A Little Death Read online

  ‘He’s not going anywhere and he knows we’ll be seeing him again.’ He glanced up at her. ‘I’ve seen that look on a terrier with a rat.’

  ‘Not one of your more flattering observations but I am interested in Vickers.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  She thought about it. ‘He appeared relaxed but as I watched him I thought of how ducks sit on water, all the time furiously paddling beneath it.’ She reached for her bag and her keys.

  ‘By the way, I’ve arranged to see Chris Turner tomorrow morning. He didn’t sound thrilled at the prospect but he agreed.’

  ‘On your own, why?’

  ‘I want to see how he interacts with a female to whom he has no emotional connection and doesn’t regard as a possession.’

  Inside her study at home, Hanson’s eyes drifted over the words Jess Simmonds had spoken, then at the questions she planned to ask Turner. Based on what Simmonds had told her, she’d seeded them with key words: ‘quality’, ‘casual’, confide’, ‘problem-solving’. Questioning Turner about his relationships posed a potential problem. Aware of the possible risk of repercussions she could not reveal to him that Jess Simmonds was her informant.

  Hearing feet bypassing her study door, pounding the stairs, then returning, she added a final question and closed the notebook.

  Heading for the kitchen she found Maisie sorting clothes.

  ‘Why all the rush of activity?’

  Maisie gave her an impatient look. ‘You’re always on at me to get my stuff ready when I’m going to Daddy’s so that’s what I’m doing – but these need washing.’

  Hanson took several items from her. ‘I’ll put them in now. They’ll be dry by the morning.’ She gave the clothes a quick glance.

  ‘Have you left some things at your father’s?’

  Thick curls tumbled as Maisie reached down to retrieve underwear which had fallen to the floor. ‘I’ll bring them back if I remember.’

  ‘Try, or you’ll find all the ones you like aren’t here when you want them.’

  ‘You and Daddy are so different.’ Maisie observed with a slow headshake.

  Hanson said nothing, not wanting to encourage further comment. Maisie required none.

  ‘When I can’t find something or I forget something, Daddy’s like, “Don’t worry, Mouse. It’ll get sorted.” But not you, Mum. No, sir-ee.’

  ‘Probably because I’m generally the one who does the sorting.’

  Maisie gave an emphatic nod. ‘Daddy says you’re “over-responsible”.’

  Hanson went into the laundry to put the clothes into the machine. She returned to the kitchen to find the conversation still open.

  ‘He says you’re a “dominant female”. Stella looked really narky when he said it the other day and I heard them arguing in their bedroom and he said something about having “picked another”. I don’t think grown-ups make a lot of sense.’

  Hanson stopped what she was doing. ‘That’s because you were eavesdropping. I’ve told you not to do that.’

  Maisie widened her eyes. ‘It’s not my fault if Daddy’s apartment is small and I just, like, hear stuff and anyway he says stuff when I’m there. He calls Stella his “Spice” and you his “ex-Spice”. Why don’t grown-ups say what they mean?’

  Hanson went back to her study, shoved what she needed for the following day into her briefcase, then switched off the light.

  Right, Kevin. Tomorrow, you’ll be hearing just how dominant I can be.

  She knew he’d regard anything she said as proving his point. She didn’t care. He had to start watching what he said when Maisie was around. She had no reason to doubt what Maisie had told her. When it came to adults and their behaviour, Maisie was a sponge. That was something else he needed to know.

  TWELVE

  Hanson’s eyes were fixed on sun-bright red brick beyond the leaded window of her university room, Kevin’s words rushing into her ear. He sounded stroppy. He generally did when he felt at a disadvantage.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re obsessing about it,’ he snapped. ‘She doesn’t pick up on half she hears.’

  She felt a rush of irritation. Why did he find it so hard to get? She knew the answer. He didn’t really understand Maisie because he didn’t actually know her that well. His agreed weekly contacts with her in the past had often been sporadic, depending on what was happening in his life at the time. This usually meant whichever woman he was or wasn’t dating. His current rate of contact was more regular but his understanding of what was appropriate to say around Maisie remained limited. Added to that, Maisie’s academic prowess skewed his view of their daughter: he tended to view her as a short adult. Hanson was about to put him straight.

