Red House
JOSS STIRLING

One More Chapter

a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Joss Stirling 2020

Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Joss Stirling asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008422646

Ebook Edition © November 2020 ISBN: 9780008422639

Version: 2020-11-11

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter 1: Leo

Chapter 2: Jess

Chapter 3: Leo

Chapter 4: Jess

Chapter 5: Michael

Chapter 6: Leo

Chapter 7: Jess

Chapter 8: Leo

Chapter 9: Jess

Chapter 10: Leo

Chapter 11: Jess

Chapter 12: Leo

Chapter 13: Jess

Chapter 14: Jess

Chapter 15: Leo

Chapter 16: Jess

Chapter 17: Jess

Chapter 18: Leo

Chapter 19: Michael

Chapter 20: Jess

Chapter 21: Jess

Chapter 22: Leo

Chapter 23: Leo

Chapter 24: Jess

Chapter 25: Leo

Chapter 26: Jess

Chapter 27: Leo

Chapter 28: Jess

Chapter 29: Leo

Chapter 30: Jess

Chapter 31: Leo

Chapter 32: Jess

Chapter 33: Leo

Chapter 34: Jess

Chapter 35: Leo

Chapter 36: Jess

Chapter 37: Leo

Chapter 38: Jess

Chapter 39: Leo

Chapter 40: Jess

Chapter 41: Leo

Chapter 42: Jess

Chapter 43: Leo

Chapter 44: Jess

Chapter 45: Leo

Chapter 46: Jess

Also by Joss Stirling

About the Author

About the Publisher

In loving memory of Ann, who loved Oxford, children’s books, gardens, and thrillers.

‘When the holly bears a berry, as blood it is red’

Sans Day Carol

Chapter 1
Leo

The gardener got more than she bargained for when she spread bark chips around the holly tree. She’d intended to keep down weeds; instead she’d unearthed a body.

DI Leo George stood over the human remains that the forensic team had carefully excavated. The upmarket houses of Central North Oxford were seldom on his radar; reports from this area were on the occasional break-in, very rarely a violent crime. It was an area of millionaires, educational institutes and private school boarding houses: quiet, well-run, and careful not to attract the attention of the authorities.

‘Ugly bugger, isn’t he?’ said DS Harry Boston, stomping up to join Leo. He looked like a polar bear rearing on hind legs, thanks to his huge white coveralls. They were not kind to those who carried extra weight around their middles.

‘So would anyone who has been mulch for a year,’ said Leo.

‘I bow to your gardening expertise, Inspector.’

‘Oddly, I don’t use bodies to fertilise mine.’ Leo’s voice was distant as he moved around to get another angle and make way for the photographer.

‘Then who did here? Some Monty Don wannabe turned murderous?’ asked Harry. ‘I’d say it’s taking green burial way too far.’

Leo didn’t respond, though Harry’s question was exactly the one they would have to investigate. He watched the forensic team gently ease free an arm, bone clad in a tight brown gauntlet that had once been skin. He was reminded of the peat bog man from Tollund, ancient witness to the old violence of human sacrifice. What sins had this corpse been made to bear? There were the remains of a watch and rings – they should help with identification. If you told yourself this was an archaeological dig, then the sight of the radius peeking through leathery flesh became less grisly. The body certainly wasn’t fresh. It would take the pathologist a while to work out age but from the decomposition that had already taken place, Leo was guessing at least a year. Yet neither was it a really ancient burial like Tollund. Last time he’d checked, Iron Age people hadn’t worn jeans with a leather belt and eagle buckle. The size and clothing suggested male, but with the face skeletal, collapsed nose and a grinning row of teeth, they would need confirmation on that too. The hair was long and wispy black so that gave scant clue.

He turned away, having seen enough. ‘Where’s the gardener who found the body, Harry?’

‘I’ve a constable sitting with her in the kitchen. Her name’s Marigold Green. Talk about names deciding your career choice.’ Harry followed Leo up the path towards the detached house. Made of golden brick with red accents, steeply gabled roofs, and tall chimneys, it was one of the biggest houses in central Oxford still in private ownership. From the front you couldn’t tell that it had a large garden to the rear stretching over half an acre to back on to the garden of the house in the next road. This plot had been landscaped to within an inch of its life: immaculate lawns, tidy gravel paths, clipped and sculpted trees. Even the holly had been shaped into a form like a Victorian lady’s crinoline skirt, which, Leo supposed, suited the age in which the house was built. The berries formed a red pattern against the green reminding him of a William Morris print. To his eyes, however, this house didn’t so much have a garden as a showroom. It was barren of wildlife, blasted into extinction by the frequent application of weedkillers. That was the only way to stop the encroachment of daisies and dandelions that would arrive in their droves from the nearby park and meadows. He preferred a messier, healthier garden himself. The only odd note was the fallen fence panel at the end of the garden, like a rotten tooth in a Hollywood star’s smile. He’d have to find out how long that had been like that as it potentially gave another point of access.

Stripping off their coveralls on the terrace, Leo and Harry entered through French doors into the kitchen. This too had been renovated so that all period detail had long since disappeared: the surfaces were grey granite, the floor white marble, the fittings space-age.

‘Miss Green?’ Leo approached the woman sitting at the glass-topped kitchen table. She was the only thing out of place in this house with her muddy corduroys and dirt-encrusted hands. Bundled up in a fleece, she had a solid, strong frame, which went with her profession, and a crop of greying auburn hair held back in a scarf. This was no landscape designer who gardened only on software; this was the person who got the job done.

‘It’s Mrs Green actually,’ the lady replied, cradling the mug of tea that had been made for her.

‘My apologies, Mrs Green. I’m Inspector George of Thames Valley CID. I know you’ve already spoken to my officers, but would you mind telling me again exactly what happened here this morning?’

The lady sighed. ‘Well, Inspector, I came in for my usual visit. I come once a week in the summer months, once a fortnight in winter. To be honest, there’s not much to do here as the owner keeps the garden very low-maintenance – no flowers or fruit and veg to speak of.’

‘I noticed.’

She grimaced. ‘Not my choice, but I’m only the contractor. The customer is always right.’ She let the ironic tone do the arguing for her. ‘Anyway, I decided to put bark down around the holly tree and the bay on the left side of the garden, keep it tidy-looking. He likes his sculpted trees, does Mr Chernov.’

‘Is Mr Chernov in residence?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve never met him. I get my instructions through an agent who finds all of us.’

‘Us?’

‘The staff – cleaning crew, gardeners, household maintenance people.’

‘What’s the name of the agent?’

‘Glass Tower Services. They’ve an office in Summertown, but I think their headquarters is in London somewhere. They arrange for the purchase of properties for overseas clients like this one, and then run them for them. I usually deal with a lady called Heather, but we’ve also never met, only spoken on the phone. I imagine they come to check we’re doing the job but I really don’t know.’

Leo nodded to Harry, who went out to contact the agent.

‘Thank you. Please, carry on with what happened.’

‘I decided to turn the soil before putting down the bark, take up a few stray bits of self-seeded couch grass and herb Robert – there’s not much in a garden like this so I don’t have to do it very often. I worked my way towards the holly tree – in fact, I almost stopped before reaching it but there were some holes that made me keep going. Something had been digging up the border.’

‘Any idea what?’

‘A dog maybe, or fox. I think we can guess why now. I was just going to even it out. It only took a couple of spadefuls and I came across a shoe. It struck me as odd, as this garden was completely scraped clean and new topsoil laid after the building work was done, so it couldn’t be a discard from years back.’

‘Do you know when that was?’

‘About eight years ago? It was bought by developers from one of the theological colleges. It used to house students but Luther Hall sold it to sort out problems with their pension pot – a little goldmine it turned out to be. Anyway, the developers renovated it from multiple occupancy back to a single family residence and that was when Mr Chernov bought it. He had kids at a private school near here so used it when he visited them.’

Leo looked around the many-roomed house with its exclusive furnishings and fittings. ‘In effect, it was an occasional weekend place?’

Mrs Green cradled her mug. ‘I know. Crazy, isn’t it? One has to wonder where the money came from.’ She gave a cough in which Leo thought he heard the word ‘Putin’. He had to smile. ‘Still,’ she continued, ‘I’d prefer to be me with my little cottage in Eynsham rather than an oligarch with so much money they know the price of everything and the value of nothing.’

Leo agreed with that. What was the point of owning a big plot of land like this that you didn’t even keep as a garden? ‘You found a shoe?’

Closing her eyes briefly, she swallowed against bile. ‘Yes. I knelt down to pull it out and realised it was still attached. That was when I called 999.’

‘And you did no more digging?’

‘I didn’t disturb the body any further, Inspector, I promise. I watch the TV. I know that the best thing a member of the public can do when they find something is stop and report it.’

‘You did exactly the right thing. I think that’s all we need from you now but if you’d leave me with your details in case we have follow-up questions?’

She felt in the pocket of her corduroys and pulled out a card with a marigold logo. ‘Here you go.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Green. Before you go, do you know any of the neighbours?’

‘Round here?’ She gave him an incredulous look. ‘They’re not very friendly and hardly my type. I think next door is a study centre for artificial intelligence, Lord knows what that really means, and beyond that there’s a family – Asian of some sort. Hong Kong Chinese maybe? There’s a little man in a big college-owned house who says hello – not sure of his name. Paul Something. The house is in flats and he keeps the graduate tenants in check. Then there’re the Prices at fourteen opposite – formidable couple, influential locally. They run the North Oxford Protection Society. They don’t talk to my kind.’

‘Your kind?’

‘Non-resident staff. They think houses like this take away the distinctive character of the area. They see me as the enemy. Oh, there is one exception in the red house that shares the boundary at the back. There’s a really sweet girl who’s just started house-sitting, taken over from the last one. He rarely said a thing beyond hello even when I offered him cuttings. Anyway, this nice one always says hi and stops for a chat when she sees me, unlike everyone else round here.’ Mrs Green smiled. ‘Well, she would, wouldn’t she, because she’s normal.’

‘Normal?’

‘Not stinking rich. It insulates people, money. Makes them feel better than the rest of us.’

‘And yet you took the job?’

‘Do I look stupid? Ridiculous amounts of money for keeping the lawn like a bowling green – it’s a good gig.’ She got up and put the mug in the sink. She gave it a quick rinse and turned it upside down on the drainer – possibly the first time it had been used, from the look of the sparkling surface. ‘But money can’t buy you everything. Doesn’t stop there being a body buried at the bottom of the garden, does it?’

As a final word, it was a good one, thought Leo, watching her drive off in her flower-decorated van.

Chapter 2
Jess

I was in the middle of unwrapping the crib scene from the tissue paper when the realisation struck me.

‘I’m officially single. Consciously uncoupled – or decoupled, like a railway carriage. In the sidings.’ I stared down at the baby in the manger and wrapped him back up again. Too soon. He wasn’t due for four weeks.

‘What’s that, dear?’ My colleague, Jennifer, grappled a rope of Christmas lights, like a little tweed-clad Tarzan wrestling a skinny python. The snake was winning.

‘I’m thirty-one, but for the first time, I’ll be alone at Christmas.’ I placed Mary in the stable behind the empty crib. The pieces were an exquisite hand-carved set from Switzerland, gift of some Victorian benefactor. Anything more modern or plastic wouldn’t fit in these surroundings so it was brought out from storage every year and I had been given the responsibility of arranging it. This was what my life had become: temp job holder of lowly positions, aspiring private investigator, relationship disaster area – all wrapped up untidily like the Secret Santa no one claims.

‘Oh, Jess, but what about your mother – and your sister?’ asked Jennifer. ‘Can’t you spend it with them?’

‘You mean tag along on someone else’s Christmas? Sorry, but that’s a kind of torture for me. They don’t mean to but they treat me like the family failure.’

‘I’m sure they don’t see you like that.’ Jennifer didn’t know my relatives. My silence must’ve tipped her off that her optimism was misplaced. ‘What did you do last year?’

