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‘We’ll need to talk to you,’ the woman said. ‘Would you mind waiting?’ It wasn’t a request. ‘We’ve asked the staff to wait in the office.’
Faith wanted to shake the information out of the woman. What happened? Instead, she turned away and walked through the lobby. The winter light flooded the high space, the poster for Antoni Yevanov’s lecture glowing on the display board–After Guantanamo…She hesitated at the door of the office, then stepped back. She didn’t want to step into the room, listen to the voices falling silent, listen to people who’d hardly known Helen speaking with hushed excitement, listen to the speculation.
Suddenly she was overwhelmed with nausea. She could feel the cold sweat on her forehead and down her back. She went quickly into the ladies and made it into one of the cubicles before she was sick, dry retching long after her stomach was empty. Her legs felt shaky as she stood up.
There was no natural light in the cloakroom, and the mirrors over the row of basins threw back her reflection bleached of colour. The tap water was tepid and she let it run cold before she rinsed her mouth and splashed it over her face.
There was a small yard at the back of the building where the rubbish skips were lined up for collection. She let herself out of the rear entrance, glad to see that no one else was there. It was one of the smokers’ refuges, cigarette ends littering the ground and a stale smell of ash lingering in the air. She sat on the low wall by the skips and stared up at the sky. The nausea lingered like a reminder in the pit of her stomach.
Years before, the daughter of one of her colleagues had been killed. A young man had been driving along a straight bit of road, had put his foot down, then swerved to avoid something. His car had clipped the pushchair in which the three-year-old had been sitting. Faith had gone to the funeral. People wept at the graveside, but the bereaved mother hadn’t. She had stood there, cradling an infant that someone had given her to hold, and she had watched them bury her daughter. Her stillness was incandescent with a grief that was beyond tears.
Hannah and Finn. They were Helen’s world. Faith reached for her phone and tried Helen’s home number, but there was no answer. She flicked through the pages of her diary. She could remember scribbling down the number of Daniel’s phone at some time. She keyed it in, hoping it was still current. It rang several times before it was answered.
‘Kovacs.’ It was an abrupt snap.
‘Daniel, it’s Faith. I just heard about Helen.’
There was a moment of silence, then he said, ‘Faith. Yeah, it’s…I’m kind of, you know…’
She didn’t know, but she could imagine. No matter what anger there had been between him and Helen, he hadn’t wanted the marriage to end. For all the problems they’d had, Helen had felt bad about leaving him. ‘What happened? I don’t know anything. I just came into work and there were police everywhere.’
‘Work.’ His laugh was edgy and hostile. ‘Well, that’s what happened. Work. She’s out on a wild-goose chase, something for what d’you call him–Yevanov.’ He spat the name. ‘She’s on her own in some old house, and there just happens to be a pervert on the premises.’
A pervert. Did he mean that Helen had been…‘Oh, God,’ she said.
‘I talked to her,’ Daniel said. His voice sounded raw. ‘Not long before it happened. She wanted to talk to the kids. I was pissed off. I wouldn’t let her. And then this…animal…strangled her.’
Faith closed her eyes. She felt sick. ‘How are they? Hannah and Finn?’
He was suddenly angry. ‘They’ve just lost their mum. How do you think they are?’ And then the anger faded as fast as it had come. ‘It’s too much, kids that age.’
‘Daniel, I’d really like to see them. Can I come round?’
‘It’s not a good…’ He began his refusal, then stopped. ‘Look, you could help me out–if you want. I’m a bit stuck. I’ve got a job on this afternoon and I can’t leave it. The kids aren’t in school–if you want to see them, you could come round and sit with them.’
‘Of course. Give me the address and I’ll be there.’
He gave her the street name and number. ‘Get here for two,’ he said, and rang off.
The door into the yard where Faith was sitting opened suddenly. ‘Oh. There you are. They’re waiting for you.’ It was Trish, looking outwardly composed, but there was a suppressed excitement about her and her eyes were bright.
Faith stood up slowly. ‘The police?’
‘They want to talk to everyone Helen knew,’ Trish said. ‘Professor Yevanov has promised them full co-operation.’
Yevanov would have little choice but full cooperation. ‘Where is he?’ Faith asked as she walked back into the lobby. She didn’t want to talk about Helen with Trish. She could remember the satisfaction in Trish’s voice the day before when she had reported Helen’s absence. She isn’t in. Again.
‘He came in with them first thing. Then he went back into town to talk to them.’
Yevanov, with the police? She looked quickly at Trish, but she didn’t seem disturbed. ‘Why didn’t they talk to him here?’
‘They need him to look at the archive materials Helen was working on. They want to know if anything’s missing.’
That made sense, but she remembered Yevanov telling her the collection was undocumented, and wondered how anyone would be able to tell.
‘Miss Lange?’ It was the policewoman she’d spoken to earlier. ‘We’d like to talk to you now.’ She dismissed Trish with a cool smile and directed Faith into one of the small offices that were used by the admin staff.
A young police officer was waiting for her. He apologized for keeping her waiting, then asked, ‘Helen Kovacs was a friend of yours?’
Was…‘I’ve known her most of my life.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I need to ask you some questions, okay?’
Faith nodded. ‘Okay.’
At first, his questions were general–Helen’s routine, her daily contacts–but gradually they began to focus on her marriage. ‘What caused the break-up?’ he said.
Faith shook her head. ‘I don’t think it was any one thing.’ She explained that Helen had given up a secure job to become an academic. ‘Daniel never really understood that, and Helen’s work was the most important thing in her life, apart from the kids.’
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