‘He is unavailable.’ Her voice, her face flat, unreadable. ‘Miss Dee is available to meet with you.’
Oh God, thought Helen. The weird sister. Brilliant.
She sighed. ‘OK. She’ll have to do.’
The housekeeper ushered her in, shut the door behind her. Once inside, Helen looked around. She had been in the house a couple of times before. Rare occasions, when Jeff — with Helen as his plus one — had been invited to the odd party. The Sloanes had tastes that overlapped somewhat with the Hibberts’. She had felt the place then to be cold and empty; even with all those people mingling, drinking and enjoying each other’s intimacies, it hadn’t seemed like a warm place. Now, with just echoing blank walls and the odd little piece of angular furniture, the interior of the house looked even more severe. Like a boutique hotel, to be admired rather than stayed in.
Helen was led into another room. It had two sofas facing each other. All black leather and chrome. A glass and metal table between them, the top polished and bare. And not much else. It was like a private doctor’s waiting room. Or a very high-priced psychiatrist.
Helen had been in some posh places before. Plenty of them when she was still with Jeff and they used to make a habit of trying to enjoy themselves in the flashiest way possible, but there was something different about this house, this room. It wasn’t flash and it wasn’t posh. Although in its way it ended up being both of those things. It was designed to intimidate. Yes, it said, we’re rich. Richer than you. But we’re harsher than you. Colder than you. And because of that we could crush you. So don’t you forget it. At least that was how it made Helen feel. And she was sure she wasn’t the only one.
The housekeeper left the room quickly, as if she couldn’t bear to be in it either. Helen wasn’t alone for long. She glanced up and saw Dee Sloane standing in the doorway. She jumped.
‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘I’m light on my feet.’
Dee Sloane walked into the centre of the room. She was right. Helen hardly heard her. She sat on the sofa opposite. Helen appraised her. Hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. No make-up. Her small, lithe body covered by a pink velour tracksuit. She curled her legs beneath her, stared at Helen.
‘You wanted to see us.’
‘I wanted to see your brother.’
‘He’s not available.’ Eyes dark, unreadable.
Silence fell.
Helen felt uncomfortable. Dee looked perfectly composed. Anger started to resurface in Helen once more. She could feel her breathing speed up, her body vibrate.
‘You wanted to see us,’ Dee said again.
‘Yes,’ said Helen, controlling her temper, ‘I did. And I’m sure you know why.’
Dee waited.
‘Jeff’s dead.’
Dee nodded. ‘Very sad.’
‘He was murdered,’ said Helen, the words spat out. ‘You know that.’
Dee frowned. ‘Why should I know that?’
‘Because you killed him.’
Dee’s eyebrows raised themselves in surprise. ‘Me?’ Her face all innocent.
‘No,’ said Helen. ‘Not you personally. You would never get involved. Never dirty your hands. Your style is to get someone to do it for you.’
Dee leaned forward slightly, as if genuinely interested, frown still in place. ‘And why would I do that?’
Helen leaned forward too, opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come out. She sat back. Looked round. A thought had occurred to her. ‘I’m not saying.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’ve probably got this room bugged. And you’ll use my words against me in some way if you get the chance.’ She leaned forward once more. ‘But you know. So drop the Little Miss Innocent bullshit. Let’s talk.’
Several emotions seemed to pass over Dee’s face. Quick, fleeting and unreadable to Helen. Like coal-black crows flapping behind her eyes. Eventually she smiled. The effect was as though her body had suddenly become possessed by a human being.
‘We can talk in here,’ she said, head and shoulders dropping. ‘It’s safe.’ A sigh escaped from her like a dying breath. ‘It’s … Michael.’ She looked up at Helen, eye to eye. ‘He did it. He killed Jeff.’
It was what Helen had wanted to hear, but now she was unsure of what to say next.
And that was when she saw the tear roll down Dee’s cheek.
58
Jessie looked at her watch. Deepak stared out of the car window. Tension had ebbed away to boredom and Helen Hibbert was still in the house.
‘Put the radio on if you like,’ Jessie said.
‘Thought you had a headache,’ he replied, face still at the window.
She shrugged.
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I can do without.’
Jessie’s phone rang. She was grateful for the distraction. It was Mickey Philips, his voice breathless and urgent, as if he had run a long distance to deliver an important message.
‘We’ve found where Josephina Brennan was being kept,’ he said, ignoring niceties.
Jessie’s boredom disappeared as he told her about the discovery at the house in Jaywick, the dead body, the dead dogs. The message Marina had left for them.
‘It’s your team investigating, so I thought you’d want the heads up.’
‘Thanks. You got a name for the body yet?’
‘There’s a car at the scene registered to a Graham Watts. Looks like his driving licence photo, so we think it might be him. The name ring any bells?’
Jessie thought. ‘Graham Watts? No. But I’ll get it looked into.’
Deepak registered the name as she said it, took out his phone, started accessing the internet.
‘Appreciate it,’ said Mickey. ‘You getting on it now?’
‘I’ll pass it on. We’re following someone who may be able to lead us to Jeff Hibbert’s killer and we can’t break off from that. I’ll get the DS dealing with Josephina to give you a call and liaise. Sort out whose patch is whose.’
‘Cheers.’ There was a pause. ‘Well, speak soon.’ He hung up.
Jessie did likewise, turned to Deepak. ‘Got anything?’
He glanced up from his iPhone. ‘Not yet. I’ll keep looking.’
There was so much adrenalin coursing round Jessie’s system she could barely sit still now. She called the station. Gave them Mickey’s news. Then she turned her attention back to the gates. Deepak looked up.
‘They must be getting on well in there,’ he said. ‘Wonder what they’re talking about?’
‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ she said.
59
Helen didn’t know what to do. Of all the responses she had expected from Dee, this was definitely not among them.
‘Yes,’ Dee continued, ‘I know all about it. Why wouldn’t I?’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Why wouldn’t I …? ’
Helen looked round quickly, checking the doors. ‘Where is Michael? Is he here? Is he going to—’
‘Don’t worry.’ Dee leaned forward over the glass table and touched Helen’s hand. Pressed down firmly. Helen noticed that her hand was warm. Comforting. She had expected it to be cold. Something else surprising.
Dee gave Helen a shaky smile of reassurance, then sat back, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a paper tissue she had produced from her sleeve. Helen stared.
Dee’s head dropped once more. Soon her shoulders were shaking. Helen could tell even before the sobs came that she was crying. ‘I … Oh, it’s no good … Listen, I can’t … It’s Michael. He’s … ’ Dee stood up. ‘Look at this.’ She unzipped her velour tracksuit top, pulled up her T-shirt. ‘Look.’