‘I know this house,’ I say, surprising both of them. ‘It belongs to Jimmy Verbic.’
‘The mayor!’ says Lenny.
‘He’s the sheriff of Nottingham now.’
Her forehead creases as though an invisible hand is squeezing her skin. ‘Why would Jodie Sheehan come here?’
‘Her father works for Jimmy as a driver.’
‘He didn’t mention that in his statement.’
Lenny gets out of the car and signals to the detectives who have been following in a second vehicle.
‘Take Mr Hendricks to his place of work.’
The schoolteacher gets out of one police car and into another. Lenny isn’t finished.
‘Don’t think you’re off the hook, Mr Hendricks. You could still be charged with withholding information from a murder investigation.’
‘All I did was drop her off. I promise.’
The second vehicle pulls away. Lenny and I are standing on the footpath. She turns and gazes through the iron gates at the grand house, muttering, ‘Jimmy Verbic.’
‘We’re only talking to him,’ I say, sensing her disquiet.
‘Councillor Verbic and the chief constable are best mates. They go on golfing tours together and salmon-fishing weekends. For all I know they swap wives.’
‘Jimmy isn’t married.’
‘You know what I mean.’
As if someone has been eavesdropping, the gates suddenly begin to move, sliding open on a chain. A Mercedes sports car turns the corner and approaches, pulling into the driveway. I catch a glimpse of a young woman behind the wheel, wearing oversized sunglasses and a scarf tied loosely around her neck.
We follow the Mercedes through the closing gates and watch it pull up at the front of the house. One elegant white-linen clad leg emerges, then another, both sporting high heels. She bends back into the car to collect polished paper shopping bags. Louis Vuitton and Cartier. Hearing our approach, she straightens and props her sunglasses on her forehead. She’s in her mid-twenties, tall and slim, with a proud countenance. She smiles.
‘You’re Cyrus Haven.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Jimmy talks about you all the time. He has a photograph of you in his study.’
‘And you are?’
‘Scarlet.’ She holds out her hand as though I might want to kiss it. Her face is almost impossible to read. Beautiful yes, but somehow bland, as though she’s been photoshopped or airbrushed in a glossy magazine.
‘Is the councillor home?’ I ask.
‘He should be.’
As if summoned, Jimmy appears, jogging down marble steps beneath an arched porte cochère.
He embraces me, smiling. ‘Cyrus! What an unexpected surprise.’
There is a subtext to his use of the words ‘unexpected’ and ‘surprise’, meaning unbidden, or without warning.
I introduce Jimmy to Lenny.
‘Yes, of course, DCI Parvel. You were in charge of the Jodie Sheehan investigation. Job well done – making such a quick arrest. I rang the chief constable personally to pass on my congratulations.’
Was that a name drop?
Jimmy slips his arm around Scarlet’s waist and gives her a squeeze. ‘Have you been spending my money again?’
‘It’s your mother’s birthday next week. You would have forgotten.’
‘She’s right,’ says Jimmy, laughing. ‘Scarlet is my PA, my Girl Friday, my walking Filofax.’
‘What’s a Filofax?’ she asks.
Jimmy laughs again and says, ‘old technology’, which annoys her. I can see it in her hips when she marches into the house, her heels clicking up the steps.
‘Where did you find Scarlet?’ I ask.
‘My sister sent her along. Have you met Genevieve?’
‘No.’
‘She runs an employment agency in Manchester.’
‘Are you sure it’s not a modelling agency?’
‘Yes, she is rather easy on the eyes.’ Jimmy smiles mischievously. ‘I know I mentioned getting together, Cyrus, but you could have given me some warning.’
‘It’s a business call,’ says Lenny. ‘We’ve received information that Jodie Sheehan visited this house on the night she was killed.’
‘Here!’
‘Yes.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘I’m not in a position to reveal that information.’
Jimmy looks at me, hoping I might help him. His smile has slowly been dismantled in a series of adjustments to his facial muscles. He still comes across as affable, but in a more menacing way.
‘Pardon my scepticism, DCI Parvel, but this sounds like a crude attempt to smear me. In politics you grow accustomed to cheap shots and malicious gossip. I hope that Nottinghamshire Police haven’t fallen into a trap like that.’
All hint of warmth has gone.
‘You had a celebration that night,’ I say, trying to ease the tension.
‘My Guy Fawkes party. I have one every year. I can assure you that Jodie Sheehan wasn’t on the guest list.’
‘How many people were here?’ asks Lenny.
‘Two hundred, although it felt like more.’
‘Did you know everyone at the party?’
‘Dear me, no. The hangers-on and freeloaders come out when there’s an open bar.’
‘But you have a guest list.’
Jimmy smiles wryly. ‘Some of the attendees were very prominent people who might not appreciate being questioned by the police on some frivolous fishing expedition.’
‘A girl was raped and murdered.’
‘And someone has confessed.’ Jimmy turns out his palms.
‘Why are you here, detective? You’ve made an arrest. Held the press conference. Received the kudos.’
‘There are some gaps in Jodie’s timeline.’
‘Gaps. I see. Well, if politics has taught me anything, it is how easily gaps can be filled with misinformation, particularly by the media, who seem to love conflating random harmless details and smearing innocent people in the process.’
I half expect him to use the term ‘fake news’, but mercifully he stops talking. Lenny glances at me, understanding the inference.
‘What’s through those doors?’ I ask, pointing to the side of the house.
‘The kitchens.’
‘Who looks after them?’
‘Rowena, our housekeeper, but we had caterers that night. A local firm.’
Scarlet emerges from inside, having changed into faded jeans and a loose-fitting top. She’s holding some sort of fruit smoothie in a tall glass and still wearing her sunglasses.
‘Did you see Jodie Sheehan on the night of the party?’ I ask.
‘Who?’
‘The girl who was murdered,’ Jimmy says.
‘Dougal’s daughter.’
Jimmy’s face seems to register the information as though he’s solved a problem that has vexed him for hours. ‘That’s right! Dougal was working. Jodie must have been looking for him.’ He glances from Lenny’s face to mine, waiting for us to agree.
‘Any idea why?’ I ask.
‘Maybe she wanted a lift home.’
I’m concentrating on Scarlet, who seems to be dredging up memories from wherever she stores them.