“You think you can do this to the woman I love? To the mother of my children? Now you are finished. I will find you, Tani. And whoever protects you will be sorry they ever gave you shelter or said so much as your name.”
Tani listened to the message once again. The fact that his father had rung Tani’s mobile did not surprise him. The fact that he’d threatened Tani’s life surprised him even less. But that everyone who knew him faced real danger was something he had not foreseen. If his journey to Pembury Estate had begun with his search for the passports, it had ended with something else entirely.
CHALK FARM
NORTH LONDON
Of course, Barbara Havers thought, they only had it from Ross Carver that his estranged wife ever said “She hit me, Ross” when he found her on the floor in her flat. Or, more precisely stated, when he found her on the floor of what would now go back to being his flat. He had to be bloody well chuffed that he was leaving the malodorous environs of Hackney City Farm, not to mention the morning cacophony of the place, courtesy of its resident rooster. Still, Barbara couldn’t bring her mind to the task of viewing him as a viable suspect. He’d gone round to Teo’s flat at her invitation, hadn’t he? Her mobile phone confirmed that she’d texted him. So what could have happened between them while he was there that might have prompted him to whack her with Standing Warrior? If—as Barbara suspected—he’d gone round at her request because he’d put her own sister up the spout, wasn’t it more likely that Teo would have whacked him? After all, she was committing herself to surgery that might restore her to sensation, that might indeed have restored their marriage, restored them to each other, and now this. Her husband and her sister and baby makes three? All of them living some bizarre form of happily-ever-after together?
That did put Rosie Bontempi into the picture, though, didn’t it? She’d been to see Teo relatively often, they’d had a loud and awful row heard by all of the neighbours shortly before Teo’s death, she knew there was CCTV at the entry to Teo’s building, so if she returned to whack her sister, she wasn’t going to do the macarena in front of the building’s security camera before she entered. Instead she was going to make herself unrecognisable when she entered, she was going to find a way to get into the building without alerting her sister, and she was going to leave by the fire door, which she bloody well would have known was there.
Still . . . What sort of person kills her own sister? And just like the situation with Ross, wasn’t it more likely that Teo would have whacked her? Teo knew Ross better than anyone, didn’t she? That being the case, she would have twigged at once that Ross would do his duty by Rosie. He might not marry her, true, just like the outcome of his doings with Colton’s mother. But that baby Rosie was carrying would be a fact of his life and Rosie herself would be a fact of his life and if Teo hoped or planned or intended to resume her marriage to Ross post-surgery—always a big if, Barbara admitted to herself—that meant Rosie-as-Mum-and-Ross-as-Dad would forever be part of her life as well.
Yet, there were others who benefitted from Teo’s death in one way or another, specifically DCS Mark Phinney and his wife, specifically Mercy Hart/Easter Lange if she had plans to set herself up with another clinic. But at their final meeting of the day, they were no closer to fingering anyone for the crime than they’d been that morning.
Lynley’s appearance was brief. Judi-with-an-i had rung him with the usual message that she passed along at this time of the day. The assistant commissioner wanted a word with Acting DCS Lynley before he left. So after letting the team know what he’d learned from Paul Phinney and then from his brother, Mark—it was beginning to look as if everyone in London had been desperate to take a drive to Streatham that evening—Lynley left them. He’d said before setting off to speak with Hillier, “Carry on, for now, especially with the CCTV from Kingsland High Street. There’s got to be something on it we’re missing.”
Since it was a high street and not a residential area or even a side street with a few shops on it, there was plenty of CCTV to view. Most shops had security cameras. Some had more than one security camera. The borough itself had security cameras, as did the Met. This was the reality of life in London, where people were documented going about their business hundreds of times each day.
Two hours of footage later and Barbara decided she had done her bit. She made a stop for a takeaway at a small Greek restaurant, where the chef stuffed two halves of pita bread with lamb, a few bits of lettuce, tomato for colour, and plenty of tzatziki. This came with either a side salad or an order of chips, and as far as Barbara was concerned, nothing said “your arteries are shot” better than an order of steaming, fresh chips, blisteringly hot from the oil, dashed with malt vinegar or, in a pinch, a Matterhorn of ketchup.