‘Last year I had a guy, Drew, and we did the cute couple Christmas thing – his-and-her stockings, breakfast in bed – it was lovely, but then it all became very George Michael.’ Drew was now in a relationship with his yoga instructor and spending his Christmas in the Austrian alps. I wasn’t bitter and jealous, no, not at all.

Jennifer wriggled free of the electric cord. With her spiked white hair, she looked like she had been electrocuted, but fortunately the tree lights weren’t plugged in yet. ‘Oh, Jess, I remember exactly how you feel. When I was in my twenties I lost the man who I thought was the one for me, and I struggled for a few Christmases. But then Neil came along, and the twins, and now the grandkids. George Michael was right – save it for someone special.’

She didn’t really know, did she? I thought darkly. When she’d been alone there’d been no Instagram, no Snapchat, no Facebook telling her every other second how fabulous everyone else’s life was.

Jennifer gave up on the knot and plugged in the lights to check they were worth the bother. LED bulbs flashed in a frantic twinkle. ‘Jesus! Sorry, Lord.’ Jennifer bobbed a head at the cross that hung over the altar of the college chapel.

‘That’s not very St Nicks, more Ibiza nightclub.’ I found the control and switched to constant. Why was that the seventh setting? So easy to overshoot and go back to the disco beat. Did the makers do that on purpose to annoy, a kind of passive-aggressive payback for having to sell Christmas stuff all year round? ‘I think this one, or the slow fade setting, is better.’ Bothered by loose strands as I stooped, I plaited my hair away from my face, securing the end with an elastic tie I kept on my wrist. Thanks to my blonde colouring, I’d always been one of the angels in my primary school nativity – a bit of serious miscasting. ‘Explain again why we do this and not the students? I mean, it’s for their benefit we decorate the college so early, isn’t it?’

‘Thanks to our eight-week terms, they’ll all be home before Christmas really arrives. I think of it as our Advent decorations.’ Jennifer turned off power to the lights and began the painstaking task of sorting out the snarls. ‘I don’t put up my own decorations at home until mid-December. What about you?’

‘Not sure I’ll bother this year. It’s not exactly my house, is it?’ I pulled a face at the glum-looking shepherd. Life must’ve been tough out on the hillsides to make him look quite so stressed. Silly sheep, predatory wolves and then an angelic choir: it must’ve been a strain to keep track of everything.

‘Oh, but you must!’ Jennifer sounded scandalised. Over the month we had worked together, I knew that Jennifer saw the holiday season as one treat after another.

‘Why? Who’ll even know? It’s just me, Flossie and a Tesco turkey-meal-for-one.’

Jennifer gave a humph of disapproval. ‘You’ll know, that’s who. And I said that you were welcome to join us. And what about your friend Cory?’

And feel like the fifth wheel? ‘No one will want me barging into the midst of things. And Cory is trying it with her ex-husband there, for the sake of the kids. I’d just complicate things. It’s a family day. I’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t like to think about you like that! You, alone with that scruffy mutt of yours.’

‘I’m in the most fabulous house in Oxford, so don’t pity me. And Flossie’s not a mutt.’ She totally was but someone had to fight Flossie’s corner. A cocker spaniel, with the biggest brown eyes ever, Flossie had had the misfortune to belong to a killer. I’d adopted her, then left her temporarily with my ex-boyfriend’s parents, and finally bitten the bullet to find a housing situation that would allow me to resume my responsibilities as her owner. Cory said taking a house-sitting job from a concierge agency so I could keep Flossie with me in Oxford, had been a blatant attempt to fill the yawning void left by my lack of significant other. She knew me so well, but so what? I could no longer bear my own company and thought I could at least give the dog a lucky break. It was a bit of a lucky break for me too, being paid to do little more than occupy a mansion. There was money in that – who knew?

A twist of old newspaper unravelled to reveal the innkeeper and his wife, both with the wide-eyed surprise of people shocked out of their humdrum lives by events beyond their control. Something about their united stance reminded me of my sister and her husband, who looked on my harum-scarum life with similar horror. They loved their quiet existence on their Cotswold farm and there was no more devoted couple in England. They looked after their kids and our mother too – quite the little family support network.

Next I unwrapped Joseph, the poor neglected hero of the piece, putting up with so many shenanigans. ‘And I don’t know about the self-partnering thing the celebs are doing. I can’t stand myself most of the time so to be stuck with me? That sounds a really bad idea.’

Jennifer frowned at a particularly challenging tangle of wire. ‘Self-partnering? What’s that?’

‘It’s the way to describe yourself that isn’t as negative as single.’ Joseph wouldn’t stand straight so I wedged him against the wall. Age catching up with him, I decided.

‘In my day we used to say young, free and single – not self-partnered. Ah-ha!’ With one last pull the lights became a single strand. ‘Behold: my untwisting genius!’

‘Well done. You’re amazing.’ However ‘free’, as Jennifer suggested, that felt to me a little too much like the freedom to be lonely.

‘Ladies!’ The chaplain flapped into chapel in his white surplice, approaching like a heron landing on the stretch of river that flowed through the college grounds. The Reverend Sanyu Masane, originally from Uganda but for the last twenty years a popular fixture of the Oxford scene, lit up the place with his warm smile and overflow of generous spirits. He had large ears and a broad face – an indomitable presence. ‘Thank you, thank you!’

The shy figure of the college organist accompanied him, Sanyu’s slender shadow. Errol, a state school boy from Hackney, had found his way, much to his surprise, to an Oxford organ scholarship at St Nicholas’ College, thanks to his musical brilliance and sponsorship by a generous rapper. I had befriended him since we had both arrived at the college in October and had felt equally at sea in the St Nick’s culture. He was still finding it hard to fit in; not very surprising, perhaps, as the majority of his peers were white, middle-class and confident, the kind that did well in the rigorous selection interviews. These young students, no matter how well meaning, would find it hard to imagine what Errol had overcome to get here. Some of his stories had shocked me, which was a surprise as I’d spent some of my teens living on the streets and thought I’d seen it all.

‘I don’t know what I’d do without you two angels helping me get ready for the carol service,’ continued Sanyu. ‘Most wonderful time of the year? Busiest time of the year, I would say.’ He went into a peal of laughter, richer than the chimes of the bells in the college tower. ‘Do you want help with the lights, Jennifer?’ Sanyu dived for the end that Jennifer had just wrestled free, getting it caught up in the skirts of his robe.

‘Actually I don’t need … well, if you want to reach to the top and fasten it there?’ Jennifer evidently gave up her brief flirtation with the idea of keeping accident-prone Sanyu far from the electrics and decided he could be made useful by reaching the top of the tree without the stepladder.

‘Of course, dear lady, of course!’ He promptly stood on some of the bulbs in his eagerness. There was a crunch.

‘Never mind, Sanyu, we’ve more,’ said Jennifer in a resigned tone. She turned back to the boxes the porters had brought out of storage for them. ‘Somewhere in here.’

Knowing when to steer clear of Sanyu’s chaos, Errol gave me a little nod and disappeared into the organ loft. I chuckled softly and started unpacking the crib animals. Soon our decorating was accompanied by the flow of silver and gold tones from the famous instrument. The notes glided up to the filigree stonework on the ceiling, a gorgeous display of carving that reminded me of palm trees. The chapel was a gem of Tudor craftsmanship and I told myself never to take any of this for granted, no matter how familiar it became as a place of work.

Errol ran through a complicated organ voluntary, the sort of piece that accompanied the arrival of Dracula in a horror flick. It was always a puzzle to work out how such powerful music could come from the hands and feet of such a small bespectacled guy. Poor Errol: he still had the looks of a much younger lad, not having yet hit on the growth spurt. He must be worried, having reached eighteen. Where was an ‘Eat Me’ cake when you needed it? Or was it ‘Drink Me’ that made Alice grow? I couldn’t quite remember, though it had been one of my favourite children’s stories. That was fitting as I was now living in my very own kind of Wonderland.

‘Sanyu, I think you should know that Jess is threatening not to celebrate Christmas,’ said Jennifer, the rat.

‘I did not say that!’ I protested. Sanyu would never stand for it. ‘I just said I might not decorate the house this year.’ My latest attempt to make the finances for my private investigations business stack up involved being the live-in caretaker of a large detached house in north Oxford. These were the tree-lined streets where old academics mouldered in properties too big for them, and new Russian oligarchs prowled, looking to buy up the houses to put in their double basement garages and swimming pools. My employer fell in the latter category, though I’d never met him, everything having been arranged through an agent. It was quite a change, I can tell you, from the attic room in my friend Cory’s family home in Summertown.

‘Come and help at the homeless shelter on Christmas Day. That’s where I’ll be,’ said Sanyu. ‘All my children and my wife will be there. It is great fun.’ He put a tinsel crown on his head.

I had a brief image of the church hall in the centre of town populated by the fragile blanket-wrapped souls who found their way to the city streets and the robust Masane clan. ‘Thanks, I’ll think about it.’ I knew I’d be a better person if I did sacrifice a sofa and telly day for something less selfish but the problem was I just didn’t want to be around people, more specifically the happily married sort and their offspring.

‘There’s no need to be alone for Christmas,’ continued Sanyu. ‘Everyone is welcome.’

But what if you wanted to be alone? ‘I know. Thank you.’ I avoided a commitment by showing him Jesus in his wrappings. ‘Where do you want the baby?’

‘Hide him round the back of the stable. I’ll only lose him if I take him.’ Sanyu knew himself well. He was a man whose family brought him a whistling car key as he was forever misplacing things.

‘OK. There you are, Jesus.’ I put the little wooden baby under a pile of straw. It felt wrong, like I was leaving a child in a shoebox on an orphanage doorstep. I felt a sentimental tear well but I could blame the supermarket adverts for that as they had started with their A Christmas Carol/Oliver Twist vibe of Victorian orphans and Dickensian feasts and I had been feeling guiltily that I might be a Scrooge ever since.

‘Jess, I wanted to ask you,’ said Sanyu, reaching up to loop the new strand of lights over the top of the Christmas tree. ‘Would you read the sixth lesson in the Nine Lessons and Carols Service? It’s the one traditionally read by a member of the college staff. The head porter did it last year.’

‘Me?’ I had only been a member of the college admin staff for a month or so, having taken the job to cover someone’s maternity leave. I’d just finished a stint in a wacky commune so needed some nine-to-five work to steady my somewhat erratic life. So far so good but realistically I expected my impulse-driven nature would see me out of the door before my term was up.

‘It’s your office’s turn and you’ll help the gender balance. The BBC will be there and we don’t want to come across as an old-fashioned institution stuck back in the past.’

But that’s exactly what we are! I wanted to protest. ‘What about Jennifer?’

‘I did it in 2004 and 2015.’ Jennifer’s voice came from deep inside the Christmas tree. Was she actually under it?

‘Third time lucky?’ I suggested.

Jennifer wasn’t to be moved. ‘Do it for the team, Jess. We can’t ask Paul; he’s the wrong gender.’

And the office manager combined high-maintenance with being an insufferable bore. I would bet that his demands before he was prepared to perform would make a Hollywood A-lister blush.

‘Please, Jess, I would take it as a personal favour,’ said Sanyu.

At this moment, with impeccable timing, Errol moved on to play ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ with its heart-wrenching lyric. ‘What would I give him, poor as I am?’ I knew my goose was cooked. Try as I might, I still was a sucker for the Christmas spirit.

‘Oh, well. OK.’

‘Excellent.’ Sanyu clapped his hands together and shook them overhead in victory. ‘Rehearsals start once we get rid of the students – I mean, wave a fond farewell to the undergraduates. It’s a ticketed event for alumni and locals. I imagine we will get a good turnout this year with the BBC deciding to feature us as part of their Christmas programming.’

I finally woke up to that part of the deal. I’d never heard of that happening before. ‘Why are they coming? Did King’s College Cambridge go offline for a year?’

