After the Fire (Maeve Kerrigan) Page 30

  I whispered, ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘You’re so beautiful.’ He pointed at me and mimed taking clothes off. I shook my head. He glared. Come on. ‘Take your top off. Let me look at you.’

  With a sigh, I unbuttoned my coat and let it fall at my feet, then pulled off one shoe after another. Derwent gave me the thumbs-up. He threw himself onto my bed, wriggling to get comfortable as he took out his phone. Charlie Brooke had certified it as clean as well as loading it with spyware for Derwent to use on me. He thumbed through screens, looking for something, and gave a little hum of satisfaction as he found it. In a hurried, breathless voice he said, ‘Oh God.’

  I leaned over to see. A first-person shooter game was on the screen, with zombies lurching towards us. My eyebrows went sky-high. Derwent shrugged. He patted the bed beside him and waggled his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes. No way.

  He groaned, his attention back on his phone. ‘Fucking hell, Maeve.’ He made a hurry up and get on with it motion without looking at me.

  I knelt on the bed beside him and whispered, ‘I know you’re enjoying this.’

  He didn’t so much as glance at me. Instead, he gave me a very earnest shake of his head that meant the exact opposite. Then he said, loudly, ‘You’re incredible.’ He put one foot on the floor and moved so the springs began to creak rhythmically. ‘Oh, Maeve. That’s it.’

  I closed my eyes for a second and shook my head in sheer disbelief that I was even considering joining in. Then I gasped. ‘Oh, yes.’

  Derwent snorted with amusement. I opened my eyes wide and looked meaningfully at him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed. In a low but distinct voice he said, ‘Tell me what you want me to do to you, Maeve.’ The grin widened. ‘In detail.’

  As if. ‘Just … don’t stop.’

  And he didn’t, for quite some time. I contributed a few sighs and moans while trying not to catch Derwent’s eye, although he was far more interested in his phone than in me, and once, when the zombies got him, he forgot what we were doing and started swearing at his game. After a few minutes I started thinking about how ridiculous this situation was, got the giggles and couldn’t stop. Derwent grabbed hold of me and pinned me down with his hand over my mouth, shaking his head in such disapproval that it made me much, much worse. He talked himself to what sounded like a shattering imaginary climax while he checked the weather forecast and his email. Towards the end he rattled the headboard so it banged the wall, faster and faster, which made me laugh so hard I was weeping. Derwent sighed, annoyed.

  Pull yourself together.

  I tried. I really did. I just had to hope the little mewling sounds I was making could be confused with passion.

  When he’d finished, Derwent flipped a pillow over my face and rolled away. I knocked it off and took a few deep breaths, getting control of myself before I looked at him again. It felt good to laugh, for once. It felt like a good alternative to shivering in the dark, afraid of what unseen malevolence might be waiting for me. I felt lighter. Happy, almost.

  ‘That was amazing.’ Derwent clambered off the bed and stretched, yawning silently. He sounded reverent and looked completely unmoved. ‘You’re amazing, Maeve.’

  I propped myself up on one elbow. ‘You too, Josh. I never knew it could be that way.’

  I saw him lose it, just for a second, but he caught himself before he actually guffawed. ‘Are you hungry?’

  I thought about it. ‘Yes, actually.’

  ‘I’ll take you out for dinner.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do to thank you for putting up with me.’ He picked up his shoes and coat and disappeared down the hall, and I realised I had no idea if he meant it or if it was just meant for Chris Swain to hear, and nothing to do with how Derwent really felt at all.

  We went to a little family-run Italian restaurant near the flat, so warm and noisy on a freezing Wednesday night that my face flamed and my ears rang as soon as we went inside. The waitress beamed when she saw me, but then she noticed Derwent. Her face fell and she showed us to a table with cold, unsmiling efficiency.

  Derwent watched her walk away. ‘Who pissed on her pasta?’

  ‘I used to come in here a lot with Rob.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I felt acutely uncomfortable, in fact, to be sitting at a table opposite the wrong person. ‘Maybe this wasn’t the best choice.’

