’

‘I’ll have a word,’ Derwent said, not looking as if he thought it was particularly urgent. I thought that was probably for effect, though – he would be more concerned than he was letting on to Kennford. I was bothered by it myself. There had been something about Chris Blacker, still waters that ran too deep for comfort. Sending a card to Kennford was a passive-aggressive move in my book, but one that was calculated to draw attention to himself, which surely wouldn’t be his intention if he was the killer.

Then again, Blacker was certainly clever enough for a double bluff or two.

‘Can I keep this?’ Derwent asked, waving the card.

‘I don’t care what you do with it.
I
don’t want it.’ Kennford was looking irritable. ‘Look, are you going to help my daughter or not?’

‘You haven’t given us any reason to interfere with her wishes. As far as we know, she’s going to a safe place and happy to be there.’

Kennford swore under his breath but didn’t say anything.

‘Look, Mr Kennford, I don’t want Lydia’s well-being to be compromised. I’d like to ask you again if there’s any specific reason for her not to stay with your other daughter.’ There was a pause before Kennford shook his head. ‘Then there’s nothing else I can do.’

The barrister looked at each of us in turn, but again with that sightless gaze that made me think he wasn’t quite with it. Moving with great dignity, he went straight to the door and walked out.

‘Thank you for your time,’ Derwent called after him. ‘Do drop in whenever you like.’

‘Josh, do I really need to tell you not to taunt him?’ Godley sighed. ‘Look, both of you, I hope you know what you’re doing. Is Lydia safe where she’s going?’

‘As far as I know,’ I said. ‘If Savannah’s an actor, she’s bloody good. I thought she was genuine and honest.’

‘Me too. And you know I don’t think anyone is honest,’ Derwent added.

‘We’ve offered to drive Lydia to the house tomorrow anyway, so we’ll get a chance to see how the two of them get on.’

‘Why did you decide to do that?’ Godley asked.

‘Basically so we could have a nose around Savannah Wentworth’s house,’ I admitted. ‘But also so we could talk to Lydia in the car. I thought not being face-to-face would
take
some of the pressure off and we might get a bit more out of her.’

‘Do you think she has more to tell you?’

‘I’m sure of it.’

Derwent yawned again. ‘What do you think his problem is?’

‘Kennford? No idea. But we can’t take his concerns seriously until he’s prepared to talk to us.’ Godley shook his head. ‘If he’d seemed more bothered about Lydia’s safety from the start, I might be a bit more understanding now. But he didn’t even bother to go to see her in the hospital. I can’t understand that.’

‘If it had been your daughter nothing would have kept you out of there.’

Godley didn’t answer, his face grim, and I remembered that his daughter was one of the subjects he considered to be off-limits. Derwent must have recognised that he’d made a mistake, because he moved on.

‘I’ll give Blacker a call. Tell him to mind his own business.’

‘Do you think it’s strange that he sent the card?’ Godley asked.

‘Hell, yes. Don’t you?’ Derwent slid it into an evidence bag, holding it gingerly. ‘It hasn’t been treated with the care you’d want for an exhibit but I’ll give it to Kev Cox. See if he can use it for comparative purposes against any of the material he recovered from the Wimbledon house.’

‘Good idea.’

‘There is one other reason why Kennford might have turned up here to shout at us,’ I said.

‘What’s that?’ Godley asked.

‘To get an update on what we’ve found out so far. To throw us off the scent, if we were even close to being on it. To distract us and make us suspicious about Savannah instead of him.’

‘Are you still suspicious about him?’

‘No reason not to be, as far as I’m concerned.’ Derwent tapped the edge of the evidence bag on the desk, considering it. ‘And it’s not just that I don’t like the job he does. I haven’t liked him from the start.’

‘You don’t like anyone,’ I pointed out.

‘True. But I know when someone is trying to bullshit me. And that’s all I got from him, from start to finish.’ He jerked his thumb in the general direction Kennford had taken. ‘We’ve only got half the story, believe me. And when we get the rest of it, I promise you, we’ll have our case.’

I have no idea how it happened, but I ended up asking Derwent if he wanted to come out for a drink. It was something to do with the way he loitered by his desk, flicking through the folders on it in an aimless way. I got the feeling he had nowhere to go once he left the office, despite his rush to leave earlier. Whether I was right about that or not, he had agreed to come before I got halfway through a slightly awkward invitation.

‘I don’t even know if it’ll be a good pub,’ I was still saying when we were halfway to London Bridge on a packed Tube train. ‘Or what the company will be like. I haven’t met any of them before.’

‘These are your boyfriend’s new colleagues, aren’t they? I know a few guys on the Flying Squad. Don’t worry about me. You won’t have to hold my hand.’

‘Definitely not.’ I didn’t have to fake being appalled at the idea.

Derwent dropped a heavy arm across my shoulders. ‘And I won’t leave you to be a wallflower either. You stick with your Uncle Josh and I’ll make sure you have a good time.’

‘I don’t need you to make sure I have a good time.’ I used the swaying of the carriage as it rattled over some bumpy track to duck out from under his arm. ‘I just
thought
you deserved a drink, that’s all. It’s been a tough few days.’

‘You don’t know the half of it.’

‘I don’t want to know any details of your personal life. Just to avoid any doubt about that.’

‘Of course you’re curious. Why wouldn’t you be? Working closely alongside me, you must wonder occasion ally what’s going on inside my mind. Who I’m thinking about. What I get up to in the evenings, when we’re not together.’

‘No, really.’ We pulled into a station and I peered to see where we were. ‘Waterloo. Oh, shit. The platform is packed.’

‘Get ready for a crush.’ As Derwent said it, a great swell of people began to push past us heading for the doors. I turned my head sideways, acutely embarrassed as the DI’s body pressed against mine. ‘It’s nothing personal, Kerrigan.’