‘Oh, hadn’t you heard? I thought it was all over the college.’ Sanyu draped a tree frond with a strand but it was too weak to hold the weight, so it bent and the lights tumbled to the next level where they looked perfect. He hummed happily at this fortunate accident. ‘The documentary makers are shadowing Errol, doing a series about how scholarship students sponsored by the rapper Fresh are faring at college. Errol is their Christmas episode, because of the music.’

‘No, I did not know that.’ Errol hadn’t told me. I wondered why? ‘So, not radio?’

‘No, television. To be broadcast on Christmas Eve.’

‘Really?’ My voice was a squeak.

‘Live.’ Sanyu beamed at me in his position as a super-large angel on top of the tree. Jennifer switched on the lights so the tree sparkled. ‘Isn’t that splendid?’

Chapter 3
Leo

The body had been removed for autopsy but there was still work to be done in the garden looking for traces of victim and killer. Leo divided the garden into sections, asking the search team in particular to look out for any tool that could’ve been used to dig the shallow grave. The gardener had said she always brought her own equipment so there was a chance some DNA or fingerprint evidence could be lifted from any tool used even after all this time. The householder hadn’t visited for over a year, nor had any guests used the property, so the only people in and out of the house had been staff, who could be identified as soon as the agency responded to their attempts to contact it. If the staff could be eliminated as suspects, then any other trace might well lead to the killer.

That was his theory. Life rarely proved so cooperative.

Leo had set up temporary headquarters in the kitchen. Mrs Green had access to the house to tend the indoor plants so at least there had been no delay in gaining entry.

‘Still no joy from Glass Tower?’ he asked Suyin.

The sergeant shook her head, neat bob of black hair swinging. Leo knew he could trust her to get the job done, and thoroughly. She was a very impressive officer, fast-tracking through the system. He tried not to think of it as breathing down his neck. He knew how unpleasant it was to have a colleague resent you.

‘The Oxford office appears to have closed up shop, sir,’ she said, eyes on her screen. ‘I’m just trying the London office now, but looking at their online presence, I can’t see any recent activity. The website is still up but there’re no updates to any of their social media feeds for several weeks, not since early November.’

‘Do you think they’ve gone out of business?’

‘That’s possible. If I don’t get any response from the London number, I’ll do a search and see if they’ve gone into administration.’

Leo moved away to allow her to get on with that. But maybe there was a quicker way to find out? Going to the window that looked out on the front garden, he dialled Marigold Green.

‘Mrs Green? Sorry to disturb you again. It’s Inspector George. Just a quick question: have you been paid by the agency recently?’

‘Inspector, funny you should ask – I was just wondering the same thing.’ He could hear the sound of birds in the background; she must already be at her next job. ‘I tried phoning them to tell them what happened and couldn’t get through. That’s not normal; Heather is always very responsive. I then checked my internet bank account and saw that they’re late with my November payment. That’s not like them either; I’d say that they were my most prompt customer.’

Glass Tower’s teetering status was looking increasingly fragile. ‘Right. That’s helpful.’

‘You’ll let me know if you find out what’s going on?’

‘I will. Thank you.’

Ending the call, Leo tapped his phone thoughtfully. ‘Harry?’

His sergeant came in with a mug of tea. ‘Inspector?’ Reluctant to give him respect, the older sergeant was still avoiding calling him ‘sir’.

‘We need to find out everything we can about Chernov, in particular where he is now. Maybe he can tell us who’s been to the house in the last eighteen months.’

‘Yeah, I can see the Russian mafia boss really being open with us about who he decided to plant under his roses.’

Sarcasm aside, Leo could see that Harry might have a point but it was dangerous to assume anything so soon in an enquiry. ‘We still need to find him. He has to be informed what’s going on here.’ They had a warrant to search the premises but it was usually executed in the presence of the owner or their representative. ‘See what you can find out about him from the house – any other addresses or information about his businesses. While you’re doing that, I’ll look him up online.’

Leo sat down opposite Suyin and pulled one of the laptops towards him. Anatoly Chernov. Fifty-five. Two marriages, both ending in divorce, three children from the first, now in their late teens and early twenties. From the social media profiles of the two youngest, both daughters with that overgroomed look many girls had these days, thick eyebrows, long fair hair, lots of mascara. Girls attempting to be Barbies, which seemed a retrograde step for equality. The oldest child, a son, kept a low profile online. From his sisters’ posts, Leo was able to learn that Alexei appeared to be very much a chip off the old block, a younger, fitter-looking version of his father with a penchant for thick gold jewellery. His business listings involved some Russian power companies and he seemed remarkably senior for such a young man. Of his father, there was no mention in any of the family postings. He hadn’t been on the Swiss skiing holiday the girls had bragged about, but then the senior Chernov’s ex-wife had been there so that wasn’t surprising. Going further back, there had been no sign of him on the yacht around the Greek islands in the summer or at the villa in Northern Cyprus. Leo began to wonder. Buying a house near the children’s school suggested an involved father; absence from any family events would indicate either a policy of not being pictured online or … something else.

Putting the computer to sleep, he walked around the house, examining the family photos that did show Anatoly. The man always seemed to stand a little apart from the others, either in a seat in the middle like a king on his throne or to one side like a director guiding his actors. The children would have their arms around each other or be goofing around while Dad would look on with a perplexed expression. Maybe he just didn’t like cameras but Leo got the distinct impression the man wasn’t socially at ease in these relaxed situations. From the pictures Leo had seen of him in the press or at formal events among business colleagues, Chernov found that his natural milieu.

Upstairs in what looked like one of the girls’ rooms, thanks to the proliferation of sparkles, Leo found what he’d been hunting for. It was a photo of Anatoly at a school barbecue, trying to look as though he enjoyed the slightly drizzly weather that accompanied the summer celebration. But more importantly, he was wearing jeans held up with an eagle buckled belt, the Chernov off-duty look.

Taking the photo with him, Leo went down to the kitchen.

‘I think we may have just identified our victim.’ He placed the picture where Suyin and Harry could see it.

‘Is this …?’ asked Suyin.

‘Anatoly Chernov, oligarch, friend of the Russian President.’

‘Christ! Who would take out the big boss?’ said Harry, looking spooked. ‘If this was a political hit, do we have to worry about radioactive substances?’

Leo went cold, his mind suddenly sharply focused. They would have to entertain that possibility, wouldn’t they? After Salisbury, it would be stupid not to check, no matter how unlikely. ‘We’d better warn the pathologist and the gardener and get ourselves checked out. Call the team in from the garden. No more digging until we’re sure what we’re dealing with.’

Harry went out to summon the scene of crime officers inside.

‘What do we do, sir?’ asked Suyin. She looked very pale.

‘Let’s keep our heads about this. It’s just a precaution. The chance that this is a Russian secret service hit is slight. Until we know either way, we minimise exposure and keep working.’

By the time he’d called it in and set the wheels turning with his superintendent, a rather chastened team had gathered in the kitchen. Leo decided that the advice of keep calm and carry on would work here.

‘OK, everyone. I have to stress that there is no evidence yet that we’re facing anything other than an ordinary crime of violence. We are taking sensible precautions due to recent events but there is absolutely no need to be concerned at this point. Let’s keep the enquiry moving along. Did you find anything that could’ve been used to dig the grave?’ he asked Trevor Kent, the seasoned uniform he’d put in charge of the search.

Trevor had the hangdog look of a man who had done too much overtime in wind and rain over his long career, the sort of face that in olden times would’ve suited a shepherd out on exposed hillsides. ‘No, sir. The place doesn’t have any tools lying about. The shed has a leaf blower but that’s it. That looks brand new and never used. We didn’t find a spade.’

‘So the killer took it away with him?’

‘And maybe didn’t get it from here, not unless he cleared the place of all gardening tools.’

‘Another thing we’ll need to follow up. Thank you, Trevor.’

‘God, I’m starving,’ said Harry, dumping a pile of household correspondence on the counter. ‘If it’s gonna be my last meal, I could do with more than a bag of crisps and a digestive biscuit.’ He caught Suyin’s expression. ‘I thought I’d be able to nip down to the pub, didn’t I? Not enter quarantine.’

Again, in his own blunt way, Harry was right: the team could do with a break. And wasn’t there something about an army marching on their stomach? Marching might not apply here, but police officers certainly worked better if hunger was kept at bay. ‘I realise it’s extraordinary circumstances,’ said Leo. ‘I’ll order some pizza, but get it left outside so we don’t come into contact with anyone.’

The atmosphere in the kitchen immediately improved.

‘The inspector’s getting out the old credit card. He must really think we’re done for,’ said Harry sardonically.

The best way to handle Harry was not to rise to his jabs. ‘Harry, could you get an order together? I’ll check in with the superintendent, see when the hazardous material team will be with us.’

Pizza arrived before the terrorist unit. Good to know that come the apocalypse, there would still be time for a margarita slice before dying, thought Leo. He was halfway through his second piece, when he glanced out the window and noticed a dog nosing around the grave site. A spaniel, clearly a pet rather than a stray as it looked well cared for and had a collar. It must’ve come in through the fence at the bottom of the garden. At least that answered the question as to what had been digging holes in the flower bed.

‘Team, we’ve been invaded,’ called Leo, dumping his slice.

They had a fun few minutes trying to catch the playful creature. It was only when one of the SOCOs tried the lure of pizza crust that it trotted happily into the house.

Leo knelt down and rubbed its chest. He liked dogs though his job meant he couldn’t keep one. ‘Sorry, dog, but you’ll need to stay with us and get checked out. Then we’ll see about getting you back to your owner.’ If they weren’t all in quarantine.

This was not how he’d thought this day would go.

Chapter 4
Jess

Paul Cook, Head of the Development Office at St Nicholas’ College, was not pleased.

‘Reverend Masane asked Jess to do the staff reading?’ he asked in that calm, quiet tone that was a cover for quivering anger. Now in his late middle age, sweep of greying fair hair brushed back from a high forehead, and always dressed in a three-piece suit, Paul gave the impression of a man who never relaxed. He also used his hobby of photography to provide photos for our college publications, which explained the camera he carried as his accessory.

‘That’s right, Paul,’ said Jennifer sweetly, ferrying the empty boxes that had held the tree decorations to the chapel door for collection by the porters. I kept silent, busying myself sweeping up the straw and pine needles we had scattered on the floor. I couldn’t afford to annoy Paul, not only because he was my boss, but also he lived in a flat not far from me and was a big presence in the neighbourhood association. He could make life difficult for me both at home and at work.

Paul stood in the centre of the nave and gazed up at the lectern, doubtless imagining himself there and delivering a reading in his plumy tones. ‘I believe it is my turn this year.’

‘Didn’t you do it in 2010?’ asked Jennifer.

‘You’ve done it twice.’

‘And Jess never. Besides, Sanyu is concerned about gender balance, Paul,’ said Jennifer reasonably. ‘With the Master, chaplain, head chorister and senior fellow all being men, he’s hunting for spaces for women on the programme. It’s the best look for St Nick’s.’

Crouching with the dustpan and brush, I was very tempted to say I didn’t want to do it and that I was happy to bow out and let Paul read, but something held me back. Dislike of Paul probably. The college Development Office was a fancy name for fundraising. My job was to milk the past students by appealing to their nostalgia for the best days of their life. I also helped Jennifer out with the admissions of new students at the busy times of year. Paul had a way of undermining his staff as if their success came at his expense. When he could put them down in some way, he felt he was winning.

‘Jess has no experience – and the BBC will be here.’ He lined up a shot of the crib, then lowered the camera. With a sniff of disapproval, Paul tried to adjust Joseph in the stable to a more prominent position and the figurine promptly fell over.

‘It’s not really our decision, is it? The chaplain organises the service.’ Jennifer buttoned up her cardigan, signal she was on her way out. ‘Is there anything else today, Paul?’

