AFTER DROPPING OFF THE INFERNOS CCTV footage with Klara, Archer puts her phone on silent, sits next to Quinn and opposite Frank Kelly, who has slept off the booze and eaten a late lunch washed down with several machine coffees. There is one on the table in front of him, a brown-grey liquid inside a foam-insulated cup, which he holds between his thumb and index finger. He gazes at it as if under a weird hypnotic spell. The on-duty solicitor sits beside him, with a bored expression.
‘Mr Kelly . . .’ Archer begins, placing a manila folder on the table.
Kelly interrupts her. ‘I hate Starbucks, Neros, Costa friggin’ Coffee. Why would anyone drink that overpriced lukewarm milky muck?’ He raises the cup to his mouth and drinks back the contents in one gulp. ‘I prefer your chemical-shit water. Much more to my taste.’
Archer cannot take her eyes from the sides of his mouth that are caked with a distasteful brown wax-like residue.
She presses the record button, announces the names of those present and begins.
‘Mr Kelly, when did you last see your wife and son?’
‘Which ones?’ he growls without looking up.
Archer recalls Jackie telling her Elaine’s father describing Kelly as ‘a council estate lothario’.
‘Let’s stick with Elaine and Jordan, for now. They were last seen on the Aylesbury Estate almost one week back. Do you know where they went?’
Kelly’s eyes drop. He shakes his head.
‘Mr Kelly, speak for the recording,’ says Quinn, curtly.
‘No. I don’t know where they went.’
Archer opens the file and removes printouts of the photos of Elaine and her injuries from Jackie Morris’s phone. ‘Did you cause these injuries to your wife, Mr Kelly?’
Kelly pales as he looks over the pictures.
‘Look closely at this one,’ says Archer, pointing to the one with the bruising around Elaine’s neck. ‘Did you try to strangle your wife, Mr Kelly?’
Kelly’s small puffy eyes widen and he shakes his head. From the manila folder, Archer takes out the mortuary headshot of Elaine.
‘Elaine died from strangulation,’ says Archer.
‘Is that really necessary?’ says the brief, speaking up for the first time.
Archer ignores him and takes out her phone. ‘You’ve tried to strangle her before, haven’t you?’ Archer pushes Jackie Morris’s picture across the table.
Kelly trembles and looks away.
Quinn speaks. ‘Where have you been, Mr Kelly? No one has seen you since your wife and son disappeared. You must understand how odd this looks under the circumstances.’
‘I didn’t do it.’
‘Do what?’ asks Quinn.
‘I didn’t kill them. I promise. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.’ Kelly begins sobbing into his hands.
‘Is your son dead, Mr Kelly?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘You just said you didn’t kill him. You must know something.’
‘It’s just a figure of speech.’
‘A figure of speech,’ mocks Quinn.
‘When did you last see your wife and child, Mr Kelly?’
‘A week ago.’
‘Where was this?’
‘In the flat.’
‘Please speak for the recording. Did you last see Elaine and Jordan at 19 Aylesbury Court seven days back?’
‘Yes.’
‘What time would that have been?’
‘Around dinner time.’
‘Six o’clock? Seven o’clock?’
‘Sometime in between.’
‘What happened that evening?’
‘What do you mean, what happened?’
‘How did the evening pan out for you all?’
Kelly looks down at the table. ‘We had an argument.’
‘What about?’
‘She had said something to Lauren.’
‘Who is Lauren?’
Archer notices a twitch in Kelly’s eyes. He doesn’t respond.
‘Mr Kelly. Who is Lauren?’
‘She’s a friend.’
‘What kind of friend?’
He shakes his head and rubs his dry, puffy eyes with his sleeves.
‘Is she your lover?’
Kelly snorts. ‘We’re seeing each other.’
‘What did Elaine say to Lauren?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Did your argument with Elaine lead to violence, Mr Kelly?’
He doesn’t respond.
Archer points at the bruising around Elaine Kelly’s eye. ‘Did you punch Elaine in the eye and the ribs? Your wife had considerable bruising that she sustained just before she was murdered, Mr Kelly.’
He folds his arms; his face contorts in what seems like the first sign of emotion he has exhibited.
‘Would you like some water, Mr Kelly?’
He nods and Quinn pours him a cupful.
‘Just tell us where you have been?’ asks Archer.
Kelly takes a moment to answer. ‘At Merrow Street.’
‘Is that in Walworth?’ asks Quinn.
‘Yes.’
‘What address please?’
‘Fifty-nine.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Staying with Lauren.’
‘What’s Lauren’s second name?’
‘Turner.’
‘And she can confirm your whereabouts?’
‘Yes.’
Archer gathers the photos and places them back in the folder.
‘Thank you, Mr Kelly. That will be all for now,’ says Quinn.
‘Can I go?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘What do you mean, you’re afraid not. I’ve told you everything!’
Archer switches off the recording.
‘We need to confirm your story. In the meantime, please enjoy the facilities,’ says Quinn.
‘Are you having a fucking laugh?’
‘We’ll talk later, Mr Kelly.’
As they leave the interview room and walk to the stairs, Archer can hear him calling after her and Quinn in a rage. Considering Kelly is a suspect in this case, a violent abuser and a cheat, Archer feels satisfied that he’ll at least spend another few hours in a cell. It is nowhere near enough for someone like him, but she will need to find some proof to keep him in for longer. For now, she has little to go on.
