The knocking tore through the house like the rattle of gunfire, rat-tat-tat-tat, ripping the peace of the morning wide open. Hannah jerked awake just as Mark reared up in bed next to her. They stared at each other. For a few seconds the knocking stopped, leaving a silence that rang with echoes, but then it started again, louder still. In a moment he was across the room, pulling a T-shirt over his head.
‘Stay here,’ he said but she was already out of bed, too, grabbing yesterday’s clothes from the back of the chair, nearly falling as she caught her foot in the leg of her jeans. He took the stairs at a run but then, as he neared the bottom, she heard him slow down. When she came out on to the landing, he was standing on the bottom step, looking at the front door.
‘Leave it, Mark. Don’t open it.’
‘No,’ he said, glancing up. ‘It’s not . . .’ The knocking started again, just as insistent. ‘Okay, okay, I’m coming.’ The heavy thunk of the deadlock, the brush of the door against the mat. Hannah gripped the banister.
‘Morning, sir.’ A deep male voice with a Liverpool accent. ‘Mark Reilly? Detective Inspector Wells, DS Andrews. Can we come in?’
Police? Hannah let go of the banister. She went to the top of the stairs and saw them just as they looked up and saw her. The man was in his late forties, Mark’s height but bulky, wearing a dark waxed jacket. With him was a woman her own age in a black trouser suit and short wool coat, her sandy-blonde hair cut in a shoulder-length bob. Mark opened the door wider and they stepped inside, the male officer standing back to let the woman go ahead of him. As Hannah came downstairs, Mark turned to look at her, his eyes full of uncertainty.
The police waited for her then indicated the sitting-room door. ‘Can we?’
‘Please,’ said Mark.
Inside they positioned themselves in front of the mantelpiece, side by side. The air held the thick, ashy smell of the dead fire. Like every other room in the house, the sitting room was large but even so, the detective – Wells, was that what he’d said? – seemed disproportionate to it, a looming presence. ‘Perhaps you’d like to sit down, sir – Mrs Reilly?’
Mark stayed standing. ‘What’s going on? What’s happened?’ His voice was loud. Hannah reached out and put her hand on his arm.
‘Do you know a woman called Hermione Alleyn, sir?’
‘Yes. We don’t see each other much now, but yes. We were at university together, at Cambridge.’
Wells nodded slightly. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this but she’s dead. Her body was found late last night.’
Hannah’s heart gave a single great thump. Dead. The word fell like a drumbeat, the reverberations fanning out after it, vibrating in the air.
‘Dead?’ She heard Mark say in disbelief. ‘Do you mean . . . killed?’
‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
He turned to face Hannah, giving her a wild look. ‘How?’
‘We won’t know for sure until after the post-mortem,’ said the woman officer, speaking for the first time, ‘but mostly likely it was from head injuries – blunt-force trauma to the skull.’
Mark slumped on to the arm of the sofa, his hand over his mouth. His eyes were wide with horror.
‘When?’ Hannah asked.
‘Again, we’re waiting for the post-mortem to establish that more exactly but some time in the late afternoon. She left the hospital just after four.’
Mark moved his hands over his face and rocked forward. The woman gave him a moment then spoke again. ‘Mr Reilly, we found Ms Alleyn’s phone with her body. You left a message for her last night, at quarter to nine.’
‘Yes,’ he said, through his fingers. ‘I rang her but I didn’t get through. I wanted to tell her . . .’
‘We’ve listened to it. You seemed to be warning her, suggesting she might not want to be alone last night. Can you tell us more about that?’
He raised his head. ‘I wanted to warn her about my brother,’ he said. ‘Nick. He got out of prison yesterday. There was history between them – they used to go out, she testified against him at his trial, and he’d been in touch with her before he was released, threatening her. She’d been ringing me, to talk. I knew she was frightened and—’
‘What was he threatening?’
‘She told me he said it was “payback time”.’
‘Payback?’
‘Nick thought it was her testimony that got him convicted. He blamed her.’ Mark’s hands squeezed into fists on his knees. ‘Where was she? Who found her?’
‘Your brother was convicted of manslaughter, Mr Reilly,’ said Wells.
Manslaughter. The word hung in the air, and Hannah heard its fading echo: slaughter, slaughter, slaughter.