  Derwent grinned at me. ‘Don’t worry. I can cope. Anyway, this is perfect.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Too noisy for anyone to overhear us or Swain to listen in so I don’t have to bother with any of that lovey-dovey shit.’

  ‘Heaven forbid.’

  ‘This is all about making him think we’re a normal couple.’ Derwent looked at me over the top of the menu. ‘I know he’s a twisted little fuck but I bet he’d give his left nut to take you out to dinner. He probably threw a party when you and Rob split up. If anything is going to make him crazy it’s seeing you move on from Rob to someone who’s still nothing like him, and someone who’s in your life all the time. Someone who’s entitled to be around you the way he’ll never be.’

  I nodded, feeling my spirits slump at the thought of Swain and how I made him feel. ‘Look, can I ask you a favour?’

  ‘You can ask.’

  ‘Can we not talk about Swain?’

  He looked surprised. ‘Okay.’

  ‘And can you just be nice?’

  He put down the menu. ‘I’m always nice.’

  ‘You’re always trying to get a reaction and it’s exhausting.’

  Derwent frowned. ‘I like the suggestion that it’s all me. You come out fighting every time. What do you expect?’

  ‘Oh, I see. It’s my fault.’

  ‘You don’t help yourself.’

  ‘If you think I’m going to let you walk all over me for the sake of a quiet life, you’re dead wrong.’ I leaned on the table and propped my head up on my hand. ‘But I don’t have anything left for this. Not tonight. Can we just have a nice meal and a pleasant conversation?’

  ‘Of course.’ He retreated behind his menu again, and I thought I’d probably hurt his feelings, but I couldn’t let that worry me.

  When the waitress came, he exerted himself to charm her and referred to me as ‘my colleague’ about a hundred times. She went from scowls to smiles and then, inevitably, blushing giggles before she had finished taking our order.

  ‘Well done,’ I said as she headed for the kitchen. ‘Another one bites the dust.’

  ‘I thought you’d want me to make it clear to her that we weren’t together. If you let Rob come back, you can come in here without worrying about what she thinks of you.’

  ‘Yeah.’ If I let Rob come back. If he ever tried to come back. And I knew from Derwent’s tone what he would think of me if I did let Rob back into my life, whatever the waitress’s opinion might be.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Derwent said. ‘You don’t want to talk about that either.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Okay.’ And for once it was that easy. He starting talking about something else: an anecdote I’d never heard before about something ridiculous he’d done when he was a probationer. That led to another anecdote, and somehow we actually managed to have a conversation that wasn’t full of spikes and pitfalls, that flowed without either of us bristling into defensive mode, for the rest of the meal. I ate pizza and wished my ulcer would allow me to drink red wine and felt like a human being for the first time in a long time.

  When we were finished, the restaurant had emptied around us. Derwent paid at the till, talking to the waitress for a good long time. He came back smirking.

  ‘Did you get her number?’ I whispered.

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘You’re slipping.’

  ‘I didn’t ask.’ He pulled his coat on. ‘I’ve got other things on my mind at the moment.’

  ‘What things?’

&nbs
p; ‘Things I don’t want to talk about.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at me. ‘Anyway, I don’t need her number. I know where she works.’

  He would never change, I thought. He was consistent, if nothing else. Somehow, though, his behaviour had lost its capacity to shock me. It was just too predictable to be outrageous.

  The cold air was a slap in the face after the heat of the restaurant. I ducked my head, burying my chin in my coat as I walked beside Derwent. We didn’t have far to go, at least.

  ‘Hold my hand.’ Derwent held out his hand to me.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Hand, Kerrigan.’ It was his don’t argue with me tone of voice and I pulled my hand out of my pocket reluctantly, wishing that one of us had thought to wear gloves so we weren’t skin to skin. He tucked my hand and his into his coat pocket, palm to palm, fingers interlaced. ‘That looks better,’ he muttered.

  I walked along beside him, matching his stride, acutely uncomfortable. It was like wearing the wrong size of shoes: all I could think about was how strange and wrong it was to hold hands with Derwent, of all people, and how much more intimate it was than lying on a bed with him making sex noises.

