NOW
Fifty-one
FRIDAY, AUGUST 30, 2019
Elise
Elise sat at the window with her one cup of decaf for the day. Mulling. The many faces of Charlie Perry. And she wondered if she was anywhere close to knowing who he really was. She wasn’t alone. His neighbors had seen only what he’d allowed—the charming, twinkling version—and she wondered what he’d been like once the door of his caravan closed.
She looked through her case file, searching for him. And stopped at the black-and-white photo of Birdie. Charlie hadn’t told anyone in Ebbing about the attack that had left her brain damaged. He’d let them believe it had been the result of an accident. But why would he hide that? It was a random tragedy. It wasn’t as if it would make people think less of him, would it? But did he think it would?
She rang Caro.
“You’re not supposed to be working today, remember?” Caro said. “You are way over your hours already. Get off the phone or I’ll tell McBride.”
“Shut up, Sergeant. Look, I want to talk to Charlie’s old neighbors in London.”
Caro sighed loudly. “But this case is all about Ebbing, isn’t it? We’ve got the unfaithful wife and her lover in the frame—and now Pauline says Charlie had been up to his old tricks. We need to be looking for the people he’s been conning to raise money, not digging into some ancient case that was solved twenty years ago.”
“Yes, yes, but the bottom line is that our victim is not the man people thought he was. He had secrets and we’re missing something. I just feel it in my waters.”
“Thanks for that image,” Caro laughed. “Okay, but we’d better get a wiggle on—the inquest opens this afternoon and the coroner will use Charlie’s real name. I imagine the press will be straight on the trail. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“Lovely.”
* * *
—
“It’s got pillars,” Caro said, standing in front of the black iron railings of 16 Addison Gardens and craning her neck to look right up to the roof.
It was four stories with a kitchen in the basement and two attic windows. It made Elise think of the Darlings’ house in Peter Pan. But no fairy tales here. There was no one home when they knocked but Caro noticed a face at the window next door. The door to number 18 opened and a woman came out with a watering can. Elise would have put money on there being no water in it.
“Hello,” she said. “Sorry to trouble you but I’m trying to find out about someone who used to live here.”
“Let me guess. . . . Charles Williams?”
“That’s right! How did you know?”
“Nobody has ever come looking for anyone else. It’s always Charles and I’ve been here since the year dot.”
“Who has come looking?”
She rolled her eyes. “People he owed money to, generally. There were quite a few in the beginning. It tailed right off but we still get the odd one. Some odder than others. He was a charming man at a drinks party but a bit of a rogue, our Charles. He moved years ago. So why are you after him?”
“We’re detectives,” Elise said, and produced her ID.
“Ah! What’s he been up to now?”
“I’m afraid he has died. In unexplained circumstances,” Elise said, and the neighbor put down the watering can.
“Goodness,” she said. “Do you want to come in out of the sun?”
The house was shuttered and wonderfully cool inside and Mrs. Simpson introduced herself as she poured them cold, fizzy water that beaded the glasses. Elise could hear herself gulping it down but couldn’t stop.
“This is a great house,” Caro said. “Is next door the same?”
“Hardly; they’ve ripped everything out—months of building work, and the dust! It’s nice if you like that kind of thing. No doors but very modern.”
“How did Mr. Williams have it?”
“Oh, it was lovely—filled with beautiful things: antiques, silver, paintings. He was a collector, you know.”
“Were you here when his daughter and her boyfriend were attacked?” Elise asked, pressing the glass to her cheek.
The neighbor sat forward in her chair. “I was. Those poor young people. He was beaten to death and she was smothered, you know? While we sat watching some silly Christmas film on the television. Afterward I kept thinking if we’d only turned the TV off, we’d have heard something. Could have prevented it, perhaps. The first we knew was when the police arrived. One of the neighbors saw the front door left wide open.”