  ‘She shouldn’t be hearing adult conversations which feature me or Stella. She’s only just turned thirteen but she’s quick to latch on to anything she hears. She might not understand all of it but she’s not above using what she does to play us against each other.’ She took a breath. ‘All I’m saying is that you need to be careful when she’s around. I don’t discuss you or your situation with Maisie. I don’t encourage her to talk about you. I want the same from you when she’s at your place.’

  A heavy sigh drifted into her ear. ‘You always want something.’

  She frowned, annoyance spiralling. ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘Meaning, it’s always your way or no way. I’m due in court in an hour. I haven’t got time for this.’ She closed her eyes. She should have known. Her ex-husband’s job was far more important than anyone else’s.

  ‘Neither have I. Just bear in mind what I’ve said.’

  ‘So now I’ve got to keep schtum in my own home?’

  She lowered the phone, breathed deeply then put it to her ear again. ‘I’m saying be careful what you say on the days she’s with you. Maisie isn’t a young child and she may appear to know everything, but she doesn’t.’

  ‘Right. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. When she leaves your place to come home, make sure she has all of her clothes with her. Better still; ask Stella if she wouldn’t mind doing it.’

  She ended the phone call, small scenes from years before inside her head, one of Kevin jiggling plump, one-year-old Maisie over the breakfast table. ‘OK, Tink. Let’s shake some of that fairy dust over your cereal’, and Maisie squealing with laughter.

  Good times. Just not enough of them.

  With a quick glance at her watch she reached for her keys.

  Chris Turner led Hanson inside the common room she’d seen on her previous visit. It was deserted.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr Turner.’

  ‘No problem. My pleasure,’ he said, waving her to a seat. She’d decided to begin by asking him about himself, suspecting he would like that.

  ‘What stage have you reached in your studies here?’

  A satisfied look appeared on his face. ‘I’ve finished my degree. I’m anticipating a first and I’ve fixed up a really good job down south. I’m ready to leave here and get on with my life.’

  She smiled. ‘You sound happy at the prospect.’

  He glanced at her. His face turned sombre. He shook his head. ‘Actually, I’m not. This terrible news about Elizabeth has taken the edge off everything. We were very close.’

  She gazed at him, knowing that he’d probably reflected on her previous visit here. Watts had a term for someone like Turner: ‘cool customer’.

  ‘The internships that students here are expected to take up, did Elizabeth find one prior to her disappearance?’

  ‘I already answered that. No.’

  ‘Tell me about her. What was she like?’

  His facial expression was unchanged but she saw cheek muscles move beneath his skin. ‘She was a nice girl, a good student.’ He fell silent, his eyes roaming. He sounds like he’s talking about somebody he knew merely in passing.

  ‘How would you describe Elizabeth as a girlfriend?’

  He folded his arms. ‘She’s been gone
a long time ago but it’s still upsetting for me, so I’d really rather not.’

  She put down her pen and leant forward. ‘Mr Turner, as the boyfriend of a young woman who we now know has been murdered, it shouldn’t take too much intellectualising to appreciate that the police want information from you as to the quality of your relationship with her. If you don’t tell me, my police colleagues will be back to get it.’

  Turner’s brows met. ‘What do you mean by quality?’

  Mindful of Jess Simmonds, Hanson chose her words. Murderer or not, she knew that Turner was a bully within his personal relationships. Simmonds was free of him now and Hanson wouldn’t utter a single word to jeopardise that.

  ‘I’ve got a few questions to help get you thinking about that.’ She suspected he understood very well what she was asking of him but she reeled them off. ‘For example, did you and Elizabeth anticipate that the relationship would last or was it more a casual, short-term arrangement?’ He didn’t reply, his face stone. ‘Did you and she have a lot in common? Did you confide in each other?’