Our manager held up the camera to take a shot of the nave, then lowered it. ‘I’m not happy.’

Of course he wasn’t.

‘The decorations in here – they aren’t enough.’

‘It’s how we’ve always decorated the chapel,’ said Jennifer patiently. ‘You know that. We’ve used all we have.’

‘There seem to be fewer lights than in previous years.’

That actually was true. The tree looked a little under-powered, thanks to Sanyu’s misstep.

‘And everything appears so tired. Look at the crib: the figures barely stand up straight. What will the BBC make of that?’

I gazed up at the amazing ceiling, multicoloured stained-glass with its flights of angels, the ranks of tall white candles and brass fittings. Anything that came out of a cardboard box from storage was hardly going to compete with what was always here.

Paul rounded on me. ‘Jess, you’ve not shown much initiative since you arrived. The Master is already on at me to look again at our office, restructure some jobs to make us more efficient. It’s time you stepped up. I’m giving you this project as a chance to prove yourself.’

‘What?’ I’d only been here a few weeks and he was threatening my job? I wasn’t worried for me but I was covering a woman who was planning to return in six months. ‘Sorry? I don’t understand.’

Paul rocked up on his toes, an oddly gleeful gesture. ‘I’m putting you in charge of making sure the chapel looks perfect for Christmas Eve. I want something really impressive – something to blow the socks off the BBC producers and make them want to come here every year.’

‘But Paul …’ began Jennifer.

‘No, I’ve made up my mind. Seeing how Jess is taking such a big part in the service, she will have a vested interest in making sure the backdrop is suitable. Won’t you, Jess?’

This was payback. Did he expect me to say I couldn’t do it? Was he hoping I’d back out so he could step in?

A rebellious spirit sparked in my chest. I hated bullies. ‘Fine.’ I emptied the dustpan into the black sack.

‘Fine?’ Paul was surprised by my easy acceptance.

‘What’s the budget?’

‘Budget?’

‘You heard Jennifer say we’ve already used all the decorations we have in storage. If I’m going to do this, I’ll need some money as I’m guessing homemade decorations aren’t what you had in mind?’

Paul had become used to me shying away from him, keeping quiet during meetings, so to discover that I actually had opinions and a challenge for him was clearly a shock. ‘Budget,’ he repeated. ‘Of course, there’ll be a budget. I’ll discuss it with the Master tomorrow in our weekly meeting.’ Obviously, he hadn’t even thought of any of this before two minutes ago.

‘Do you want me to get some quotes before you do that?’ I asked. He looked at me blankly. ‘From events companies? They’re the only people who’ll have the resources to make the impact you have in mind.’ One benefit of my peripatetic life temping was I had a fair idea about lots of unusual things, such as how much it cost to stage an event.

‘The college is not made of money.’ Paul was now fuming and said it as if this had all been my idea in the first place.

‘Of course it’s not.’ I was enjoying seeing him squirm.

‘I’ll tell you how much you have to play with and you’ll then work with that. No blank cheques.’ With that, he marched from the room. If he could have slammed the ten-foot chapel doors, he would’ve done so, but they were too heavy and bound with iron.

‘What a …’ said Jennifer, biting her tongue in deference to the holy place. ‘Sorry, Jess. Neither Sanyu nor I meant to drop you in it.’

‘Paul is such an ass.’ I stood Joseph back up and leant him against the donkey and gave Jennifer a brilliant smile. ‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on doing my house so I can do the chapel instead. How hard will it be to add a few more lights? This place is a Christmas card even without that.’

Jennifer wrapped herself in a homemade scarf, a striped one-of-a-kind piece from her fashion designer son. ‘Let’s hope that doesn’t fall into the category of famous last words.’

***

Cycling home through dark streets, trying not to slide on the slick of leaves heaped in the gutters, I told myself there was nothing to worry about. Paul was just working off his anger at being passed over for a role he wanted. I made a bet with myself that he had complained at primary school if he were made a shepherd rather than a king. Habits formed in childhood were remarkably persistent.

Turning into my dark drive and using the bike light to work the combination on the gate, I stacked the bike against the garage. I was supposed to keep the passageway clear, but what the owner didn’t see, wouldn’t bother him. I’d been placed here by an agency who looked after houses for overseas clients, reference provided by Cory. My mansion was owned by an absentee billionaire from Central Asia. Putting the key in the lock, I opened the side door.

‘Hey, Flossie, I’m home.’

There was no reply of frantic barking and eager tail wagging.

‘Flossie? Flossie!’ I wandered through to the kitchen, switching on lights and trying not to worry. The bed by the Aga was empty.

Then I saw the note on the counter from the contract cleaner, Mrs Pettifer, who was my sworn enemy. Let dog out into the garden but she wouldn’t come back inside. She needs training.

Thank you, Mrs Pettifer, for stating the obvious. So what had she done? From the evidence, she’d given up and gone on to her next client.

I opened the backdoor and peered into the dark garden. There were many places for a dog to hide, due to the flower beds and vegetable patches the householder had proudly maintained. The place was stuffed with Victorian whimsy as they had gone for an Alice in Wonderland theme, dotting statues of the characters in different parts. The Cheshire Cat, for example, sat on the wall and smiled scarily at me as I checked by the outhouse. The caterpillar curled on a bird bath in the shape of a toadstool in the middle of the vegetable patch. It was my job to maintain the gardens but winter was letting me off easily. I’d merely had to harvest what others had planted. The last house-sitter had even made jam. Were they expecting me to do that too? The potential for disaster was huge.

‘Flossie?’

There was no answering woof.

Taking a torch from a drawer, I made a quick circuit of the garden and paused by the drunken panel in the wooden fence at the bottom. It had blown down in a storm some time ago and needed mending. I’d been meaning to mention it to the nice gardener of that property so she could pass on a message to the owner as I was told by my predecessor that it was their fence, not ours. I’d have to find a diplomatic way of saying that the householder really had to do something about it if he didn’t want my dog getting into his immaculate garden. She liked to bury bones; the owner of that house liked lawns like Centre Court on the first day of Wimbledon. You see the problem?

Lights were on in the house which was unusual as it was normally empty. If I were going to go hunting for Flossie in the neighbour’s garden, I’d better get permission. My predecessor had warned me that the owner sometimes had formidable-looking security people in tow. Russians. Possibly with guns. It sounded very exciting but not if I became target practice.

Going back through my house, I grabbed the keys and a leash and went out onto the street to walk the long way round. My house was a late Victorian gothic castle of a place built from red brick, complete with turret and arched windows. If Hollywood was looking for a location for a live-action Scooby Doo haunted house, they need look no further. The one we shared a boundary with, in the next road, was more classically North Oxford, built from the golden bricks that were common round here. I pulled on the metal bell which, rather pleasingly, rang a three note chime.

After a short wait, the door opened. Detective Inspector Leo George stood in the doorway.

There was a very long pause as we took in the fact that we were unexpectedly thrown together after over a month of radio silence. I thought we had been heading for a date after the White Horse cult killings, but he’d stood me up at the last moment and not been in contact since. I’d been so hopeful but that too had died a death, like a cutting planted out too early and caught in a late frost. I’d not chased him as I couldn’t stand the idea of being in a relationship that blew hot and cold.

‘Jess? What are you doing here?’ he asked, finally finding his voice.

‘Same question back at you.’ But then I noticed he wasn’t alone. Other officers were searching inside the property. The penny dropped. ‘Don’t tell me: someone’s dead?’

He nodded. ‘And you?’

‘I’m living at number thirty-seven, Howell Street. House-sitting actually. It backs on to this place.’

Realisation dawned for him too. ‘You’re the nice house-sitter.’

‘Glad my Yelp reviews are positive.’

‘The gardener here told me about you – not you specifically but she said she chatted to the friendly house-sitter.’

Alarm spiked. ‘Marigold? Is she OK?’

‘Yes, she’s fine. She just found – something.’

‘A body. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.’ I then worked out where it must’ve been. ‘Oh yuck.’

Leo now noticed the leash and the door opened wider. ‘Come in. I think we’ve kidnapped your dog.’

‘Flossie?’

‘Is that her name? I didn’t even know you had a dog.’

He wouldn’t, would he, not having taken his chance to get to know me?

He closed the entrance behind me. ‘She got in the way this afternoon so we took her inside, not knowing where she’d come from. She’s with the team in the kitchen. We had a scare about possible hazardous waste but we’ve been given the all-clear, so she’s free to go.’

‘Hazardous waste? What, like asbestos?’

‘Not quite.’

I didn’t get a chance to ask him what he meant as he’d already led me into a huge kitchen-dining room. The house might’ve been built by nineteenth-century architects but it was definitely someone from the twenty-first century who had been let loose in here. The steel grey units and marble counters were spotless. An elegant single orchid sat on the windowsill, white blossoms trembling. Flossie leapt up from the blanket under the table and came over to greet me, abandoning the police officer who had been looking through paperwork at the counter.

‘You might remember DS Suyin Wong,’ said Leo.

The sergeant looked up, then quickly at her boss.

I held up both hands. ‘The body had nothing to do with me. I’m here for the living.’ I knelt down and clipped on the leash to Flossie’s collar.

The other sergeant I had also met before, Harry Boston, ambled in from another room, a box of computer gear in his arms.

‘Gawd almighty, if it isn’t Miss Trouble herself! How’ve you got yourself involved in this one?’

I think I amused and annoyed Harry Boston in equal parts, but as he’d once bought me a drink when I most needed it, I was trying to think charitable thoughts about him. ‘Not involved. My dog got through the fence at the end of the garden. I’m just rescuing her.’

‘Blame the forensic guys. They fed her pizza,’ said Suyin.

‘I was wanting to ask about the fence. It’s the only part of the garden that isn’t smart. How long has the panel been down?’ asked Leo.

I felt oddly annoyed he’d gone straight into questioning mode without stopping to explain why he stood me up. It was like we were strangers again.

‘No idea.’ I kept my tone clipped. ‘I’ve only had the job since the end of October. You’ll have to ask my predecessor. I was told the fence belonged to this house so wasn’t my employer’s responsibility to mend.’

‘And who is your employer?’

‘A Mr Akmal Gulom. He’s from Uzbekistan. I had to look it up on a map. It’s a big place. The Silk Road. Samarkand.’

‘But you haven’t met him?’

‘No.’

‘So how …?’

‘An agency.’

‘Let me guess: Glass Tower Services?’

‘Been checking up on me, have you, Inspector?’

He had the grace to look a little flustered by that accusation. ‘No, Jess, they manage this property too, so it was an educated guess. Who do you deal with at the agency?’

‘A woman called Heather. I met her once when she interviewed me. That’s all I know, apart from the fact they pay well.’ Flossie was pulling on the leash. ‘Can I go now?’

‘Yes. I’ll see you out.’ Leo guided me to the door.

‘Bye, guys,’ I said cheerily to the sergeants. That was my philosophy: pretend like everything is fine and one day it will be.

‘Bye, Jess,’ said Suyin. ‘If you hear from Heather, will you let us know?’

‘Sure.’

‘And try to keep your clothes on this time,’ called Harry, chuckling at my expense. Just because I ended up naked at two crime scenes, some people would never let me forget!

Leo stood at the front door. I noticed how his smart lace-up shoes sank deep into the white pile carpet.

‘Who puts white carpet in a hallway?’ I asked.

‘Someone with more money than sense.’ He glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen. ‘Jess, I want to apologise. For what happened in October.’

‘Oh? For what exactly? For standing me up or for not getting in contact to explain?’

He looked down, a hank of black hair falling forward. It was tempting to push it back but we didn’t have that kind of relationship, not Mr Gorgeous Unattainable Policeman and me. ‘Both, I suppose.’

‘It’s OK. You’re a busy guy. Work takes over, I expect.’

Flossie was sniffing the leg of a side table with rather too much interest. I’d have to get her out of here.