‘Yes,’ Mark said quietly.
‘She was found in Spitalfields,’ Wells said, ‘about ten minutes’ walk from the hospital, in the yard at the back of a pub. The landlord went out just after closing time to check the gate was padlocked. He didn’t see her first off but his dog ran out ahead of him and started barking, wouldn’t come away.’
Mark rocked forward again. Hannah felt the room start to ebb and flow around her, the carpet undulating under her feet. Dead, left behind a pub with the empty barrels and the bins.
‘We found a packet of cigarettes at the scene,’ the woman said. ‘Whether there was a struggle and he dropped them . . .’
‘Your brother’s fingerprints were on them,’ said Wells.
Mark closed his eyes. For several seconds he was silent but then he jerked upright. ‘This is my fault,’ he said. He coughed, half-choked. ‘I should have done something. I knew Hermione was worried, I knew about the threats and I . . .’ He coughed again and swiped a hand roughly across his eyes. ‘I wanted her to go away for a while, or come and stay here. I offered last night but . . .’ He looked up at the female officer. ‘Oh my God, her mother?’
‘She’s been notified.’
‘Hermione was her only child,’ he said, turning to Hannah. ‘She’s a widow – brought Herm up on her own.’
‘In your message, Mr Reilly, you said Nick had been here. It was you who saw him, Mrs Reilly, is that right?’ The detective turned to Hannah.
‘Yes. But not here at the house – it was just up the road, at the delicatessen. He was standing outside. They have flowers – he was standing looking at them.’
‘Did you talk to him?’
‘No. I saw him and ran.’
‘But you’re sure it was him?
‘Yes, sure. I’ve never met him before – Mark and I have only been married since April, Nick’s been in prison all that time – but they – he and Mark – look so similar, I actually thought it was Mark until he turned round properly. I’ve seen photographs of Nick.’ Online. ‘When he saw me, it was obvious he knew who I was, too, or guessed.’
‘Did he approach you? Did he try to say anything?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘Like I said, I ran. I thought he’d come after me, I was terrified, but . . . I’ve thought about it, why he didn’t, and all I can think was that he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. There were other people around. One of the guys who works there was wrapping up a bouquet for a customer.’
‘Why were you so terrified?’ asked the female detective.
‘The history – his conviction and . . .’ Hannah looked at Mark.
‘My brother and I have a difficult relationship,’ he said, ‘we always have had, and Nick’s angry about his time in prison. He blames me for that as well as Hermione. But the other issue at the moment is money. I owe him money.’
‘How much are we talking about?’ asked Wells.
‘One point eight million.’
Hannah watched the police officers exchange glances.
‘Nick owns a stake in my company, twelve per cent, and we had an agreement that he’d cash out the day he got out of prison. He was emphatic about it at the time he bought the shares – on the day, the actual day, the paperwork specifies that. And he wants the money – I went to see him in Wakefield last month – but I haven’t got it to give to him now. I’m in the process of selling the business, we’re meeting the potential purchaser next week, and if it goes through there’ll be no problem. But until then . . .’
‘And your brother knows this?’
‘No, that’s just it. I thought he’d be in touch. I’ve been waiting for him to ring me and,’ Mark held up his hands, ‘nothing. That’s why we’re so jumpy, Hannah and I. He’s playing games. Nick . . . it’s hard to explain. Sometimes in the past I’ve thought it’s like trying to deal with a wild animal. You can never predict what he’s going to do, and when Hannah rang and said she’d seen him . . . He’d obviously come to the house but we weren’t here so he decided to hang around and wait. He couldn’t have planned it, bumping into her like that, but he must have loved it when he saw how frightened she was.’
‘Mrs Reilly,’ said the woman, ‘what time was it when you saw him? Do you remember?’
‘I’m not sure. No, wait.’ Hannah remembered the clock at the top of the station stairs. ‘I went into town yesterday afternoon – shopping – and when I got back to Parsons Green it was ten past seven. I saw the clock on the platform. It’s a few minutes’ walk from there to the deli, three or four.’
‘So quarter past seven, give or take a minute or two?’
‘Yes.’
‘And tell us exactly what happened.’
