Ro blinked back at the police detective sitting opposite her, wishing she could stop wringing her hands together, her jigging ankles knocking the washing-up bowl still by her feet and making the detective look down at it with sporadic flashes of irritation.
Mainly the police officer was watching her closely, now that he had ascertained she was the nearest thing he had to a witness. ‘Let’s go through it one more time. Tell me what happened from the moment you woke up.’
Ro took a deep breath again, feeling the pressure of getting it right. ‘I had had a . . . bad dream –’ lie: it had been exceptionally good, actually ‘– and I woke up suddenly. I got up, walked to my window and looked out. A car was parked outside the house and it gave me a shock as it was turned on suddenly—’
‘So you didn’t see anyone actually getting into the car?’
‘No.’
‘So they could have been there for some time.’
‘I suppose so. Maybe.’
‘All night, even.’
‘Why would someone sit in a car all night?’ Ro frowned, before giving a little gasp. ‘You mean they could have been spying on us?’
‘Why would anyone spy on you?’ the detective countered.
‘Well, that’s just the thing – I don’t know. We’re so . . . boring.’
The detective looked down at the bowl by her feet again; Greg’s dinner suit was still strewn across the coffee table.
‘Have you noticed anyone acting suspiciously outside the house? Anyone taking an unusual interest in you?’
Ro swallowed hard as Ted Connor flashed into her mind. He had taken an unusual interest in her last night – there’d been no doubt about it. She was worried he’d picked up on her suspicions, that she’d given herself away somehow; Matt always said she wore her emotions on her face, that she was as easy to read as a book. But he couldn’t possibly be involved in this. Even she didn’t think that. Her mind couldn’t go there. ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No one.’
The detective stared at her for a long moment, as though wondering whether to believe her. ‘So you don’t know how long the occupant had been in the car for?’
‘No.’
‘And you said the car was a Porsche.’
‘Yes, a navy one. Soft-top.’ She sat a little straighter, pleased she had caught this detail.
‘But you didn’t get anything of the licence plate?’
‘Well, no, I wasn’t watching it for that.’
‘But you were watching it?’
She shrugged. ‘It just drove slowly down to the junction and turned into Old Beach Lane. I was quite surprised that the driver would bother to drive such a short distance from here when it’s just a few minutes’ walk.’
‘And what happened after the car turned into the lane?’
‘Well, I figured if he was play—’
‘He? Why did you assume the inhabitant was a male?’
‘I don’t know.’ She swallowed nervously. His questioning style was intimidating, making her question her own mind. ‘My flatmate’s boyfriend had stayed over. I automatically assumed it was him. He drives a Porsche and it would make sense for him to have parked outside.’
He blinked at her and she sensed he didn’t appreciate her making assumptions. ‘Continue.’
Ro tried to remember her train of thought. ‘Uh . . . so . . . oh yes, I figured if he was playing golf, I’d see him on the first tee in a couple of minutes. So that’s when I got my laptop and started trying to Skype my boyfriend while I waited.’
The police officer looked at her through interested eyes that made her nervous. ‘And why were you so intent on seeing your housemate’s boyfriend play golf?’
Ro’s eyes flicked upstairs. Bobbi was still sleeping. Hump and Greg had been relegated to the kitchen by another police officer as soon as Ro’s status as a ‘witness’ had been identified on their door-to-door enquiries. ‘Because I . . . I was being nosy. She hadn’t introduced him to us yet and I was curious about him. He was older than—’
‘How much older?’
Ro wrinkled her nose. ‘Fifty-one, I think she said?’
‘And—’
‘Well, to be honest, I thought maybe the reason she was reluctant for us to meet him was because he was married, had a family. I was worried about her getting hurt. She’s not as tough as she makes out.’
The detective watched her, his eyes moving side to side over her face like he could fathom the truth from her freckles. ‘So you assumed that any person you saw coming out on the first tee might be him. Do you know for a fact that your housemate’s boyfriend stayed here last night? Did you see him?’
‘Well, no, I didn’t actually see him myself. If I had, I would have known what he looked like, wouldn’t I?’ The detective’s eyes clouded at her flippancy. ‘But I heard him upstairs,’ she added quickly. ‘Bobbi told us it was him.’
‘How do you know he didn’t leave later in the night?’
She exhaled, weary now. ‘I don’t. Greg, our housemate, had had too much to drink –’ her ankle kicked the washing-up bowl lightly ‘– and we were all trying to help him onto the sofa here. We heard someone upstairs. Bobbi said it was Kevin and we told Bobbi we didn’t want some stranger seeing him like that.’
‘Greg’s the one with the bloodshot eyes in the kitchen?’
