‘Do you think that’s odd?’
‘Of course it was odd. I think she came from a broken home, though. Her mother was unwell. Then of course, people inevitably have a habit of letting you down . . .’
‘Did they have a falling out?’
‘It’s possible, but Andrea was – well, she wouldn’t lie about things like that. She’d have told us. Andrea thinks – thought – that Barbora had become jealous of her.’
‘Andrea’s phone records only go back to June 2014,’ said Erika.
‘Yes, she lost her other phone. She’d had it since she was thirteen or fourteen,’ said Simon.
‘And you replaced it for her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you got the number for the old phone?’
‘Why would you need that?’
‘It’s just routine.’
‘Is it? I would have thought having eight months of phone records would suffice . . .’ They could see that Simon was starting to grow uncomfortable.
‘Did Andrea have a second phone?’
‘No.’
‘Could she have had a second phone and you were unaware?’
‘Well, no. The family manages her trust fund. She mainly used credit cards. We would have known if she’d bought a phone, but why would she?’
‘It would be very helpful if we could have her old phone number.’
Simon looked at Erika. ‘Yes, okay, I’ll speak to my secretary. She can pull the details.’
Erika went to ask another question, but Diana began to speak.
‘I don’t know why Andrea would go all the way over across the river! And then she’s taken by someone and killed. My baby . . . My baby. She’s dead!’ Diana became hysterical, gulping and retching. Simon and David began to comfort her, but Linda did another nervous flick of her fringe and picked at a piece of lint on her cat jumper.
‘Officers, please, that’s enough questions,’ said Simon.
Erika found it hard to hide her exasperation. ‘Would it be possible to look at Andrea’s bedroom?’
‘What? Now? Your people have already been and had a look.’
‘Please. It would help us,’ said Erika.
‘I can take them, Daddy,’ said Linda. ‘Come with me, officers.’
They followed Linda out, past Diana, who was still hysterical. David gave Linda a nod and a weak smile and then turned back to comfort his mother. On the way out of the door, they passed the piano littered with family photographs of the Douglas-Browns and their three children – all smiling, all happy.
17
Andrea’s bedroom was large and, like the rest of the house, beautifully furnished. Three sash windows along one wall looked out over the green where the press were milling about. Linda marched in ahead of them and moved close to the blinds. The photographers below leapt into action, clicking away. Linda yanked the blinds down with a clatter.
‘Those beasts. We can’t do anything. We’re trapped in here. David’s been moaning that he can’t even have a cigarette on the terrace. Daddy says it would look bad.’
The blinds were thick and cast the bedroom in gloom. Linda flicked on the light. The middle window was the largest. Underneath, there was a huge desk of polished wood. The desk was neatly organised with an astonishing amount of make-up: a big pot of brushes and eyeliner, nail polish lined up in many colours, powder compacts stacked, boxes of lipstick standing to attention in rows. Over the corner of the mirror hung scores of lanyards and tickets from concerts: Madonna, Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Rihanna, Robbie Williams.
A wardrobe lined the length of the wall on the right. Erika slid the mirrored door across, and the scent of Chanel Chance perfume floated out. Inside was an expensive wardrobe of designer clothes, mostly short skirts and dresses. The bottom was covered in shoeboxes.
‘So Andrea got an allowance?’ asked Erika, thumbing her way through the clothes.
‘When she turned twenty-one she gained access to her trust fund, like I did. Although David still has to wait, which has caused . . . issues,’ said Linda.
‘What do you mean, issues?’
‘Males born into the family have to wait until their twenty-fifth birthday.’
‘Why is that?’
‘David is like any twenty-one year old boy. He wants to spend his money on girls and cars and booze. Although, he’s much more considerate than Andrea, even though he has less money. He still gets me nicer birthday presents.’ Linda flicked her fringe again, crossing her arms over her large be-kittened bosom.
‘What do you spend your money on?’ asked Moss.
‘That is a rude question that I don’t have to answer,’ said Linda, tartly.
To one side of the wardrobe was a neatly made four-poster bed with a blue and white blanket, and some soft toys lined up on the pillow. Above the bed was a poster of One Direction.
‘She didn’t really like them anymore,’ said Linda, following their gaze. ‘She said they were just boys and she liked men.’
‘She was engaged, though?’ prompted Erika. Linda gave a bitter laugh. ‘What’s so funny, Linda?’
‘Have you seen Giles? When they feed up the ducks for foie gras, he’s always at the front of the queue…’
‘Why do you think Andrea was with Giles?’
‘Come on officers, isn’t it obvious? Money. He’s due to inherit a fabulous estate in Wiltshire and a house in Barbados. His parents are worth squillions, and they’re on their last legs. They had him very late. His mother thought he was the menopause.’
‘Was Andrea unfaithful to Giles?’ asked Moss.
‘Boys were always drawn to Andrea. They turned into drooling, pitiful creatures in her presence. She got a kick out of the attention.’
‘But was Andrea having an affair?’ pressed Moss.
‘I don’t know what she did half the time. We weren’t close. But I loved her, and I’m devastated that she’s dead . . .’ For the first time, Linda looked as if she might cry.
‘What about you, Linda?’ asked Moss.
‘What about me? Are you asking if I make the boys drool? What do you think?’ snapped Linda, cutting her off.
‘I wanted to ask if you have a boyfriend,’ explained Moss.
‘That’s none of your business. Have you got a boyfriend?’
‘No. I’m married,’ said Moss.
‘What does he do?’ asked Linda.
‘She. She’s a teacher,’ said Moss, breezily. Erika tried not to look surprised.
‘No, I haven’t got a boyfriend,’ said Linda.
‘Can these windows be opened fully?’ asked Peterson, moving to the middle sash window, bending over to peer around the closed blinds. ‘Have they got suicide locks?’
‘No, they open all the way,’ said Linda, admiring Peterson’s backside as he bent over. Erika joined him at the window and saw that there was a fire escape leading down to ground level.
‘Did Andrea ever climb out of her window to meet friends, if she was grounded?’ asked Erika.
‘My mother and father never had the time or inclination to ground us. We use the front door if we want to go out,’ said Linda.
‘And you can come and go as you please?’
‘Of course.’
Erika kneeled down and looked under the bed. There were wispy clumps of dust on the polished wood floor, but one area stood out as a little cleaner than the others. She moved her attention to the chest of drawers and went to open the top one, pausing with her hand on the handle. ‘Would you mind just waiting outside, please Linda?’ she asked.
‘Why? I thought you were here just to chat?’
‘Linda, have you got any photos of Andrea you can show me? It could help us,’ said Peterson. He came over and touched Linda lightly on the arm. Her round white face blushed scarlet.
‘Um, yes, I think I have some,’ she said, staring up at Peterson with a smile. They left, and Erika closed the door.