  He fixed her with a look and Hanson was glad that the room was spacious and the door was behind her not him.

  ‘I’m not “casual” about relationships. They’re important or I don’t get involved.’

  She looked into his eyes. ‘What do you expect from an important, close relationship, Mr Turner?’

  He sat back, his eyes locked on hers. ‘All the usual things. Commitment. Respect. Absolute truth.’

  She raised her brows. ‘“Absolute truth”? That’s a tall order. I’d say impossible.’

  ‘I don’t happen to agree.’

  Hanson gave a slow nod. ‘In my opinion, relationships are about problem-solving. What do you think?’

  ‘Again, I don’t know what you mean.’

  The silence between them lengthened.

  She regarded him with interest. ‘I’m getting the impression that you don’t want to answer reasonable questions which anyone who’s been in a reciprocal relationship would understand. This feels like pushing water uphill, Mr Turner. Why is that?’

  ‘You seem to have all the answers. You tell me.’

  Hanson was happy to oblige. ‘OK. One possibility is that you don’t have reciprocal relationships. Perhaps your high demands around commitment, respect and absolute truth impact on the relationships you do have?’

  Self-centred he might be but he wasn’t stupid. She saw his eyes narrow.

  ‘You know nothing about me.’

  ‘Which is why you need to talk to me, Mr Turner. Tell me if you think I’m wrong.’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘How did you and Elizabeth resolve differences of opinion?’

  His eyes darkened. ‘There weren’t any. We were mature about things. We were very compatible.’

  It felt like talking to a wall but she wasn’t about to give up. ‘When people tell me that their relationships are totally free of dissent I usually don’t believe them.’

  The thin smile didn’t reach the eyes. ‘Maybe that says more about you than them? All I expect from partners is respect and honesty. If you asked most people they’d say the same.’

  ‘How did you get respect and honesty in your relationship with Elizabeth?’

  He lounged on his chair, eyes sharp. ‘By putting my case as to why those things are important. Why they must be a part of the relationship. It’s not rocket science.’

  She gazed at him. ‘That doesn’t sound like you got what you wanted by agreement.’

  ‘What is there to “agree”? They’re universal values.’

  ‘What if a partner doesn’t see it quite like you do?’

  He regarded her for some seconds. ‘Then something has to change. Her. Or the situation.’

  She knew what he was. Jess Simmonds had told her. Her own training, her psychological evaluations of males like him enabled her to picture his behaviour, his manner, his attitude when he made his demands. She could anticipate how they were received because she’d talked to many women who’d had somebody just like him as a partner. For many of them the experience had been one of extreme psychological or physical abuse. Sometimes both.

  Yet, for all her theoretical knowledge and experience there was still a tiny part of her conscious mind which struggled to fully accept that this man sitting in front of her had done such things. She believed what Simmonds had told her but still she struggled. It wasn’t about Turner. She knew he was a bully, its shadow evident in this exchange. She recognised him for what he was, yet she still struggled with the actuality. Her usual response to the violent and the cruel sitting opposite her in interviews as they smiled and drank coffee was often, ‘surely not?’ Her friend Celia had been succinct about it. ‘That’s no surprise. You’re trained to recognise the worst but you’re also normal, like most of us. Normal people find it hard to believe the worst. It doesn’t stop you doing your job.’

  Hearing the door open and the sound of voices, she leant forward, keeping her own voice low. ‘I’ve listened really closely to all you’ve said. You’re wrong when you say I know nothing about you. I’ve met you a hundred times and more, and each of you is depressingly similar. You are a bully, Mr Turner. Any partner you have won’t be entitled to views of her own. You demand deference because you regard relationships as a one-way street. It’s the only way you know to control the threat you see in opening yourself up to another person.’

  His face was frozen, unreadable.

  One of the students who’d just come in called across the room. ‘Hey, Chris. You ready for that return match and a thrashing?’