Ro nodded. It wasn’t vodka that had done that, although there’d been no time for broken hearts this morning – even one as destroyed as Greg’s. ‘I went to bed straight after we’d got Greg sorted. Hump stayed down here with him. I fell asleep immediately and didn’t hear a thing until I woke up this morning.’
‘Can you be sure it was a bad dream that woke you?’
‘It was a very . . . shocking dream, yes. It took me a couple of moments to recover from it.’
‘But could it have been a sound – such as the front door closing, car doors closing?’
‘I think it was definitely the dream. It frightened me awake.’
The officer nodded, not remotely interested in pursuing a conversation in dream psychology.
‘Let’s go back to what happened when you called your boyfriend.’
Ro brightened. ‘Oh well, he picked up, which was nothing short of miraculous. He’s in Cambodia, you see. Really dodgy connections. Half the time I can’t get him.’
The police officer nodded again, bored by her diversions. ‘And?’
‘And so I started talking to him.’
‘Were you still watching for the man to appear on the golf course?’
Ro frowned, concentrating hard. ‘Yeah . . . Oh! No, wait, I’m getting it wrong. I saw the two men come out onto the first tee before my boyfriend picked up.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
The detective scratched out something in his notebook with a suppressed sigh. ‘What did they look like? Could you give me a physical description?’
‘Well, not in any detail. It’s too far to see clearly from here. I could just see that the taller man was wearing red trousers and a panama.’
‘A panama?’
‘It’s a hat.’
‘I know what a panama is, ma’am.’
‘Right, yes, of course you do.’ Ro shifted position on the sofa.
‘What about the other man?’
‘He was shorter, bald – from what I could see, anyway – and wearing a bright green jumper.’
‘That’s it?’
His tone suggested she had failed in some way and her shoulders slumped. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘What were they doing? Were they talking? Did they appear to know each other?’
Ro hesitated, trying to think back. It had all been so innocuous, fractions of moments she had barely registered, even with her curiosity piqued about the possibility of finally seeing Kevin. ‘They just came over on a golf buggy and one of them started, you know, crouching down and looking at the slopes or whatever. You know, like they do in the Masters and stuff—’
‘Which one?’
‘The bald one.’
‘And the other one?’
‘He was getting out his clubs.’
The detective’s eyes narrowed and Ro got the impression he was holding his breath. ‘And then what?’
‘Well, that’s when my boyfriend picked up and we started chatting.’
‘That exact moment?’
‘That exact one, yes. He gave me a bit of a fright, you see. I hadn’t realized he’d picked up.’
‘You didn’t see anything further on the green?’
Ro shrugged, feeling thoroughly useless. ‘No. My boyfriend wanted to see the dress I’d worn last night, so I left the window to show it to him and then I flopped on the bed.’
‘Flopped?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’ She nodded vigorously and bit her lip.
‘And then?’
‘And then we finished chatting and said goodbye, and I went downstairs to see how Greg was doing. It stank of booze down here, though, so I opened the door first to let in some fresh air, and that’s when I saw the police cars going past. I ran back in and woke up the boys, and then you started knocking on all the doors. And now here we are.’ She shifted position, on tenterhooks to know what all this was really about. She’d told him hers; now it was only fair he told her his. ‘Can you tell me what this is about now? I know it must be bad. I mean, the tent – I’ve seen those on the telly. They only go up when . . . when there’s . . .’ She swallowed hard, unable to get the words out. She’d been so focused on trying to help she hadn’t allowed herself to think about what had actually happened.
The officer closed his notebook. ‘We’re investigating a homicide at the Maidstone Club.’
Ro sucked in her breath, feeling her blood pool at her feet. Oh God. Oh God. ‘You mean . . . he d-died?’
‘Someone died?’
They both turned to find Bobbi standing in the hallway, tying her dressing gown around her, her face puffy with sleep, but her dark eyes already slitted suspiciously.
The police officer stood up. ‘Detective Bryant, ma’am. We’re just making some routine enquiries for a live investigation. Could you come in here, please, and take a seat? I need to ask you some questions.’
‘What’s happened? Who’s died?’
‘There’s been a homicide at the Maidstone.’
‘The Maidstone?’ Bobbi spluttered, almost laughing from the shock of it, as though the idea of anything so messy happening there was inconceivable.
‘Take a seat, please,’ he repeated, standing until the smile died on her lips and she walked in slowly, silently, her dark eyes moving between Ro and the policeman. She sat down on the sofa beside Ro, their legs touching. Ro felt a strong urge to reach out and take Bobbi’s hand, but she didn’t. She didn’t dare.
‘What is your name?’ the detective asked Bobbi, sitting down himself and opening his notebook again.
‘Bobbi Winkleman.’
‘I understand you had a guest last night,’ the policeman began.
Bobbi’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Has my mother sent you?’
‘Please just answer the question.’
