‘James, I’m so sorry,’ says Maria as he pulls away, her Italian accent more pronounced than usual. He can see that she is only just managing to hold herself together and, suddenly, all the emotions that he has been supressing bubble to the surface. James knows that, if he says anything, he might break down and that would be unforgivable. He swallows, takes a deep breath, and when he finally speaks his voice sounds alien to him.

  ‘Maria, I can’t imagine what you are going through – I have no words, it’s unthinkable.’

  Maria nods, and James sees again the superhuman effort she is making not to cry.

  Colin puts his hand on his mother’s arm.

  ‘Mum, we’ve got to go. We’ll keep in touch, James. Detective Inspector Burroughs gave me your uncle’s number. We’re staying with my parents-in-law.’

  James silently thanks him for forestalling any further conversation, and he watches as Colin and his mother, who seems to be uncharacteristically stooped, cross the car park to the waiting vehicle.

  Ten minutes later, as he is driving along Wandsworth Road, James turns to Pat.

  ‘Mum, I know it might sound bizarre, but if you don’t mind I’d like to drive down Bramall Road. If I were to see where all this happened, I might be able to accept it more easily.’

  ‘I completely understand,’ Pat says. ‘That might be a very good idea. Let’s do it.’

  James had imagined that the street would be crawling with police officers and there would be tape everywhere, but, as they drive into the road, everything seems surprisingly normal. It is only when they pull up outside the house that they see the barrier across the entrance and notice that the front door is open. Further up the road, two men are talking on the pavement, but otherwise there’s no sign of any activity.

  They sit quietly for a few minutes, James looking at the house that, up until a few days ago, had held only happy memories. Then, without saying a word, he turns on the engine and pulls away. As they approach the junction, James slows down and his heart sinks when he sees Irene Hall’s son, Andy, walking towards them. Andy peers into the car and waves. The last thing James feels like at that moment is talking to anybody, but he knows Andy will be upset if he doesn’t stop. It strikes him that Andy probably doesn’t know that Nicky is dead, which makes the whole encounter even more difficult.

  James pulls into the side of the road and winds down his window. Andy comes round to his side of the car.

  ‘Hello, Andy, how’s things?’

  ‘I’m alright. I was going to call you later. We are all in a state about the goings-on at your brother’s house. The police wouldn’t tell us anything. Have you spoken to Mikey?’

  As he speaks, Andy looks at James so intently that he feels unnerved.

  ‘No, we can’t get hold of him. Listen, Andy, I’m really sorry but I can’t talk at the moment – we have to be somewhere and we’re already late. You’ll know everything soon enough. I’ll be in touch, okay?’

  ‘No problem, James. I’ll see you then,’ Andy says, stepping aside.

  ‘Who’s that?’ his mother says as they drive off.

  ‘The son of one of the neighbours,’ James replies. ‘I was telling Burroughs about him, he’s the one who was in Kuwait with me. It’s actually a very sad story – he had everything going for him and now he’s never going to be able to work properly again, apart from basic manual labour, so he’ll probably end up living on benefits and a totally inadequate army pension.’

  Pat tuts disapprovingly.

  ‘And on top of everything else,’ James continues, ‘his relationship broke down and there was some sort of incident with his fiancée. I feel a bit responsible for him. Mikey introduced us when he left school because he wanted to join the army and I’ve looked out for him ever since. He thinks of me as a kind of saviour. I try to meet up with him whenever I can and Mikey’s been great about finding him the odd job here and there.’

  ‘I’m sure he appreciates your support, dear, and Mikey was always one for helping wounded birds. But that’s such a shame. These poor men. I don’t think the government does nearly enough for them.’

  ‘No they don’t, it’s scandalous. You should hear some of the stories,’ James says. ‘I was one of the lucky ones.’

  3

  Lucy is sitting at her desk at the end of the day, thinking how lucky James Scott is to have a mother like Pat. She has seen so many people go through this ordeal alone. Despite all her efforts, Pat hadn’t been able to get hold of her other son, Michael, but Lucy has still made some good progress. Her call to Air India has been fruitful, in that they were able to establish that he had arrived in India, at Kochi International Airport, on 23 July, and then on 15 August had flown to New Delhi. He is due to fly back to the UK on 16 September from Kathmandu. The UK immigration office also confirmed that he had departed from London Heathrow on 22 July and was still out of the country. Unless Michael Scott is some sort of international criminal who is able to slip through borders undetected, he is out of the picture. Not that they had ever seriously considered him a suspect, but it was good to be able to eliminate him unequivocally.

  That left Irene, Victor and Andy Hall, three very unlikely candidates; James Scott, also increasingly doubtful; and the unknown visitor. Unless it had been a random attack, which would go against all the evidence they have so far, Lucy knows they will eventually track their man down. Somewhere – as they unravel Nicky Scott’s life, or in the material yielded by the meticulous search of the house and its surroundings – they will find a clue.

  A few minutes later she is proved right when her musing is interrupted by the sight of John marching across the room towards her desk.