‘Almost nothing, that was it. I was coming along the pavement and I saw a man who looked like my husband standing by the flowers. If I’d been thinking straight, I should have known it couldn’t be him – Mark was in a meeting, I’d just had a message to tell me he was going in – but the physical similarity . . . Anyway, I stopped. I think I might have started to say something, I’m not sure, but he turned round. We just looked at each other – neither of us said anything – and then I turned and ran.’
‘And he made no effort to come after you?’
‘Not as far as I know. I didn’t hear anything – no footsteps. I just kept going until I reached the pub – the White Horse at the top of the Green.’
‘Do you have any idea which way he might have headed?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘All I could think about was getting away.’
DS Andrews took a notepad from her jacket pocket, leaned against the mantelpiece and made three quick lines of notes.
‘Mr Reilly,’ said Wells, ‘when was the last time you spoke to Hermione? The last time you got through to her, I mean. Or perhaps you saw her, met up?’
‘No, I haven’t – hadn’t . . .’ Mark swallowed. ‘I hadn’t seen her in person for ages – I don’t even know how long. A couple of years, maybe – definitely before I met my wife.’
‘We met in July last year,’ Hannah said.
‘But I spoke to her last week. She called me at the office. It was Tuesday, I think – yes, it must have been, Tuesday afternoon. I went to America first thing on Wednesday morning.’
The policewoman made a note in her book. ‘And how was she then?’
‘She was . . . anxious. Frightened.’
‘Your brother had made contact with her?’
‘Yes, and his release date was coming up. She was worried – she wanted to talk.’ Mark’s voice shook.
Wells waited a moment. ‘These threats of your brother’s – did she give you any details, discuss what he’d said specifically?’
‘Not really. She said he’d told her he’d find her – he’d track her down, was what he said – and it was payback time.’
‘Right.’ Wells looked at his colleague, who made a final note then returned the pad to her pocket. He took out a card and gave it to Mark. ‘Obviously, Mr Reilly, finding your brother is our top priority. If you hear from him, please get in touch – immediately. We’ll need to speak to you again, I’m sure, but if you remember anything else before you hear from us, ring me on that number. I’m going to arrange for a watch to be kept on the house in case he comes here again. We’ll have a car outside in the next hour. Is there anywhere else you think he might go? Friends, family? Anyone who might give him a bed?’
Mark thought for a moment then shook his head. ‘Not that I can think of, no. Most of Nick’s friends – all of them – dropped him when he was arrested. I’m not sure you’d really have called them friends, anyway – more like acolytes, hangers-on. Users – in both senses. My office, though – DataPro. I mean, I don’t think he’d come up, not now, but he might try and wait for me outside.’
‘Right. And where is that?’
Mark gave them the address.
‘Okay,’ the detective said. ‘We’ll have a car there, too. Just ignore it – both of them. Act like you don’t know they’re there – if he comes, we don’t want him to cotton on. Hopefully, it’ll make you feel a bit safer, too,’ he nodded his head in Hannah’s direction, ‘but don’t take any risks. If you’re out, stay in busy places, don’t go anywhere on your own after dark. Be careful – I don’t need to tell you. And if you think of anything else, however trivial, let us know.’
‘We will.’ Mark got to his feet slowly, as if he’d been badly beaten. In the hallway, he opened the door and they stepped outside.
Just as they were turning to go, the policewoman stopped and looked back at Hannah. ‘Mrs Reilly, in his message your husband said he thought you’d met Hermione, and yet just now he said he hadn’t seen her since the two of you,’ she waved her hand between them, ‘had been together.’
‘Yes,’ Hannah said. ‘Actually, it’s embarrassing. I went to the hospital on Monday. Mark was away in America longer than I’d expected and when I spoke to his assistant she told me a woman had been calling him.’ She looked at Mark apologetically. ‘I was being ridiculous – I accused Hermione of having an affair with him.’
The policewoman frowned slightly. ‘You didn’t know she was a friend of your husband’s?’
‘Like he said, we’d never met.’
‘Hermione and I weren’t in touch often,’ Mark explained. ‘It was too painful. If we saw each other, the memory of Nick was always there, this . . . nightmare hanging over us. We tried to go back to how things had been before, at college, but we couldn’t. We could never get away from him.’