*
Lauren Turner is a piece of work. She can’t be more than nineteen years old, a curvy girl dressed in leggings and an oversized Pineapple sweatshirt. Her dyed black hair has been hauled back into a ponytail and her lips are tight with anger.
‘Where the fuck is Frank?’
‘He’s being held for questioning,’ replies Archer coolly.
‘Questions ’bout what?’
‘I can’t say. If you don’t mind, we’d like to ask you some questions.’
‘When’s he coming home?’
‘That depends.’
The sound of a baby crying interrupts their exchange.
‘Depends on what exactly?’ Lauren seems oblivious to the child’s crying, which has morphed to an uncomfortable high-pitched howl.
They have not moved from the doorway and Archer is irked by the girl’s attitude.
‘Maybe we could sit down and talk for a moment.’
Lauren exhales loudly through her nose and leads them to a small untidy living room that smells of damp nappies. A television is showing a daytime talk show, which is running a segment on celebrity fitness DVDs. Lying at the foot of the TV stand on a blanket is a tiny baby, with a red-lined face and puffy eyes. It’s thin, ugly and reminds her of a tiny malnourished old man. Regardless of the baby’s visible emotional state there is a striking resemblance to Frank Kelly.
Lauren perches herself on the edge of the sofa and folds her arms. Quinn hovers by the television smiling down at the angry bawling child. The cries are putting Archer on edge, making her eager to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.
Quinn catches the mother’s gaze and nods at the child. ‘May I?’
Archer notices her expression softens at the Detective Sergeant.
‘I have some experience,’ he adds.
Lauren’s thin lips smile and she nods. Quinn dips down and scoops the baby up to his chest, cradling it like he has done it a hundred times before.
‘You must have your hands full,’ says Archer, in an effort to build a bridge.
Lauren’s eyes harden as she turns to Archer.
‘They wouldn’t be so full if Frank was ’ere.’
‘Lauren, we’d like to confirm Frank’s whereabouts. Specifically, over the past week.’
‘He’s been ’ere. With me and ’er,’ she interrupts, pointing to the baby whose temper has simmered down as she lies in the arms of a doting Quinn. ‘And I can prove it!’ She takes out her phone and begins showing Archer pictures of Kelly, Lauren and the child, in the living room, in the bed together, in a pub. There are dozens and she makes sure Archer sees the date stamps. This evidence might not be enough in court but for Archer it’s enough to plant a seed of doubt.
‘Is Frank living here?’
‘Yes.’
‘But he was living with Elaine and Jordan.’
Archer notices Lauren’s neck turning a shade of crimson.
‘He left her and came to live with me, didn’t he?’
‘When did he start living here?’
‘This month.’
‘Which date?’
Lauren tuts and exhales. ‘I dunno the exact date. It was the middle of the month sometime.’
Archer and Quinn exchange glances. It was around that time that Elaine went missing.
‘Thank you, Lauren.’
‘Is he coming home then?’
Archer ignores the question. ‘Do you mind me asking if the child is Frank’s?’
Lauren’s nostrils flare and her eyes widen. ‘Of course she is. I’m not a slag. Not like her.’
‘Like who?’
‘Elaine. Who’d you think? If she weren’t such a slag she wouldn’t have got herself killed.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘She was seeing someone else. That’s what I heard. Someone down the club.’
‘Infernos?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Do you know who?’
‘No. Probably dozens, knowin’ her.’
‘I assume you weren’t friends, then?’ Archer asks sardonically.
‘No, we weren’t. I hated her.’
‘Why?’
‘She was stuck-up. Thought she was better than me.’
‘In what way?’
She frowns and shrugs. ‘I dunno. She just did.’
‘Tell me about Elaine. How well did you know her?’
‘Met her once or twice. But I knew she was a tart.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘She was sleeping around with half the estate.’
‘Do you know the people she had been with?’
‘No. But Frank did.’
‘Did Frank tell you that she had been sleeping around?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Do you know anyone Elaine has allegedly slept with?’
Lauren frowns as she mulls over the question. ‘I dunno their names.’
Archer’s patience is thinning. ‘Have you met any of these men?’
Lauren’s lips tighten and she shakes her head.
Archer has heard enough and stands up. Lauren clearly knows nothing about Elaine other than what Kelly has made her believe. She has provided him with an alibi and that is all Archer needs for now. ‘Thank you.’
‘What about my Frank?’
Archer ignores her and makes her way down the small narrow hallway.
‘He needs to come home now. I’ve helped you so you help me.’
Archer bites her tongue and pulls open the front door more forcefully than she means to. They make their way to the car where she and Quinn sit in silence waiting for it to warm up and the windows to demist.
‘She was a delight,’ says Quinn, breaking the quiet.
For a moment Archer isn’t sure if Quinn is referring to Lauren or the baby. She looks at him and he shoots her a wry smile.
Quinn continues, ‘A little spoilt, perhaps. What I don’t understand is what she is doing with Frank Kelly. She’s young, with her whole life ahead of her, yet she wants him. What is it about him that all these young women find attractive?’
‘That is the million-dollar question.’
‘The other night when I was at his drinking holes I asked those who knew him what he was like. Some described him as a drunk and a skank. Others spoke fondly of him, describing him as having a way with words.’
‘Elaine’s father apparently called him a council estate lothario.’
Quinn laughs, indicates and pulls out. ‘That’s one way to describe him.’