‘It wasn’t work. It was a family emergency.’ He met my gaze. ‘Ongoing emergency. I don’t have a social life at the moment.’

‘Ri-ight.’ I suppose as excuses went, it wasn’t bad. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Leo. It probably wouldn’t have worked, would it? Us, dating? I’m all over the place and you’re the straight arrow. I’d’ve driven you crazy after a few weeks.’

He shook his head in denial. ‘Jess, I really am sorry. I’d like to make it up to you.’

‘Sir!’ One of his officers was calling from upstairs. We looked at each other.

‘Work calls,’ I prompted.

‘Can I ring you? So I can make a proper apology?’

I wasn’t sure that I wanted that. There was a danger I’d like him too much and, when he decided he’d had enough of me, it would hurt like hell. I’d decided the near-miss had been the best thing that could’ve happened for my emotional survival. ‘Leo …’

‘You’re still on the same number?’

I nodded.

‘OK. I’ll call – arrange something.’ He opened the door so Flossie and I could exit. ‘It’s good seeing you again.’

I opened my mouth to say, ‘And you,’ but fortunately he’d closed it quickly. Idiot. I shook myself, much to Flossie’s bemusement, who wasn’t used to her human exhibiting such doglike characteristics.

‘OK, hound, let’s go for a quick walk then supper. How does that sound?’

That sounded fine to her so she led me off around her favourite circuit.

Chapter 5
Michael

Michael Harrison checked his tie in the mirror. It had been a while since he’d done this. After the accident that robbed him of his ease of mobility, Michael had shied away from the dating scene. The last year had been a slow but steady finding of his new identity: differently abled than he had been in the past.

Not content, he redid the knot. The easiest had been, in retrospect, his media image: the wheelchair psychologist, invited to comment on criminal cases involving psychopathic or particularly extreme behaviours, such as terrorism. Professionally, he’d had a successful book and a promotion to an academic job in Oxford. Icing to that cake had been when Inspector George in Thames Valley had brought him back into consulting with the police, which, to be honest, was the part of his job he enjoyed the most. That was when he felt most needed.

Now the tie looked right.

But his cufflinks were wrong. He’d better change them. He searched through his collection, looking for a pair his wife, now deceased, hadn’t given him. He couldn’t take memories of Emma on this outing. People – notably his ex, Jessica, his old friend Charles – had told him he’d got stuck in his grief, with few friends and a limited social life. They’d told him to chance a relationship again.

And so the bold move into dating. He backed away from the mirror to check his wallet had both cash and cards. He’d made himself fill out an application and pay the fee for one of those sites that matched university-educated professionals with each other. It had come as a surprise, but perhaps foreseeable in hindsight, that one of the local matches the website suggested was someone he already knew a little: Cory Reynolds, Jessica’s landlady until very recently, before Jessica moved to house-sit that incredible redbrick pile near the park. When Cory’s home had been invaded by a disturbed young woman, he had hosted Cory and her two children in the middle of the night, a safe place for them to go while the police (and Jessica as it turned out) dealt with the matter. That meant Cory had already met him and, if she agreed to date him, they could skip the whole ‘how did you end up in a wheelchair?’ conversation. She’d be seeing him because she was interested.

***

He arrived early at the restaurant in the Ashmolean Museum. The modern extension at the back of the old building had opened up new areas of the museum, including the roof, and this relatively new restaurant was one of the best in Oxford. With so much college dining every evening, the city was surprisingly short of decent places to eat – and college meals could be pretty dreadful sometimes. You had to pick your college carefully or you might end up with cold beans and wilted salmon. He’d asked for his table to be near the window so they could look out over the Randolph Hotel and the skyline of the city centre. Christmas trees twinkled on the restaurant terrace and in the windows of the five-star hotel across the road, reminding him he’d better decide what he was going to do this year for the holidays.

He ordered a cocktail and pondered his choices. Last year, he’d gone to his parents’ retirement place in France but had found the travel and moving around there a chore. He wondered what Jessica was doing. Would it be odd to ask his friend to spend the day with him? She might take it as meaning that he was angling for more than simple friendship. Christmas seemed so fraught with significance. Perhaps it was safer to spend the day alone?

Cory hurried in only a few minutes late and was steered to his table by a discreet waiter.

‘Michael, sorry to keep you waiting. The children were playing up, knowing I had to get out.’ She hovered, evidently wondering what was the correct greeting, then decided on a quick kiss to the cheek. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to this all day.’

That made Michael relax. ‘Me too.’ He smiled up at her, appreciating that she had put a great deal of effort to polishing up her usual mumsy vibe to smart thirty-something who looked like her photo on the website. Attractive rather than ravishing, she had styled her hair, put on more make-up than usual, and was wearing a pretty matching earring and necklace, little blue chips of some semi-precious stone. Ah, something neutral he could pick on. ‘I like your jewellery.’

She touched her necklace self-consciously. ‘Oh, thank you. I got them in a market in Beirut on my last visit to the Lebanon. I can’t remember if I told you, but I assess development projects for DfID, specialising in refugee access to education.’

He’d known she worked in the aid sector but had assumed that meant a desk job at one of the big charities, not going abroad for the Department for International Development. ‘That sounds very interesting. You must tell me more, but what about ordering a cocktail first? I can recommend the Ashmolean Gin Fizz.’ He toasted her with the drink he’d already ordered.

She gave him a teasing frown. ‘You started without me?’

‘I was worried you might stand me up, so I decided to look as though I was meaning to dine alone.’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘I’d never do that to a date. One of those sounds lovely.’ She leaned forward a little. ‘The advantage of travelling by bike, I don’t need to worry.’

He gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘And I was planning on taking a taxi home. So tell me about Beirut.’

***

By the end of the meal, Michael was feeling a little drunk. Not because he’d had more than was good for him, but because he’d forgotten what it was like to enjoy a meal in a clever woman’s company. Cory reminded him of a toned-down version of Jessica: a little reckless at times, wanting to live life at full throttle, but she took more care with herself as she had her children to consider. He had been missing … what was it? Liveliness? Yes, that was a good word. All his colleagues at Magdalen seemed so serious and staid. It was a gift to laugh with someone and relax.

‘You mean the computer geeks think that you can help them achieve near-human intelligence in AI?’ she asked on hearing at his newest role in the artificial intelligence institute that had just opened in Hay Road.

‘I’m not a numbers man myself, but apparently one of the approaches to programming is algorithms that mimic the synapses in the brain, and there I can help with my understanding of psychology. At least that’s the theory. I’m coming in under a big grant from the Chernov foundation, so I won’t be the only one. It’s all very cutting edge.’ In fact, he now put it first on his CV as it was where so many academic disciplines were moving.

‘That sounds … scary,’ said Cory, pushing her empty coffee cup away. ‘I’ve just watched Blade Runner.’

‘Ah. We’re a long way off androids who can pass for human. At the moment robots have even more trouble negotiating stairs than I do.’

At the end of the meal, they split the bill.

‘I really enjoyed myself,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

‘I did as well.’ She looked down a little shyly. ‘Would you like to do this again? It’s really freeing seeing someone who already knows I come with baggage.’

‘Baggage?’

‘Two children.’

Michael had managed to forget about them during the meal. Not that he disliked children, but he wasn’t at ease with them usually. Cory’s two had been sweet, though, when they’d stayed, enjoying riding on his motorised armchair and pretending to blast into space. Maybe he could learn to cope?

‘I don’t see them as baggage, but as assets.’ He hoped he was telling her the truth. He wanted to mean it.

She beamed. ‘That’s so sweet of you.’

‘And yes, I’d very much like to do this again. It’s been a while for me, a bruising few years you could say, but tonight was the first time in a long while I’ve felt really off-duty.’

‘Excellent.’ She reached out and took his hand. ‘Just one thing: I didn’t tell Jess we were meeting. Did you?’

‘No. I didn’t want to land you in an awkward situation with her. I know you’re friends.’

‘Maybe we could keep this to ourselves, just for the moment, see how things pan out? No point having a big heart-to-heart with her if we only go on a couple of dates.’

Did she not like him? ‘I’m hoping it might be more than that.’

She smiled reassuringly. ‘So am I, Michael.’

‘But you’re right. Jessica would find it odd maybe. I’d find it awkward explaining us to her. Let’s wait until we know where we’re going with this.’ The secret felt a little thrilling, bringing them closer.

Cory looked relieved. ‘Yes, let’s wait. Knowing her, she’d probably just be pleased for us.’

‘Yes, knowing her.’ The waiter signalled that his taxi was waiting downstairs. Michael pushed back from the table. ‘I’m heading down in the lift.’

‘I’ll ride with you.’

They left the restaurant together, her hand resting on his shoulder.

Chapter 6
Leo

Closing down the temporary incident room he’d created at the house, Leo was acutely aware that he hadn’t said even half of what he’d wanted to Jess. He was still cursing himself for that. Why didn’t life come with a rewind button? Maybe the strange rollercoaster day of considering radioactive poisoning then being given the all-clear was some excuse, but he knew it was more likely due to his inability to communicate with those he cared about. Given a do-over, would he manage any better?

Leaving an officer to guard the murder scene overnight, he called it a day at 10pm and ordered everyone to reconvene at Kidlington, Thames Valley Police HQ, at eight the next day. They had made some progress despite everything, tracking down the family solicitor and putting in a request for DNA samples from a blood relative or dental records. These were needed so they could confirm the theory that it was the householder himself who had ended up in the garden. Either that or Mr Chernov himself might turn up alive and well as a result of the outreach. The lawyer had been decidedly cagey though, refusing to say when he’d last had contact with the Russian.

Though it was not on the most direct route, Leo drove past the house where Jess was living. Suyin was fairly certain Glass Tower had shattered into a million pieces, so he’d also have to deliver the bad news to Jess that she might not get paid. But not tonight. He’d let her sleep undisturbed in that Victorian castle house she was inhabiting. There were no lights on, apart from one up in the turret room. Was she sleeping up there? He could see that appealing to her.

He turned the car for home, deeply dissatisfied with himself. Had it been a lie to say he’d stood her up for a family emergency? His mother was a walking, talking crisis, but couldn’t he have slipped away, kept some of his own life going even while she settled in his house like a plague of locusts? His problem was that he felt emotionally eaten clean away, leaving but a stick of a man going about his business. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like that if he’d had someone like Jess in his life to help share the load?

He slowed for a group of students weaving in front of him on their bikes, Father Christmas hats and tinsel giving them an early festive feel. At least they had bike lights, if not helmets; one out of the two was better than many students managed. He could tell them from experience at road traffic accidents that being brainy did not protect you from your own stupidity. But they wouldn’t want to listen: at twenty, they felt immortal.

They managed to peel off safely to their chosen destination, The Cape of Good Hope pub, so named because it formed a wedge between the two traffic currents of the Cowley and Iffley Road. At their age, he’d never had the illusion of invulnerability, thanks to his mother’s emotional vampirism. He’d wanted to die at eighteen; at twenty, he was only just recovering the will to live. His own university life at Durham had been a slow awakening from a bad dream.

Which had returned and was occupying his spare room.

No, it was better to make sure anyone he had feelings for stayed away from his mother. He mustn’t regret keeping Jess at arm’s length. Experience surely had taught him that. His mother would kill everything in her path, his own invasive species of ground elder.

He took the turn by the Peugeot garage into Iffley village where he had his little cottage with its big garden. The street narrowed and took on a village air. All the lights were on at his own house. This habit of his mother’s drove him crazy. Why had she even been in his bedroom to switch on the light in the first place? He sat in the drive, listening to the car clicking and settling into dormancy after the short ride across town. She would still be up, wouldn’t she? Having spent the day alone, she’d be waiting for him to tell him about her latest minor dramas and emotional crises. Leo wished he had siblings to help dilute his mother’s focus but she’d never had another child after him. Now she was getting too old to attract her preferred style of man to play the nurturing partner so was latching on to her son as her Plan B. This was the longest she’d ever stayed with him. A more ruthless person would’ve turned her out, Leo knew that, but he’d tried this a few years ago and it had backfired spectacularly. She’d started turning up at work and when he was out on dates, basically stalking him. No counter action on his part, from ignoring her to demanding she leave, had dented her confidence that she had every right to be there. He’d tried so many strategies that he felt like he was in the middle of his very own Groundhog Day where he hadn’t found the combination that broke the spell.