  ‘They’ve found something,’ he says. ‘I’ve just had a call from Karen. One of the residents in Gandon Road presented himself at the crime scene just now and said he had found a suspicious item in his dustbin.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A torch, one of those big black Maglites. It was wrapped inside a tea towel. When he saw what it was, he put it back again.’

  ‘Hopefully he was the only person who touched it.’

  ‘I think so. Anyway, it’s been removed now. But it sounds like a possibility.’

  ‘That’s good news,’ says Lucy.

  ‘Yeah, it’s definitely a start. Oh yes, the other thing I meant to tell you is that I had a call from some guy at the Evening Standard. He knows who the house belongs to and that a body was removed from it, but that’s about all at the moment. I stalled him, but I think we might have to make an announcement tomorrow, or Monday at the latest. We’ll obviously have to run it past James, but now that all the family have been informed I can’t see any advantage in waiting, and it might get us some more leads.’

  ‘I agree,’ says Lucy. ‘We don’t want them writing some rubbish.’

  ‘Actually, our biggest problem is that the papers will be full of the anniversary of Princess Di’s death so our story will probably get buried.’

  ‘That’s true. I’d completely forgotten about that.’

  ‘You go home and draft something,’ John says, ‘and I’ll call you in the morning.’

  4

  Sunday, 30 August

  Now that Lynn has gone and his weekends are empty, John enjoys the occasional Sunday morning in the office. The house feels too silent and full of wasted memories. A few people are sitting at their desks, all seeming to be getting on with their work quietly and the main difference from a normal day is the absence of telephones ringing incessantly. He draws up a plan of action. Monday is going to be full-on and he wants to be prepared. After eating the over-filled bacon sandwich that he had prepared at home and gulping down a can of Coke, John calls James’s mobile, but it goes straight to voicemail. He then rifles through the pile of paper on his desk until he finds the number Pat had given him. He notes her shaky handwriting, which surprises him somewhat as she seems like a formidably strong woman, but then he thinks about what shock can do to a person.

  After a long conversation with James, he suggests they talk again later that afternoon once he has spoken to his contacts at the various newspapers and the TV stations. James had questioned the efficacy of making a statement so soon, but John explained that if they waited any longer the facts would very likely be misreported but, more importantly, a statement might elicit some response from members of the public.

  Lucy arrives just as he is about to call her. She shows him the draft she has prepared for the papers and, as always, he is impressed. She is a very clear thinker and he rarely has to correct anything she writes. She has even managed to dig up a reference to one of Nicky Butler’s books, which had apparently been a favourite of Prince Harry. They discuss what he will say to the journalists: initially it will just be the basic facts – the name of the victim plus a few details about her and her immediate family. Later they will release more information if they feel it is going to help the investigation.

  By the time he gets back to James to tell him what is going to happen, it is late afternoon. The story will be reported in the papers first thing tomorrow and during the morning, John will read a statement, probably outside the house in Bramall Road. The intention is to provide a visual stimulus that might jog someone’s memory. If James can face it, he says, it will probably be a good idea if they stand together when the statement is read and even better if James can say a few words.

  Not surprisingly, the man sounds reluctant.

  ‘Is that really necessary?’

  ‘We find that the more personal the approach, the more people engage with the story and want to help. Why don’t we speak in the morning and see how you feel about it then?’

  ‘I can’t imagine I’ll feel any differently,’ James replies, ‘but of course I can see the sense in what you’re saying.’

  ‘I know it’s tough,’ John goes on, ‘but the sooner we do this the better, while events are still fresh in people’s minds.’

  John clarifies a few points and jots them down at the bottom of Lucy’s draft.

  ‘Until tomorrow, then, James,’ he says, putting down the phone with an audible sigh, followed by a loud belch.

  ‘Whoops, apologies,’ he says to Lucy, who is standing behind him looking out of the window. ‘I forgot you were in here.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she says, laughing. ‘When you spend your life working with men, you get used to it. How do you think he’s holding up?’

  ‘As well as can be expected, I suppose. It’s hard to tell. The poor bugger, and this is only the beginning.’

  5

  Monday, 31 August

  John had arranged to meet James at the station at 8.45 am to show him the newspaper reports and go over the police statement in private before driving to Bramall Road together. He had explained to James that it might become a bit of a bunfight and how important it would be to stay calm. James wouldn’t be expected to answer any questions about the case, just to appeal for help once John had finished his spiel.

  Now, standing on the front steps of the house, John glances at James, noticing the two places where he has cut himself shaving, and the nervous way he repeatedly runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. Who can blame him? thinks John. This would be an ordeal for anyone. He looks ahead at the group of men and women congregated in front of him, and the sea of cameras. He appeals for quiet, before introducing himself.

