But the most interesting bunch were highlighted in day-glo pink, and seemed to be private numbers. K. Rafferty in Ealing was her mother’s home number of course. Then there was S. Warrender in Notting Hill, called regularly up until five weeks before. T. Flowers and E. Blake were persistent numbers, and also-was this a mistake? Kathy was looking at the last of the six pink numbers, against which the name entered was Marion Summers.
She checked and had it confirmed. Marion had been making regular calls to a second mobile in her own name-that she’d bought and given to someone else, perhaps?
The last call Marion made before she died was to T. Flowers. Kathy checked through the record. There had been sixteen calls between them in the previous month, the final one being a call from Marion at 8.16 on the morning of her death. Kathy wished she knew what they’d talked about. Had Marion spoken of someone following her? Had they planned to meet later that day?
E. Blake was interesting too, the pattern of calls odd. Three weeks earlier, E. Blake had sent Marion a stream of text messages, dozens of them. She replied at first, then stopped, but E. Blake went on, bombarding her with calls for a further four days.
Kathy put the phone records aside and considered the papers stacked beneath from the previous day, plus a new heap alongside that had arrived overnight. She made a coffee and got to work, trying to cull out the stuff she could leave till later.
After half an hour she had dealt with the most urgent items, and returned to the phone records. She made a start on checking the names, and established that the E. Blake number was registered to a Mrs Eleanor Blake, living in Manchester. After being assured that her son wasn’t in trouble with the police, Mrs Blake explained that it was he, Andy, who had the use of the phone, and that she would be very pleased if Kathy could persuade him to cut down on the number of calls he was making, which were costing her a fortune. ‘He’s a student at the university,’ she explained. ‘Do you want his address?’
Kathy tried the number of S. Warrender in Notting Hill a couple of times and was diverted directly to a message service. T. Flowers wasn’t answering his or her phone either. There was another number that interested her, that of a public phone in Leicester Square. A call had been made from there on the afternoon before Marion was poisoned. There were probably surveillance cameras nearby if she cared to look, but most likely it was just a friend out shopping, Kathy thought. It was all a matter of how far you went, how far you could afford to go, with loose threads everywhere. If you plucked at them all you’d eventually unravel the whole of London, discover what every citizen had been up to on the fatal day.
She looked again at the list in front of her and made up her mind. It was time she found out about Marion’s student friends.
•
The address was a narrow brick terrace in a backstreet in Southwark, not very far from the student flats in Stamford Street where Marion had once lived. Her knock was answered by a big beefy young man, unshaven, who yawned and scratched his belly through a threadbare T-shirt as Kathy introduced herself.
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ he said, voice croaky but not belligerent. ‘What’s it about?’
‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure.’ He shrugged and turned away, leading her down a dark narrow corridor to a small kitchen at the rear. The place smelled of sour damp and burnt cheese and stale beer. There were dirty dishes and empty drink cans and pizza boxes everywhere. He clumsily cleared a seat for Kathy, and leaned back against the sink facing her. ‘So what have I done?’
Kathy took out her notepad. ‘Do you know someone called Marion Summers, Andy?’
He blinked, puzzled, then made an exaggerated frown. ‘Ye-es.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘Oh, ages ago. Why? What’s it about?’
‘She died three days ago, on Tuesday. Haven’t you seen the papers?’
His mouth dropped open; he appeared thoroughly shocked. ‘No! That’s terrible. How? What happened?’
‘We’re investigating that now. Where were you last Tuesday?’ He shook his head, running both hands through his hair. ‘Tuesday… Tuesday… Well, a maths lecture at ten, followed by a physics prac in the afternoon. I had lunch with two mates at the pub-or maybe that was Wednesday, I’m not sure. No, it was Tuesday.’
Kathy took their names. ‘Are they friends of Marion’s too?’
‘Nah. Look, I barely knew her. I only met her a couple of times.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, the first time I was having coffee with a friend of mine, Tina Flowers-she’s a student, stays in the student flats in Stamford Street, where I used to live. Well, that’s where we were, having coffee, when Marion called in to see her. I thought, wow, she was a knockout, really attractive. She and Tina talked about some work they were doing, and then…’ He shook his head, and his face had gone very pale. ‘Christ.’
Kathy got to her feet. ‘Sit down, Andy. Put your head between your knees.’ She filled a glass under the tap and brought it to him.
‘Sorry… it just hit me. Sorry…’
She waited until he finally sat up, sucking in a deep breath. ‘God, haven’t done that since school. How-how did it happen?’
‘We think she was poisoned.’
‘Oh Jesus.’ He bent forward again, cradling his face in his hands. ‘That is so unreal.’
‘Go on with your story. You were at Tina’s place.’
‘Yes. As Marion was leaving, Tina mentioned this party we were going to the next evening, and told Marion she should come, and I joined in and said she must, and she sort of laughed and said maybe. Well, she did. I’d already had a few by the time she showed up. I thought she looked fantastic, really sexy, and I went and chatted to her. She said she was waiting for someone else to arrive, and we flirted, you know. She was really bright and attractive and, well, confident, and I thought she was interested. Only she wasn’t really. I think she was just filling in time. The next day I persuaded Tina to let me have her phone number, and tried to call her.’
‘Twenty-eight times.’
‘Never! Did I? Bloody hell. You didn’t read the messages, did you?’ His face turned a deep red. ‘It was a bit of fun, you know? Just mucking about. I mean, I was really keen, but she was having me on, I reckon; just teasing.’
‘How frustrating. That must have really pissed you off.’
‘Yeah, it did a bit, but that’s how it goes, isn’t it? Win some, lose some.’
‘Who was she meeting at the party?’
‘Well, that’s the thing, I don’t know if there really was anyone. I mean, when I wanted to take her home she said she had to find this other guy and disappeared, but I never actually saw her with anyone, and neither did Tina. But I couldn’t be sure; there was a big crowd there. Anyway, after a couple of days trying to talk to her on the phone, I gave up. I don’t even know where she lived.’
Kathy showed him the mugshot of Keith Rafferty from his police file.
‘Blimey.’ Andy stared at the scowling face. ‘Who’s he?’
‘Ever seen him before?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Okay. So what did Marion talk about, at the party?’
‘Oh, you know…’ He shrugged, then raised his head, an odd expression on his face. ‘Jesus, I’ve just remembered. There was something weird she said.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, Tina had told her I was studying science at uni, and she wanted to know if I was doing any chemistry subjects. When I said yes she asked if I knew anything about arsenic compounds. I asked her why, and she said she wanted to poison somebody.’
They stared at each other, and Kathy felt a chill creep up her spine. Nigel Ogilvie’s remark in the London Library came back to her, about her interest in poisons. ‘She said that? What words did she use, exactly?’
‘Umm… I’m thinking of poisoning somebody, something like that. I took it for a joke, of course.’