This time he was attempting the minimal interaction policy, which seemed a decent holding pattern. Work had become his refuge and as long as he returned each night, she hadn’t yet had the gall to follow him there again. How long could this go on? On other occasions, he’d known that it would be temporary; that once she’d regrouped or found a new boyfriend she would move on. Alarmingly this time she showed no signs of shifting. She’d told him she’d got in trouble with the wrong sort and was worried for her safety. Her policeman son felt a safe haven for Haven Keene.

His grandparents hadn’t been aware of the irony when they gave her that name. Like Mrs Green the gardener, his mother had fashioned her life in the image of her name so she was eager to find one safe spot after another, never creating her own.

The front door opened. A slight, almost girlish dark-haired figure stood in the entrance. From a distance she looked young enough to be his girlfriend. Only close to could you see the lines life had etched around her eyes and the thickening of the face towards the neck. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she asked, not bothering to keep her voice down.

Mindful of the sleeping neighbours, Leo got out, picked up his messenger bag and went inside. The house even smelt strange with her in occupation. She liked a brand of essential oils that she burned obsessively in the kitchen and small living room. Leo suspected she did it to hide the smell of what she preferred to smoke. Officially she was a non-smoker, but Leo had found stubs of enough hand-rolled cigarettes to give the lie to that claim.

‘Hello, Mother.’ He didn’t put his bag down, knowing she’d go through it when his back was turned.

‘Have you eaten? I made you supper but you didn’t call.’ She’d left her long hair loose and her big eyes were outlined in kohl. He thought of it as her waif look, meant to be appealing, except she’d picked her audience poorly.

‘I had something at work. And I told you not to make anything for me.’

‘But it seems silly to cook for just myself, with you working so hard and no one looking after you.’

Was that what she told herself she was doing? Looking after him?

‘Made any progress on finding somewhere else to live?’ He knew the answer, of course.

‘But it’s not safe for me! I told you that.’ She put a cover over the plate of risotto she’d reserved for him.

How much this was the case and how much a figment of her imagination, he didn’t know. ‘It’s not sustainable, you living here. I need my space.’

‘But you’re barely here – and I’m your mother!’ She shoved the plate in the fridge and let the door slam, glass jars clanking.

Leo walked out into the garden. Solar lights dimly lit the path to his pond.

‘Leo, it’s pitch dark out there! You’ll trip!’

He tuned her out and found his favourite bench by his pond with no difficulty. It was screened by bushes from the house. His mother didn’t venture out here, thank God. He could walk this blindfolded, having laid out every inch of the landscaping himself. Putting his bag down, he rested his arms on his knees and let his head drop. Could he change the locks? She’d probably just break a window. Not come home until she was gone? But she’d probably never leave, living rent free. Forcibly eject her? She’d just charge him with assault and that would be the end of his career. Get a restraining order? It might come to that. If he took that route he’d have to make it clear he asked her to leave and gave her a deadline. This just letting things drift was not good.

But was she really in trouble?

Who knew? Surely it wasn’t his responsibility to sort out the tangles that the woman who ruined his childhood got herself into? That was unfair in the extreme.

A faint plop came from the pond, possibly a droplet rolling off one of the overhanging twigs of the weeping willow at the far end. Deep in the water, hiding from sight, was his giant koi carp Goldemort and his remaining followers. How many would be left by spring? Leo wondered. Leo suspected his fish, like his mother, of vampiric tendencies.

It was chill and damp in the garden. Even in winter Leo found it beautiful, a sylvan palace of intricate interwoven branches shot through with the dark gloss of the evergreens. Sprays of red berries from holly and tiny apples on the crab decorated the borders – not that he could see these now but he knew they were there. The yellow explosion of the mahonia bush enlivened one corner, the spiky leaves looking like frozen fireworks shooting out from the main stem. For all this nature is never spent … it was a line from an Oxford poet that Leo often revolved in his mind like a lucky penny in his pocket. It brought him hope at his lowest, prevented him even from slitting his wrists at the very worst. Things come back even when all seems utterly hopeless. He just had to have faith.

Perhaps it was time he told someone about this. He’d spent thirty-six years alone; did he really want to spend the rest of his life like that? The burden of his past was crushing him slowly but surely.

‘Leo, when you’ve finished sulking, lock up! I’m going to bed!’ his mother called, acting as if the place were hers.

He sat in silence for a little longer, waiting until her words became true. She sometimes said things like that just to lure him inside. It gave him the chance to appreciate the dark smell of winter, the drifts that he left to moulder to encourage wildlife. They would be turning dark brown and black as the leaves returned to the earth. It was not good for a garden to strip it bare as Chernov had done. Over time, the soil lost its natural structure and required more and more artificial fertiliser to struggle through the growing season. Mess had a purpose.

He looked back to the house. One light had gone out – the one in the spare room. It was safe to go inside.

Chapter 7
Jess

I stood at the window cradling a mug of coffee. My office had one of the best views in the world as it looked out on the main quad. This famous landmark, featured on many a postcard, had four rectangles of manicured lawn divided by flagstone paths, and a fountain with a statue of St Nicholas carrying a child on his back in the centre. You could fit four tennis courts in here easily. The buildings themselves were a soft apricot colour, recently cleaned to get rid of their twentieth-century grime, and in the winter sunlight they glowed, seeming to belong to another, nicer world. That was until you spotted the gargoyles leering at you from the guttering, adding a little demonic to the heavenly. Something was always happening out there: porters strutting in their magpie uniform of bowler hat and black suit; students landing briefly in flocks then flying off to mysterious destinations; academics speeding by in their raven-black gowns, late for a lecture or tutorial.

Errol came into view, dressed as usual in his battered green Parka and college scarf. The difference today was that he was trailed by a cameraman, sound guy and two others on the documentary team. He had been probably told to cross the quad as he would any other day but it was hard to act natural on order. Instead he looked hunted, like they were a team in a BBC nature documentary.

Then the cameraman made the cardinal error of stepping on the grass. Mr Newton shot out of the porter’s lodge like a rocket on fireworks night.

‘Get off the grass! Only fellows of the college are allowed on the grass!’

The cameraman ignored him. He was probably used to location filming in war zones and jungles, and an irate porter did not scare him. He actually had the temerity to lie down to get a better angle, inflaming the situation. Mr Newton seized the camera by the lens and started pulling. This wasn’t going to end well.

‘Hard at work, I see?’ said Paul, appearing in the doorway to look down on the two desks of his junior staff. Jennifer didn’t work Fridays so I was alone.

I didn’t waste time on defending myself. I was due a coffee break as he no doubt knew. ‘I think you might need to do something about that,’ I said instead, pointing to the confrontation on the lawn.

He glanced down at the altercation. ‘Oh Lord. I told Mr Newton they had the Master’s permission to film.’ Turning on his heel, he sped downstairs and by the next sip I saw him join the fray. Errol, standing on the sidelines unregarded, looked up and saw me watching the fracas. I waved and beckoned him to join me. It was plain there was no more filming going to get done for the moment. He sidled away without anyone noticing and bolted up the stairs to my sanctuary.

‘Bit much?’ I asked as he came into the office. ‘Need a coffee? Or tea? I have some herbal ones.’

‘Coffee. Milky. Thanks.’ He unwrapped his scarf and slid out of his Parka, halving in size.

I poured him one from the vacuum jug the kitchens supplied me with each day for visitors, added a generous quantity of milk and handed it to him. ‘Does this call for biscuits?’

‘Yeah. I think it does. Thanks, Jess.’

Rummaging in my desk drawer, I came up with a packet of chocolate cookies. It was Friday after all. ‘Save me from eating them all myself.’

He took five. One of the oddities about Errol’s metabolism was that he could eat huge amounts with no apparent effect on his body.

The dispute down in the quad appeared to be ending. ‘How long do you have to go around with those guys following you?’

‘They want to film me on four days over December – today and then they’ll be back for the rehearsals and return with a bigger team for the live service. Fresh is coming to that.’

‘A world-famous rapper is coming to our Christmas Eve service?’ My rash agreement to decorate the chapel returned to me with full force. How could I impress with my Christmas display someone used to touring with sound and light shows?

‘Yeah. He’s a good guy. He says he likes traditions and stuff.’ A second biscuit followed the first in short order.

‘Are you trying to tell me he’s just a regular guy, this man with a private jet and more money than God?’

Errol shrugged. ‘Don’t think God bothers with a bank account, but basically yeah. Sanyu’s very excited.’

‘That’s all we need – an excited Sanyu.’ We shared a smile.

‘He’s invited the choir from my Pentecostal church back home to join the service.’

I wondered how that would work: the white-robed choristers and a gospel choir from Hackney. Sounded like a Christmas version of Harry and Meghan’s wedding. ‘Sanyu or Fresh?’

‘Sanyu, of course. My mum’s thrilled.’

‘Your mum’s in the choir?’

‘Yeah, and my sisters and my youngest brother. That’s where I learned to play the organ. Can’t sing a note. I’m the family disgrace.’

I gave him a soft punch on the arm. ‘You’re hardly that, organ scholar.’

‘I suppose they might think different now I’m here. Mum loves this place. She’d be here every weekend if I let her.’ Errol put the mug by the kettle. ‘I think they’re looking for me. I’d better go.’

‘You’re welcome to hide up here whenever you need.’

‘Thanks, Jess. Oh, and how’s Flossie?’ Errol and Flossie were pals as he’d taken the dog for a walk when I had ’flu last month.

‘She’s made new friends. Snuck into next-door and charmed the police.’

‘Police?’

‘Yeah, they found a body in the garden.’

‘What? For real?’

‘Yes. I saw the news this morning that they think it’s fairly recent and are appealing for information.’

‘That’s … horrible.’

‘I know. Most people hope for fairies at the bottom of the garden and Flossie and I get a corpse.’

From his glum expression, I could tell he didn’t share my gallows humour.

‘Sorry, Errol. I got kinda used to bodies in my old job.’

He looped the scarf around his neck. ‘How could anyone get used to bodies? What were you?’

‘Undertaker’s assistant.’

He looked very hard at me. ‘Are you joking again?’

‘Nope.’

‘I thought you looked for missing people?’

‘I do – that’s what I hope to make my main line of work. All this? The undertaking, temping and so on – that’s just to pay the bills.’

‘You’re weird, do you know that?’

‘Oh yes.’

He went to the door. ‘But you’re interesting. I’m telling my film crew to include you.’

‘Don’t you dare, Errol!’

With a passable devilish chuckle, he went back down to the quad where the film crew were seeking him.

I sat back in front of the computer and returned to the winter newsletter I was compiling for past students. Errol was so relaxed with me, it was just a shame he struggled to show this side to others of his age. He probably got on with me because he had older sisters so he was used to teasing and being teased.

Back to the report from the First Eleven.

***

At one a message from Leo popped up on my screen. It started so well.

I need to see you.

But then it went downhill.

And if possible search your garden. Would you be able to return early and show my officers where the tools are kept?

So it was about the case.

I knocked on Paul’s door. ‘Is it OK if I leave now? The police need to search the grounds of the house I’m staying in and I have to be there.’

Paul sniffed as if the police search was my fault. ‘I suppose you can go.’

‘I’ll carry on working on the display at home and will be contactable by phone should you need me. On the subject of which, how much have I to spend?’

‘The Master is considering it. He did express the wish that you get sponsorship from local firms so it wouldn’t come out of college funds.’

‘With only a few weeks to go? That’s hardly likely, Paul. You need to cultivate those kind of relationships months in advance. Does he have any suggestions for me?’