  ‘Good morning, everyone. I’m Detective Inspector Burroughs, leading this investigation. As you know, the body of Nicola Scott, also known to you as the author, Nicky Butler, was discovered in the house behind me at about nine-fifteen on Friday morning. She had been dead for approximately seven hours. As there was no sign of forced entry or a protracted struggle, we believe that she knew her killer. We are appealing to anyone who might have seen Nicky or any other person entering or leaving the house between seven on Thursday evening and Friday morning when the body was found. Nicky left her friend’s house in Mysore Road in Battersea at around six-thirty and probably took the bus along Wandsworth Road, before walking up to Bramall Road. A neighbour saw an unidentified man going into the house at approximately nine forty-five. He was dressed in a suit and tie and was carrying a briefcase. We urgently request this man to come forward so that we can eliminate him from our enquiries. Nicky is the wife of James Scott, who has bravely agreed to be here with me to ask for your help in finding the person who carried out this horrific crime. We have a hotline number for members of the public to call, or you can get in touch with my team directly at Lavender Hill station.’

  John turns to James and says quietly.

  ‘Are you okay to say a few words?’

  James nods, takes a step forward and unfolds the piece of paper in his hand, which is visibly shaking. Someone in the crowd calls out to him and John puts up his hand for quiet.

  ‘My wife, Nicky, was an incredible woman. You may know her as a writer, but she was also a wonderful wife, daughter, sister and a great friend to many people. Words cannot describe how much she will be missed. Nicky wasn’t a reckless person – she was careful, sensible. She would never have opened the door to a stranger and yet I can’t believe that anyone who knew her could have possibly done this. If you remember anything at all about her last evening, or something else that might be relevant, however insignificant it may seem, please get in touch with the police. Thank you.’

  As James steps back, the group of people below them seems to erupt into a chaotic jumble of noise and movement and John can hear James’s name being called and parts of sentences coming through: ‘wife having an affair’, ‘meeting someone’. James looks desperately at John, who lifts his hand again.

  ‘Please, everyone. James can’t answer any questions for obvious reasons and I have given you all the information I can for the moment. We’ll know more once we get the results of the forensic tests and we’ll keep you updated. This is a very difficult time for James and his family and I would ask you to respect their privacy.’

  Putting his hand on James’s back, John guides him down the steps towards the car. Someone throws a question at them as they walk, but he can feel the energy dissipating and people are starting to move off in different directions. He notices Irene Hall standing near the car with a young man beside her, and James nods to them but doesn’t stop.

  ‘That’s the worst over,’ John says as they get into the car. ‘It’s never easy and you did a great job.’

  ‘Do you usually get a good response from this kind of appeal?’ James asks.

  ‘Normally, yes. You always get a few cranks, but generally something useful comes out of it.’

  Just as John turns on the ignition, his phone rings. He listens intently to Lucy who brings him up to date and then turns to James.

  ‘That was DS Burton. They’ve got the camera footage from Stockwell as well as your wife’s phone records. She’s going through them at the moment and hopefully that will throw something up. I’d appreciate it if you could come back to the station for a while.’

  ‘Sure.’ James’s voice is expressionless.

  ‘We will get whoever did this, James. If she did know the person who killed her, it’s only a matter of time before we find them. They won’t have covered their tracks properly – they never do.’

  ‘And if she didn’t?’

  ‘Well, that will make it more complicated, but I don’t think that’s the case here. Despite what you read in the press, random killings are very rare and in the vast majority of cases the victim and killer are known to each other.’

  ‘Well, if that’s true it means I didn’t know her at all. I’m not sure which is worse.’

  *

  Once again, James is waiting in the by-now-familiar interview room. The constant feeling of near panic that has been with him since Friday has begun to fade slightly, partly due to the pills he is taking but also because he is beginning to feel more in control. Everything will now take its logical course and he just needs to go along with it and keep calm. For the first time in ages, James misses his brother. Mikey is a soothing person to be around and rarely becomes agitated, accepting people and things for what they are. ‘It is what it is’ is one of his irritating stock expressions. Recently, he has tried to persuade James to take up transcendental meditation, promising that it will change his life. James now wishes he had taken his brother’s advice as he could do with the sense of calm that Mikey seems to exude.

  His thoughts are interrupted by footsteps in the passage and the door opens to reveal Burroughs, Burton and another person he doesn’t recognise.

  Burton gestures towards the stranger.

  ‘James, this is Sarah Cunningham, the family liaison officer who has been assigned to this case.’

  ‘Okay,’ James says, feeling slightly confused, but he stands up to shake the woman’s hand. ‘I thought that’s what Linda was?’

  ‘No, no, Linda’s a counsellor,’ the woman says. ‘Basically, James, I’m going to be the link between the investigation team and your family. Should you have any queries you can run them past me and I’ll do the same with you.’

  ‘Right,’ James says. ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, for instance, if the press gets hold of you and you don’t know how to deal with them, you can call me and we can discuss what you should say, or you might think of something you want the investigation team to know. Anything like that.’

  ‘So I should get hold of you, instead of the Detective Inspector?’

  He feels momentarily peeved, as if the importance of the case has been downgraded, but then realises the opposite is probably the case.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24