  ‘All right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, thinking not really, no. But it was the sort of thing that would inflame Chris Swain, infuriate him, make him reckless and, crucially, careless, and it was worth doing if he was near enough to see. If I’d learned one thing about Chris Swain in all the time he’d been chasing me, it was that he was usually watching.

  We turned the final corner before the entrance to my building and Derwent swung me around, into a doorway. He stepped very close to me and put his face against my neck. I felt his breath on my skin as he whispered, ‘Pretend you’re enjoying this.’

  I shivered, unsettled. He was leaning on me, crushing me. His lips brushed my neck. I knew it amused him to see how far I was prepared to go. There was always that sadistic undertone, mild but definite. An endless staring contest. Who’ll blink first? He rested his cheek against mine. Velvety stubble brushed my skin and it tingled. Like an allergic reaction, I thought.

  He tilted his head as if he was going to kiss me and I jerked back, hitting my head on the wall behind me. The pain brought tears to my eyes and I caught my breath.

  Derwent frowned down at me. ‘Kerrigan?’

  I pushed him away and walked to the door of my building, my head down. He followed, not saying anything. In the lift, I stood on one side of the small space and he leaned against the other wall, watching me. I didn’t look at him then or outside my front door as I fumbled to get the key in the lock. I went straight to the bathroom without taking off my coat and locked myself inside. I leaned against the door, my throat aching from the effort of not weeping.

  ‘Kerrigan?’ He was on the other side of the door, inches away.

  ‘Give me a second.’ I put my hand over my mouth to stifle the sob that was breaking through and I couldn’t explain why I was so upset, except that I felt fatally, cruelly compromised. I would never have chosen to have Derwent touch me like that. It was confusing and unsettling: wrong. A violation, with the best of intentions.

  It was as if Chris Swain was syphilis and Derwent was the mercury cure. Both were, in their own way, damaging to the point of being lethal.

  Choose your poison, I thought, splashing cold water on my face once I’d managed to stop crying. Except that there was no choice. Not really.

  I turned the tap off and dried my face and as I emerged from the towel I heard Derwent’s phone ringing. I listened, not moving, as he had a brief conversation with whoever was on the other end. Then I heard him come towards the door and I unlocked it before he had time to knock on it. He looked at me and he must have known I’d been crying, but with uncharacteristic restraint he didn’t mention it.

  ‘That was Una Burt.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They’ve found the girl.’

  Chapter 30

  SHE HAD MADE it to Kent before she ran out of luck.

  ‘They picked her up at a truckstop near Ashford,’ Una Burt told us the following morning. We were waiting for Dave Kemp and Ben Dornton to return with her from Dover, where she’d been held in custody overnight. ‘She was looking for someone to take her to the Continent but she hasn’t got a passport and none of the truckers would risk it.’

  The penalties for helping illegal, undocumented migrants to cross borders were harsh and getting harsher all the time. I wasn’t surprised she’d found it hard to find a professional driver to take her.

  ‘Bad luck,’ I commented.

  Burt shrugged. ‘She was making a reasonable amount of money off them. When the officers searched her she had over a thousand pounds on her in cash.’

  I whistled. ‘That’s a lot of work, isn’t it? What’s the going rate for prostitutes these days?’

  ‘You can’t expect me to answer that without someone jumping to conclusions,’ Derwent said.

  ‘I promise you, it wouldn’t make me think less of you.’ The way Una Burt said it expressed very clearly that there was no way for her to think less of Derwent than she did already. His eyebrows twitched together, a brief acknowledgement that she’d hit home.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said quickly, ‘if she was earning that in tens and twenties, she’s been working constantly since the fire. Or she nicked it from someone.’

  ‘Or both,’ Derwent said. ‘A lot of punters won’t make a complaint about being robbed. Too embarrassed, and too afraid of getting in trouble for using hookers.’

  ‘I want to know where the money came from,’ Burt said. ‘And I want to find out what she knows about the other girls in the flat. And obviously I want to know what she saw the night of the fire. Anything else?’

