Chalmers nodded. “We’re estimating time of death sometime between eight p.m. Friday night and eight a.m. Saturday morning.”
“Oh.” Theo was rubbing his head again, staring out the window.
“Have you thought of something, Mr. Myerson?”
“I saw a girl,” Theo said. “Saturday morning. It was early—six, maybe? Out on the towpath, going past my house. I was standing in my study and I saw her; I remember her because she had blood on her. On her face. On her clothing, I think. She wasn’t drenched in it or anything, but . . . but it was there.”
Carla gawped at him, incredulous. “What are you talking about? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were sleeping,” Theo said. “I got up, I was going to make coffee, and I went to get my cigarettes from the study. I saw her, out of the window. She was young, probably not much more than twenty, and she was coming along the towpath. Limping. Or swaying, maybe? I thought she was drunk. I didn’t . . . really think much of it, because London is awash with strange, drunk people, isn’t it? That time of day, you often see people, on their way home. . . .”
“With blood on them?” Barker asked.
“Well, perhaps not. Perhaps not the blood. That’s why I remembered her. I thought she’d fallen, or been in a fight, I thought . . .”
“But why didn’t you say anything?” Carla said.
“You were asleep, Cee, I didn’t think—”
“Mrs. Myerson was asleep at your home,” Chalmers interrupted, frowning. “Is that right? You stayed the night with Mr. Myerson?”
Carla nodded slowly, her expression one of utter bewilderment. “We’d had dinner on Friday; I stayed over.”
“Although we’re separated, we still have a relationship, you see, we often—”
“They don’t care about that, Theo,” Carla said sharply, and Theo flinched. She pressed a Kleenex to her nose. “Sorry. I’m sorry. But it’s not important, is it?”
“We never know what’s going to be important,” Barker said enigmatically, and started moving toward the hall. He handed out business cards, said something to Theo about formal identification, about family liaison, about staying in touch. Theo nodded, slipping the business card into his trouser pocket, and shook the detective’s hand.
“How did you know?” Carla asked suddenly. “I mean, who was it, who reported . . . who found him?”
Chalmers looked at her boss, then back at Carla. “A woman found him,” she said.
“A woman?” Theo asked. “A girlfriend? Was she young? Slim? I’m just thinking of the person I saw, the one with the blood, perhaps she—”
Chalmers shook her head. “No, this was someone living on another of the narrowboats, not a young woman—middle-aged, I’d say. She noticed that the boat hadn’t moved in some time and went to check up on him.”
“She didn’t see anything, then?” Theo asked.
“She was very helpful, actually,” Barker said. “Very observant.”
“Good,” Theo said, rubbing the top of his head. “Very good.”
“A Mrs. Lewis,” Barker added, and Chalmers corrected him: Ms. “That’s right,” he said. Carla watched the color drain from Theo’s face as Barker went on. “Ms. Miriam Lewis.”
FOUR
He started it, all right? Before you say anything. He started it.”
They were waiting for her when she got home. Must have been, because they banged on the front door literally thirty seconds after she’d got in from the grocery store. She’d not even got her breath back—she was on the seventh floor and the lifts were out again—and there they were, and it just made her angry, and nervous too. So, like a fucking idiot, she started talking right away, which she knew full well you shouldn’t do. It’s not like this was her first time in trouble.
Granted, usually it was a different sort of trouble. Public intoxication, petty theft, trespass, vandalism, disorderly conduct. She’d been found not guilty of simple assault on one occasion. One minor assault charge pending.
But this wasn’t that. And she realized that almost right away because as she stood there huffing and puffing and running her mouth off, she thought, Hang on. These are detectives. They’d said their names and ranks and all that, which she’d forgotten right away but still: they were standing in front of her in plain clothes, and that was a whole different order of trouble.