  Turner’s face changed in an instant to affable. ‘Give me a minute to get my stuff together.’

  Hanson walked to the door and turned. He was lifting a heavy sports bag, laughing as he did so. He looked beyond his fellow student to Hanson, his face ice. He sauntered towards her and stopped close to her. Too close.

  ‘You know your way out.’

  She looked up at him. ‘You’ll be getting another visit very soon, Mr Turner.’ She saw something deep within his eyes.

  ‘Sorry, I’m planning to spend a few days with friends in Berkshire.’

  ‘Dates?’

  ‘Not yet decided.’ He went past her to the door then turned. ‘Ask Laurence Vickers what he thinks of relationships, casual or otherwise.’

  Inside her car Hanson considered Turner in the role of Elizabeth Williams’ killer.

  The aunt’s impression had been that Elizabeth left her house to go and see him. But given his anger, his personality, if he had killed her I would have expected gross signs of injury on her remains. Facial injury. Broken bones. Signs of his rage. Chong didn’t find any.

  She wrote down Turner’s comment about Vickers.

  THIRTEEN

  After spending the remainder of the morning at the university, ending it with a basic crash course on statistics to a panicky student, plus a promise of practical help, Hanson walked into UCU. Watts passed her with a ‘drink?’ motion. She nodded, aware of Corrigan’s amused look. She sent him a quick frown.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re looking pent.’

  ‘I am.’ She pulled her notebook from her bag. ‘I’ve been to see Chris Turner.’

  ‘What did he have to say?’ asked Watts.

  ‘Quite a lot he probably didn’t plan on revealing.’

  Lifting the laptop she talked them through their conversation. ‘He was all aggression cloaked in arrogant resistance. It was like questioning Vesuvius about to start an active phase.’

  Watts brought tea to the table with a slow wink for Corrigan. ‘Who?’

  She continued, eyes on the board as her fingers raced across laptop keys. ‘Under the good looks there’s a massive anger. As a partner he’s a jealous, demanding controller.’

  Watts stared at her. ‘You think he might have killed Elizabeth Williams?’

  ‘I’m saying that for me he’s the most compelling person of interest in this case so f
ar, but with a possible reservation.’

  Corrigan searched her face. ‘I’m guessing you’re not one hundred percent sold on him as the killer because you think if he had lost it with Elizabeth he’d have done her some serious physical damage.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Watts mused at the notes appearing on the board. ‘We don’t know how she died. What if he overpowered and smothered her? That wouldn’t leave many signs.’

  She considered this. ‘Elizabeth was athletic. Strong. Fit. Surely she would have put up some resistance? I suspect if Turner killed her, even mild resistance would have triggered his temper and Chong would have found evidence of it.’

  ‘I still think he could have waited until Elizabeth was asleep.’

  Hanson reconsidered it. ‘I can’t see her putting up zero resistance and there was no indication of drugs or alcohol to render her even marginally compliant.’

  She finished with the laptop and pushed it away, pointing to the board. ‘See what he said about Lawrence Vickers, the tutor? “Ask Vickers what he thinks of relationships, casual or otherwise.” Maybe Turner has some issue with Vickers or maybe he said it to deflect attention from himself. Or, he knows something we don’t. We need to see Vickers again.’

  ‘We will,’ said Watts, giving her a quick once-over. ‘You could do with a break. Got any plans after work?’

  Hanson stretched both arms upwards, then ran her hands through her hair. ‘At around nine o’clock this evening I’ve got a date with a very comfortable sofa and a television set. I haven’t seen much of either in what seems like a month.’

  ‘Watts and I are thinking of take-out food later at my place. How about it?’ said Corrigan.

  She considered it. ‘Maisie’s at Kevin’s so that’s really tempting.’

  He smiled. ‘So give in to temptation. You have to eat.’

  Before she could reply the phone rang. Watts spoke into it then hung up.

  ‘Our mother had a saying: “Talk of the devil and he’ll turn up.” She was right. That was reception. Guess who’s just walked in?’