  ‘We need to get her to confirm Ray Griffin’s version of events.’ Derwent shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s me being cynical but I don’t know that I believe in someone like him making a full confession.’

  ‘He’s hoping to be charged with manslaughter rather than murder. No intent to harm, according to his version of events. His solicitor says he’ll plead guilty to manslaughter.’

  Derwent pulled a face. ‘We’ll see what the CPS make of it. They won’t be keen if the girl gives us a different story about what happened.’

  ‘Do we have a name for her?’ I asked.

  ‘Not yet. Her fingerprints aren’t on the system. We’ll circulate them through Interpol and see if anything comes up in another jurisdiction.’

  ‘I take it she’s not saying anything.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Who’s interviewing her?’ Derwent rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, playing it cool. He might as well not have bothered.

  Una said, ‘I was thinking of doing it. With Liv, or you, Maeve.’

  ‘You think she’ll respond better to women?’ Derwent shook his head. ‘No way. She’s been told what to do by men for months, maybe years. She won’t respect you. She’ll think she can get around you.’

  ‘You don’t think you’re going to be able to intimidate her into talking, do you?’ Una shuddered. ‘Spare me.’

  ‘Take Kerrigan with you, then.’ Derwent grabbed my arm and literally pulled me forward. ‘Liv’s all right but Kerrigan is better. She’ll get inside the girl’s head.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, surprised.

  ‘Wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.’ He levered himself off the edge of the desk he’d been sitting on and walked off. I was glad he hadn’t waited to see if Una Burt took his advice. She’d have loved to disappoint him.

  ‘Well?’ She raised her eyebrows at me, challenging me. Give Liv an opportunity to shine, or act as if I was entitled to take her place? What was the right choice? Ambition or holding back? Liv needed to recover her reputation after being on sick leave for so long. It would make her more confident.

  But then again, her career wasn’t my concern, even if we were friends. Someone like Derwent wouldn’t think twice.

  Wha
t it came down to, in the end, was the case.

  ‘Let me do it,’ I said quietly.

  ‘You think I should pick you over Liv?’

  ‘She’s a good interviewer.’ I hesitated. ‘I’m better.’

  Una nodded, slowly. ‘All right. But you’d better prove it.’

  I walked away from her feeling like Judas. But I didn’t feel as if I’d done the wrong thing, even when Liv glanced up from some paperwork and smiled at me, all unknowing. I loved her, but I was better.

  Nonetheless, when Ben Dornton walked into the office and nodded to Una Burt, I felt my heart begin to thump. I stood up to join them, aware that Derwent was watching me.

  ‘We’ve got her in interview 1.’

  Una Burt nodded. ‘Let’s give her a cup of tea. Make her feel at home.’

  ‘Did she say anything on the way here?’ I asked.

  ‘Not a dicky bird.’ Ben shrugged. ‘We did try.’

  ‘Do you have her property?’

  He handed me a plastic bag. ‘Knock yourself out. All logged and checked by the custody sergeant in Ashford.’

  I flattened out the bag: cigarettes, a lighter, a fold of crisp banknotes with a paper band around it, some coins, a SIM card, a badge with a kitten on it, a short, blunt pencil, an open pack of chewing gum. No ID of any kind. ‘Did she have a phone?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Dumped it?’

  Dornton shrugged. ‘Maybe. Maybe she didn’t have anyone to call.’

  The interview room was cold when I walked in. The girl sat at the table, her head down. Her hair was similar in colour to Melissa Pell’s, but hers was dry from bleaching, the ends ragged and broken. She glanced up when I sat down at the table, beside Una Burt, and I felt a jolt. She was younger than Melissa, and me, but her eyes looked a hundred years older. She was tiny in a zipped hoodie and jeans, and her legs jigged constantly under the table.

  ‘All right,’ Una Burt said. ‘Do you need an interpreter?’

  She shook her head briefly.

  ‘Just to explain why you’re here, we have a few questions for you about the fire in Murchison House last week. You’re not under caution at this point. We want to speak to you as a witness.’