‘The Master is too busy to do your job for you.’

The unfairness was breathtaking. ‘Excuse me, this isn’t in my job description, none of this is.’

‘Then you want nothing to do with the service, I suppose? It isn’t in your job description to do the reading either.’

The man was shameless. ‘I’ll need a budget, Paul, and I think it is definitely in your job description to provide me with one.’

He tapped a few keys on his computer with the pecking movements of the typing challenged. ‘I don’t like your tone.’

‘And I don’t like being promised a budget to do a job and then having that vanish on me.’

‘I might be able to squeeze something out of the outreach fund. Five hundred pounds maximum.’

Which would probably mean some inner city school wouldn’t get their widening access visit.

‘Five hundred pounds won’t make much of an impact.’

‘Then seek sponsors. I’ve got a meeting.’ He flounced out. There was no meeting but he did like to have the last word in any argument.

Chapter 8
Leo

The initial report on the body had revealed the cause of death. Gunshot to the back of the head. Well, that would do it. The bullet was a 9mm which suggested a handgun, but as it was the most popular brand, that did not narrow it down very much. If Chernov had personal security, they might well have handguns using that caliber, or he might own one himself. It would be worth checking who had access to the house that had a license for firearms. That was if it were legally owned, of course, and there were records.

Unravelling the business relationships of Anatoly Chernov had taken all morning and still there was little clarity as to what exactly he provided the world. He appeared to have a lot of money and no clear way of generating it. Privatised state assets and sheltering of the ill-gotten gains of the men in power seemed to be the front-runners. His capital holdings were huge. In the UK alone, he had several other houses, a share in a business park, and a stake in a football club. Then there was the yacht, the plane, the villa in North Cyprus, property in the West Indies, Turkey, Georgia … too many to itemise. Leo doubted the man himself would’ve known everything he owned without consulting a list. If this murder turned out to be related to Chernov’s money dealings, then the suspects would be legion. When reached by phone, none of the UK holdings had heard from him, but apparently that was not unusual. He did his business through intermediaries.

And the oddest thing? That a man seemingly this big in his own world had not been reported missing by his loved ones. Most families would’ve been turning Oxford upside down if he’d last been seen here. Even the most impoverished family would’ve at least made a police report and done a public appeal on Facebook and in the media, but these cash-rich Russians had done nothing. How to account for that? That they wanted him dead or that they knew it wasn’t him. This was one more reason why Leo wasn’t going to sign off on it being Chernov until irrefutable proof was obtained, just in case. It seemed the territory of spy thriller, but perhaps it was a decoy in the garden, some poor guy used so that Chernov could conveniently declare himself dead to avoid some political heat back home?

‘I’ve got a match on the rings and watch,’ said Suyin, putting up on screen a photo taken from further back in the archive of images.

Anatoly was on a Black Sea beach, arm draped around wife number one. The signet ring and Rolex matched the ones now sitting in an evidence tray in forensics. There were words in Cyrillic that could help identify them as Chernov’s. They were getting those translated.

Leo checked his emails. Chernov’s lawyer was stalling, refusing to release dental records or ask family members to offer up DNA. He didn’t believe it was his client so came close to accusing Leo of police harassment with his repeated requests. It was unbelievable: they shouldn’t be seen as enemies over a simple identification. Leo’s superintendent had warned him to tread carefully. The Chernovs were reportedly great anglophiles and friends of highly placed people in government. That was all Leo needed: politics.

What he did need was some way into this slippery man’s life.

‘Suyin, can you send that hairbrush we found in the master bedroom to the lab? It’s not ideal but, if we assume it belongs to the owner, then we might get somewhere with identification.’

‘Will do, sir.’

‘Any news where wife number one lives?’ Leo asked. ‘Perhaps she’ll help us if she’s aggrieved enough at being dumped for wife number two.’

‘Good idea.’ Suyin did some more searches. ‘We’re in luck. She’s in the UK. I’ve got an address for her in London. Do you want me to reach out?’

‘Let’s go to her. Ask for an appointment tomorrow, if she’ll agree to see us.’

‘It’s Saturday tomorrow,’ Suyin said plaintively.

Leo just raised a brow.

‘OK, tomorrow.’

‘I’ll go on my own if you’ve plans.’

‘It’s OK, sir. Hopefully it won’t take all day.’

He, by contrast, would be very happy to be away the whole weekend. ‘I’ll leave you to sort that out while I drive into Oxford and see how the door-to-doors are going.’

***

He caught up with Trevor Kent and Constable Tina Sharp, as they turned the corner into Crick Road. Stopping the car, he got out.

‘Any progress?’

Trevor showed him the list they’d been working through on their door-to-door enquiries. ‘We’ve had replies at about seventy per cent of the addresses, which is pretty good. Everyone is very helpful but nobody saw anything. Nothing was heard last year that suggested gunfire and most people repeated that it was quiet around here and they would expect to have noticed something like that. The AI Institute next door was a bust as it’s new and none of the staff were here before July. None of them knew who was in that building earlier, though they think probably builders, refitting the place, so that might be worth checking.’

Could the builders have been involved somehow? wondered Leo. Some dispute that got out of hand? They would certainly have the tools for a burial.

‘The Hong Kong couple two doors away,’ continued Trevor, ‘didn’t speak much English, at least she didn’t. He spoke some but was very reserved. He’s a professor in the Mathematics department. Their children go to the same school as Chernov’s went to, but they’re much younger and so never mixed socially. They’ve never been inside the Chernov house.’

‘Where are the net curtain twitchers when you need them?’ said Leo.

‘There are some, sir,’ said Tina, taking over. She was a stocky woman with a lovely fruity laugh, generally popular in the squad as she always remembered everyone’s birthdays and made cakes. She’d even managed to discover Leo’s, which said much for her detective skills as he liked to keep these details to himself. ‘The Prices across the road. They keep an eye on everyone for that society they run and were able to tell us that Chernov has definitely not been seen at the property since autumn last year.’

‘Thanks. It sounds like I should go and have a word with them. Is Sergeant Boston around?’

‘He’s just popped over to a takeaway place in North Parade.’

‘Tell him to join me when he’s finished his break, would you?’

Leo decided to leave his car where it was and walk to the Prices’ house. It was similar in style to the Chernov property, the same brick and architectural flourishes, but they had a well-stocked garden, bird table and wellington boots in the porch. Lived in and orientated towards relaxed living, he immediately liked it.

The door was answered by a smart-looking man in later middle age. He had his greying hair slicked back from his forehead and striking pale blue eyes, reminiscent of Ralph Fiennes as James Bond’s M to Leo’s mind. His gaze was currently fixed on Leo with a wary but not unfriendly expression.

Leo held up his warrant card. ‘Mr Price? I know you spoke to some of my colleagues earlier. I have a few follow-up questions, if you don’t mind?’

Mr Price stood aside. ‘I take it you’re the big gun? They warned me you might come.’

‘I’d put myself at medium-sized howitzer. But I am in charge of the inquiry, for my sins.’

‘Come through to the kitchen. Meredith, another visitor!’

Leo noticed the RAF insignia on the photos that decorated the wall and deduced he was talking to a retired airman. Other pictures were of Oxford colleges and the iconic skyline of towers and spires, mixed in with some images of African wildlife. A large ebony mask with crossed spears hung over the entrance to the kitchen. He’d lay money on the man having spent some time stationed abroad.

‘I understand you and your wife are in charge of the North Oxford Protection Society?’

‘For our sins,’ echoed Mr Price. ‘Meredith, this is Inspector George. Meredith also works part-time at St Bede’s as – what do they call you, darling?’

Entering the kitchen, they found Mrs Price at the sink. She was a bit of a surprise; Leo had been expecting a female version of the husband, some pallid ash blonde in a twin set and pearls, the cliché of the senior officer’s wife. Instead, she had a sunny smile and vibrant print dress and head wrap that suggested to Leo she was from West Africa rather than the Caribbean. Her diamond engagement and wedding rings were of striking contemporary designs that slotted together. Matching gems twinkled in her ears.

‘Reading champion,’ she said, smiling.

‘Sounds fun,’ Leo said politely.

‘It is. I think that’s another name for assistant librarian. I also travel a couple of times a year to promote the school in Africa – a little perk I appreciate as it gets me back to see my family. International students are big business. Would you like coffee, or are you a tea person, Inspector?’ asked Meredith.

‘Coffee, thank you.’

She placed a bone china mug in front of him, leaving the sugar bowl and a little jug of milk for him to decide how he’d drink it.

‘I apologise for intruding again but my team reported that you were the most observant of the locals they’ve had a chance to meet,’ said Leo.

‘Unfortunately, I’m not sure that we were much help.’ Mr Price sat opposite Leo, his wife beside him. Sunshine fell across the table from the picture windows; these overlooked a beautiful garden to the rear with some jasmine in flower on a trellis screening the shed. ‘As I said to them, we’ve not seen Anatoly for months, possibly over a year. Isn’t that right, darling?’

‘We saw him a few times about fourteen months ago. You remember, Al, when he was trying to get us to agree to his ridiculous extension?’

‘Oh yes, I remember that – could hardly forget that planning hell he put us through. He wanted to excavate a garage underneath that lovely house of his – with a turntable for his Porsches or whatever.’ Mr Price shook his head in disgust. ‘He had no idea.’

Leo stirred some milk into his coffee. ‘No idea of what?’

‘The history of the area, of course!’ Mr Price got up and fetched a book from the dresser. It was a slim paperback account of the area, the sort privately published and sold in the local shops. Leo had seen them around the area but only now did he notice that ‘Alfred Price’ was named as the author of the volume that covered the streets from the University Parks to Summertown. ‘Anatoly’s house – Number Thirteen – was once lived in by one of the team that unravelled DNA,’ continued Mr Price, turning to the relevant page. ‘Just up the road was the house of one of the Oxford Movement – you know, the religious revival under Cardinal Newman? And the physicist Schrödinger, and writers Iris Murdoch and Tolkien, all lived only a few streets away. This place has an extraordinary history – and Chernov wanted to undermine it with a motor pool to show off overpriced vehicles as if this was Las Vegas or some such place with more money than taste! Well, at least we were able to block his first application. We just have to hope we scared him off!’

Leo didn’t comment that their neighbour might well be in no state to take on another planning dispute.

‘The news said you found a body in the garden,’ said Mrs Price, offering him a biscuit from a Christmas selection box. ‘Is it anything we should be worried about?’

He took a foil-wrapped one. ‘You mean, do I think there are any more victims, and that locals are in danger? It is hard to say anything at this early stage, but I think it highly unlikely. My team hasn’t found any others in the garden and this one has been there a while. The danger was probably over a year ago, if it existed at all for anyone else.’

‘Thank you.’ Mrs Price graced him with a smile. ‘I’ll sleep more easy tonight.’

‘And do you know who it is?’ asked Mr Price. ‘Do you think someone took advantage of the fact that the house stands empty most of the time? I can’t imagine it involving Anatoly. He was always such a friendly chap, despite his lamentable taste in home alterations. We always got on well when we chanced to meet. It had to be either before his time, or in his absence.’

That was interesting. This was the first person Leo had met who had nice words to say about his likely victim.

‘You got on well?’

‘You sound surprised, Inspector. But we shared a lot, considering how different our backgrounds were. He was ex-service, like me, which meant we found we had a fair amount in common. We saw the Cold War from the opposite sides of the Iron Curtain, me as a raw recruit, he as a teenage soldier.’ Price gestured to a picture on the dresser of some shiny-faced young officers lined up for their graduating class photo. ‘Lord, don’t we look young.’

‘Far more handsome than was good for you,’ teased Mrs Price.

‘Thank you, darling. We coincided, Anatoly and I. We discovered that he was stationed in Berlin in the Russian zone, when I was on the other side in the British – that was just as things fell apart for the Soviet system. He certainly benefited from that.’

