She didn’t reply, but I could tell I’d hit on something. She picked up the statement and the photograph.
‘Jade?’
She pushed her plate aside. ‘I need to pee.’
And then she was gone, weaving between the tables. She passed the serving hatch, scooped up what looked like a napkin, and headed towards a toilet block next to the carriage. She looked back once, then walked around to the door and out of sight.
I gave it eight minutes. The thought that Jade might try to escape crossed my mind the instant she left the table. I slid out and headed to the toilet block.
It was a dumping ground at the back — drinks cans, carrier bags, a shopping trolley, needles. Beyond, the railway arches continued, gradually melting into the night. I could see one of the windows was open, and there was a crack in it, top to bottom. I looked at it more closely. In the middle of the crack, about three-quarters of the way up, something had been smeared across it, on the inside of the glass.
‘Jade?’
The door to the women’s toilet was open, swinging in the wind coming in off the arches. Inside, the light was on, and I could see blood spatters on one of the walls closest to the door.
I stepped inside.
Jade was slumped against one of the cubicle doors, her head tilted sideways. Her fingers were wrapped around the steak knife that had come with her burger, the blade streaked in blood. The cuts in her wrists were deep and long, and her lifeblood was still chugging out of them, on to her hands, her clothes, the floor.
I backed away, watching a fresh trail of blood carve down one of the cubicle doors, then turned and looked out towards the arches. They were big mouths of darkness that sucked the noise out of the night. And in them I saw something that made me pause: that Jade would rather kill herself than face the consequences of walking away from her organization. Rather die than stand in front of the people she worked for.
The breeze picked up again, and — faintly — I heard a noise, like paper flapping. I looked down at her body. Beneath one of her hands, half-hidden by her balled fingers, was a piece of card. I leaned over, took it from her grasp and pocketed it.
Then I got out my phone and called the police.
20
The police arrived at Strawberry’s ten minutes after I called. There were two of them: Jones and Hilton. Jones was about sixty-five, while Hilton was much younger, nervous, reeking of inexperience. It might even have been his first night on the job. He held up pretty well when Jones beckoned him to the toilet block, both of them kneeling down to look at Jade’s pale body.
They drove me to a station in Dagenham. Taking my statement didn’t last long. It was obvious Jones didn’t believe I’d killed her. Witnesses at the restaurant backed up my account of what had happened. When he asked me why we were there I told him the truth, or a version of it. I knew her, wanted to talk to her and she’d agreed as long as I drove her to her favourite restaurant.
‘You get what you wanted?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
Jones shook his head. ‘Hope she paid for the petrol.’
I got the feeling he was so close to retirement he could smell it. Any case that wanted to stick around wasn’t going to be one of his. That suited me fine. If he’d been a couple of years younger, I might have got a rougher ride. He told me they’d have to keep my BMW for a while, as well as my clothes, and that they’d want to speak to me again once the coroner had looked at the body.
‘That might be a couple of days,’ Jones said, ‘but I wouldn’t bank on it. More likely you won’t be hearing anything from us until the new year.’
After that, he showed me the door.
Liz arrived about forty minutes later. She was the only person I knew who would be up at one in the morning. Perhaps the only person I could turn to in an emergency now. After Derryn died, people stuck close to me for a while. Cooked things, offered advice, sat with me in the still of the house. I had no family left, so I relied on colleagues from my newspaper days, on friends of my parents, on people Derryn had known. Most of them were very good to me — but most of them eventually grew tired of babysitting the sad man. At the end of it all, Liz was the only one left. And the irony was she never even got to meet Derryn.
On the phone I told her where she could find the spare key, and asked her to get some clothes for me. Jones lent me a pair of police-issue trousers and a training top while I waited. When she arrived, she handed me a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a coat and I changed in an empty locker room at the back of the station. She waited next to the front desk, dressed in tracksuit trousers and a zip-up training top.
‘You okay?’ she asked when I finally emerged again.
I nodded. ‘I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.’
We walked to her Mercedes, parked around the corner from the station. Inside she turned the heaters on full blast and handed me a takeaway coffee from a cardboard carton. Steam rose out of a small hole in the plastic covering.
‘I popped into the petrol station on the way over. Thought you might want an energy injection. Black, no sugar.’ She paused. ‘Just how you like it.’
I smiled. ‘Thanks.’
She pulled out, and we drove for a while.
‘I appreciate this, Liz.’
She nodded. ‘You going to tell me what happened?’
I glanced at her. She looked back. She had a dusting of make-up on. Maybe she hadn’t taken it off after work. Or maybe she’d just put it on before she came out. Either way, she looked really good. And, as her perfume filled the car, I felt a momentary connection to her. A buzz. I looked away, out into the night, and tried to imagine where the feeling had come from. It had been a long day. A traumatic one. Perhaps it was just the relief of going home. Or perhaps, for a second, I realized how alone I was again.
‘David?’
I turned back to her. ‘Things got a bit messy today.’
‘With a case?’
I nodded.
‘Are you in trouble?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
We stopped at some traffic lights. Red light filled the front of the car, and was reflected in her eyes as she looked at me. In front of us was the glow of London City airport.
‘David?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly.’
Her eyes moved across my face. ‘Because if you’re in trouble, I can help you.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m a lawyer. It’s my job. I can help you, David.’
There was a brief pause. Something passed between us; something unspoken. And then the feeling came again. An ache in the pit of my stomach.
‘Whatever you need,’ she said quietly.
I nodded again.
‘You don’t have to do everything on your own.’
You don’t have to be lonely.
I looked at her. She leaned into me a little, her perfume coming with it. The fingers of her hand brushed against my leg. Whatever you need. Her eyes were dark and serious.
‘I can help you,’ she said, almost a whisper.
She leaned in even closer. My heart shifted in my chest, like an animal waking from hibernation. I moved towards her.
‘I need…’
I thought of Derryn, of her grave. It’s too soon. Liz was so close to me I could feel her breath on my face.
‘What?’ she said. ‘Tell me what you need.’
The lights changed. I looked at them, then back to her. The roads were empty. Behind us there was nothing but dark, cavernous warehouses. Her eyes were still fixed on me.
‘I just…’