Ro put her hand on Bobbi’s leg. ‘It’s important, Bobbi.’
Bobbi took in the expression on Ro’s face and looked back at the police officer. ‘My boyfriend was with me.’
‘And what’s his name?’
Bobbi hesitated. ‘Kevin Bradley.’
‘How old is Mr Bradley?’
‘Fifty-one.’
The police officer opened his notepad again and looked down at his notes. ‘And at what time did Mr Bradley leave here?’
‘Just after six this morning. Why are you asking me about Kevin? What is this about?’
But the detective ignored her. Right now, it was his questions that needed to be answered. ‘Do you know where he was going?’
Bobbi scowled. She didn’t take well to being ignored (as Greg had discovered to his cost). ‘He said he had a meeting.’
‘At six o’clock on a Sunday morning?’
‘He’s not a nine-to-fiver,’ Bobbi retorted. ‘He’s a successful businessman. He works round the clock, round the world and not necessarily out of an office.’
Ro bit her lip, knowing the detective could be heading in one of two directions with these questions, and she hoped now – hoped really, really badly – that Kevin was going to turn out to be married with kids after all – that he’d left here to go back to his family, not some dodgy meeting or a game of golf. Especially not that.
‘Do you have any photographs of Mr Bradley?’
Bobbi crossed her arms. ‘Not that I’m prepared to show you until you tell me what’s going on. I don’t understand why you’re asking me all these questions about Kevin.’
The police officer stared back at Bobbi levelly. ‘If you could show me a photograph of your boyfriend, ma’am, it would help us in our enquiries.’
There was a long pause and Ro could see the pennies slowly beginning to drop in Bobbi’s mind. ‘It’s on my cell,’ she murmured finally, pointing vaguely to the ceiling.
‘Do you want me to get it for you?’ Ro asked her.
Bobbi looked across at her, but Ro wasn’t sure her housemate was actually seeing her. Panic was beginning to set in with the understanding.
Ro looked at the police officer, who saw what Ro saw and nodded subtly. Ro ran quickly up the stairs, her heart pounding as she darted into Bobbi’s room and found the iPhone on the bedside table. She descended the stairs two at a time and handed it over to Bobbi, panting.
Bobbi scrolled through her picture gallery in silence. ‘There. I took that last night. We had a reservation at Nick & Toni’s. Table nineteen. You can check. And he was with me till an hour ago.’
The police officer took the phone, his eyes flicking from the screen to Bobbi and back again.
‘Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.’
Bobbi stood up, anger bursting through her in one last defiant stand. ‘Why? He hasn’t done anything – I can tell you that for sure. I’ve given you an alibi for him. I know he sails pretty close to the wind at times, bu—’
‘Ma’am, you’ve misunderstood. Your boyfriend isn’t a suspect in this investigation.’
‘But . . .’ Bobbi visibly paled. Ro threw her arm around her, squeezing her tightly, too tightly, but Bobbi didn’t notice. Every fibre of her being was focused on the police officer.
The detective – for the first time since entering – looked apprehensive, his closed, suspicious demeanour giving way to something closer to regret. ‘I’m afraid I have to ask you to come with me to the morgue. We need you to formally identify the body.’
The house had never been so quiet. Not a door had been slammed all day; the stairs didn’t creak with one housemate or another bounding up three at a time, picking something up from their room en route to the beach or the club.
Greg stood by the window, looking like hell, his forehead pressed to the cool pane and enjoying the momentary chill. Temperatures had risen quickly once the sea mist had rolled back and the day’s grisly proceedings had been revealed.
Hump was perched on the bottom step of the stairs, his elbows on his knees and his head dropped low. Ro was pacing. She reckoned she must have walked three miles just in the sitting room, trying to burn off her agitation as they all waited for Bobbi to be dropped back in the patrol car.
She had chosen to go to the mortuary alone, her manner subdued but efficient as she’d gone upstairs to get dressed, her eyes down and, when they did meet anyone’s, dim. She hadn’t cried, hadn’t even gasped; her pretty knees had just discreetly buckled at the detective’s words and she’d sunk softly back down on the sofa like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Greg straightened up suddenly. ‘She’s here.’
They all stood up, ramrod straight and nervous, clustering together in the hallway, not wanting to crowd her on the porch. There were huge numbers of people already gathered at the police cordons further up the street, at the Egypt Lane junction, all wanting to find out what had happened and to whom, and how and why.
Ro watched Bobbi stop at the sight of their small gaggle through the porch screen, the lot of them divided by more than mesh now, united by more than an address. Bobbi blinked, her bottom lip trembling, as Greg opened the door and she crossed the threshold into six arms, tears running down eight cheeks, two hearts broken – a motley crew that had started out as strangers but somewhere along the line, through all the bickering and noise and mess, had become a family of sorts.