‘Do you know how he managed that?’ asked Leo, finding this information very helpful to understand the enigma that was his possible victim.

‘As I understood it, well-placed father who grabbed the money for the family. Definitely not an ideologue, unless the power of money counts as a belief.’

‘Can you think of anyone who you know who would have cause to harm him?’

Price looked distressed for the first time during the interview. ‘Hang on, you mean … you don’t mean that you think it is him in the garden? I thought it was some stranger you’d unearthed?’

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘Good grief.’ He took his wife’s hand. ‘Sorry, I hadn’t picked up on that. I assumed it was someone not from around here.’

‘I can’t confirm that the body is Mr Chernov,’ Leo said carefully, ‘but it is something I’m having to consider. I can’t find anyone who has had contact with him for over a year. Have you?’

Mr Price looked surprised to be asked. ‘Me? No, we weren’t on those terms. Just friendly neighbourly kind of chat when we bumped into each other.’

‘And how did he take your opposition to his basement alterations?’

Mr Price chuckled grimly. ‘Oh, he knew all right that he faced a battle royal to get those through, but he was determined that money would talk. He hadn’t met our kind before. Oxford is run very differently to Russia.’

‘His daughters were such pretty girls,’ added Mrs Price. ‘I do hope it isn’t him, for their sake.’

‘And what about the son?’ asked Leo.

‘Alex? A different sort, that one. Hard. I didn’t like him,’ said Mrs Price.

Mr Price patted her hand. ‘He was fearfully rude to Meredith. Racially abusive about our marriage. I won’t stand for that and let him know it. Reported him to the school too. Anatoly was very apologetic, brought Alex round here to say sorry. You could see the boy hated it, very grudging with his apology. He gave me the chills. I almost regretted telling the school about it and I warned Meredith never to be alone with him.’

‘But we never saw the boy again once he left St Bede’s. He went off to America for university,’ she said.

Mr Price shook his head in disapproval. ‘Things came too easily to that boy. Spoiled him. Place bought by his father, no doubt.’

‘I don’t think having all that money did him any favours,’ agreed Mrs Price.

Leo was getting a good picture of the family dynamics. His best bet, if the ex-wife didn’t work out, would be to approach one of the daughters. They sounded easier nuts to crack than Alexei. ‘And can you tell me anything else about Mr Chernov that might help us with our enquiries, something that you haven’t yet mentioned?’

The two exchanged a look. There was something. Leo waited.

‘It’s probably nothing but it’s about that fence between his garden and the next. You can see it from our attic window,’ said Mr Price.

‘The broken panel?’

‘Yes. It’s been like that for years and it bothered me. I raised it with the agent who runs the property and she said there was a dispute with the neighbour on the other side as to who owned it. Normally, she would just get it fixed – a man of Chernov’s wealth would hardly notice the cost – but it was a point of principle for him.’

‘How can it be? He barely lived here by all accounts.’

Mr Price pointed a shortbread finger at him. ‘My thoughts exactly. So I asked.’ He took a bite and washed it down with some coffee. ‘Apparently Anatoly and the man from the house in Howell Street were longstanding rivals from back home. By this she must’ve meant Russia, I suppose. The Howell Street man is from those parts.’

‘Uzbekistan actually,’ corrected Leo.

He nodded. ‘That’s what I meant. Former Soviet Union. They’re all tied up together still, believe me. You can’t shake off nearly a century of central control so easily. In any case, Anatoly and that Uzbek, what’s his name?’

‘Akmal Gulom,’ said Leo.

‘Maybe I did know that?’ Mr Price looked to his wife.

‘Planning consent,’ she said. ‘Swimming pool.’

‘Oh lord, yes, that awful extension. Anyway, according to Anatoly, he and Gulom had had dealings that went sour much more recently and were sworn enemies. The irony was they ended up living side by side, probably unaware they would share a boundary, all because they both had children at St Bede’s. It’s very popular with the Russian elite and there’s more than a little politics going on among the parents.’

‘Better than any soap,’ supplied Mrs Price. ‘I help out in the library and the tales the staff tell would make your hair curl. Bodyguards at parents’ evening!’

‘He probably had no idea how small this part of Oxford is – how likely it would be he’d be forced into proximity with his rival. I mean, you don’t give much thought to who lives at the end of your garden, do you? It’s the next-door neighbours who seem to matter most and they would’ve seemed innocuous.’

‘Did you ever see Mr Chernov in the company of Mr Gulom?’

Mrs Price hissed between her teeth, like she’d touched something cold. ‘Only once recently at the school. At the St Bede’s summer barbecue a few years back. I told you I could feel the tension, didn’t I, Al?’

‘You did. No love lost between those two.’

‘There was some Romeo and Juliet element too. All very tragic. Their children were friendly and the fathers disapproved.’

So a personal as well as business rivalry. There were plenty of motives there for murder. Leo stood up as the front door bell went. ‘Thank you. That will be my sergeant. I won’t take up any more of your time.’

He collected Harry on his way out. His sergeant was finishing his deli sandwich on the doorstep and was still wiping his hands on a napkin. He smelt strongly of fried onions.

‘New lead,’ Leo said briskly as he began a text to Jess. ‘Chernov’s enemy lived at the bottom of the garden.’

‘You mean the house where the naked chick lives?’ Harry brushed crumbs from his tie.

‘I mean the house where Miss Bridges is house-sitting, yes.’

‘Good-oh. She’s always game for a laugh, that one.’

‘You’ll be respectful.’

‘With her? She don’t need that. She’s got my number, just as I have hers.’

It took Leo a little longer than he cared to admit to realise that Harry was talking figuratively. ‘I regard her as a friend.’

Harry just huffed at that.

‘And if she lets us in to search, we can avoid the complications of a warrant.’ Chernov’s lawyer was already questioning their right to be inside the house yesterday, despite the presence of a warrant and, oh yes, a dead body in the garden. ‘Let’s see if we can find the tools that dug that grave next door.’

Chapter 9
Jess

‘When shall we three meet again,’ I said dramatically as I opened the door to Leo and Harry.

‘Hello, Jess. Thanks for making time for us,’ said Leo. ‘I hope it didn’t cause any trouble at work?’

‘No, my boss is a peach.’

The two policemen came inside. Flossie came to greet them, nether regions doing a full shake of pleasure. A tail wag was not enough for my spaniel.

‘Is it OK for the rest of the team to look through the garden and outbuildings?’ Leo asked.

‘I’ll open the side gate for them.’ I took a keyring from the hook inside the pantry. ‘They’ll need this to get into the shed.’ I waved at the three-person team waiting in the drive. ‘Hi, guys.’

‘Has anyone else used these tools?’ asked a silver-haired man in a boiler suit.

‘Just the old house-sitter and me.’ That last was a little bit of a lie. Sure, I’d looked at them but I’d not taken them out for a spin.

‘What’s the name of the previous house-sitter?’ asked Leo.

‘Ben Major. He’s gone back to New Zealand to raise vines and make wine. He liked gardening.’

‘Got a contact for him?’

‘Yeah, somewhere. I’ll give it to you.’

Leaving the team to get on with their search, we returned to the kitchen.

‘So you have a dead guy?’ I asked bluntly.

‘We always have dead guys,’ said Harry. ‘Can’t get enough of them. Would you show me where the home office is, love?’

‘Oh, I’m not sure I should …’ What was the right thing here? Could I be jeopardising my job if Mr Gulom discovered I let the police into his private papers? But then, as far as I knew (and I had looked), he didn’t keep much here, this being more of a weekend retreat kind of place.

‘We can get a warrant if you prefer?’ asked Leo.

‘No, no, it’s fine. Just try not to land me in trouble, please?’

‘If we find anything, it won’t be you in trouble, Jess,’ said Harry.

I showed him the study that looked out over the garden. ‘Make yourself at home. The household papers are in that filing cabinet. It’s not locked. I don’t think there’s much else here – just the plans of the building work they did, school newsletters, that kind of thing.’ I’d had a good look myself, being insatiably curious.

‘Any firearms kept on the premises?’ asked Leo.

‘None that I’ve seen but maybe there’s a hidden safe or something?’

‘Will you give me the tour?’ Leo was checking all of the family photos as we moved around the house. ‘This one is Gulom?’

‘Yep. There’s a really cheesy one of him over the fireplace in the drawing room if you want the full splendour of my employer.’ I took him into the oak panelled room in which I had great fun reading Victorian novels in front of a crackling fire. Over the mantlepiece was what I thought a terrible oil painting of Akmal in desert robes, a sub Lawrence of Arabia look. He had heavy brows and a hawkish nose. A bird of prey sat on his gauntlet. ‘You’d think he was a Bedouin or Arab prince, wouldn’t you, but he’s a diamond trader.’

Leo stood contemplating the portrait. ‘Is he married?’

‘Turn around.’

On the other wall was the wife as sultana. She was pictured reclining on a couch with a leopard stretched at her feet. She was draped in diamonds, including a yellow one in her naval.

‘Words fail.’

I had to laugh at his expression. ‘I think they’re fun. Maybe this is like their sexual fantasy life?’

‘I now dread to ask: children?’

‘There were two, according to Ben, the house-sitter before me. He had to move out sometimes during the school terms when the parents came to visit their kids at St Bede’s. That was until the girl died in a car accident on the A34 – real shock to everyone – and they took the son out of school. They’ve not been back since. Sad, isn’t it?’ I picked up a school photo of Fatima, smiling out of the frame with that heart-breaking expectation of a full life. I guessed she was about fourteen in this one. There were none of her in the house after her eighteenth birthday.

‘Pretty girl.’ Leo took it from me.

‘Beautiful.’

‘I think I remember the case.’ He replaced it exactly in the spot I’d taken it from. ‘She wasn’t the only casualty but the driver survived. Another passenger was badly injured. Fatima and another girl sitting in the back were killed. A lorry driver was jailed for causing it. He was proved to have been using his mobile and ploughed into their vehicle which was waiting in a queue to leave at the Botley interchange.’

‘I don’t blame them for not coming back here. I’d sell up and try to put it behind me if I were them.’

‘So why haven’t they?’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe waiting for an uplift in the market? Things have been pretty stagnant for the multi-million pound home since Brexit. Or so I’m told by the neighbours. Let me show you around.’

I led him through the upper floors with the multiplicity of en suite bedrooms. ‘I’ve actually worked out that there are more bathrooms than bedrooms. Don’t you find that weird? I mean, how many do you have?’

‘Just one. I wish I had more.’ He poked his head into one that had gold fittings and quickly withdrew.

‘You should borrow one of these. They wouldn’t notice.’ I opened the door to show them the lost child’s bedroom, a princess chamber of canopied bed, sugar-pink walls and white furniture. A calendar from the year she died still hung on the wall. ‘This one is Fatima’s. It’s exactly as she left it, clothes still hanging in the wardrobe. I find it sad.’ I led him up a winding stair and threw open the door onto my chaos. ‘Ta-dah, the Jessica bower. Also known as the house-sitter hovel.’ I leant a little closer. ‘It isn’t en suite, but as I’m the only person here I can have a bath in a different one each day of the week.’

Leo’s eyes snagged on my lingerie which was currently draped over the radiator.

‘Oops. Maybe I should’ve tidied up?’

He just smiled and shook his head.

‘If you really want to understand this house though, you’ve got to come down to the basement with me.’ I reversed course and took him down two flights of stairs. ‘Looking at this house with the spooky mansion vibe, I bet you’re thinking that it’ll be cobwebs and the mouldering remains in coffins, but …’ I switched on the light to reveal the still, blue expanse of the underground swimming pool. ‘I have to admit this is the best perk of the job. Technically, I’m not really supposed to swim here alone – something about insurance – but I confess I take no notice of that.’

‘How could you resist?’ He knelt and felt the water.

‘Is that a glint of envy in your eyes, Inspector? I’ve been told this is Gulom’s precious.’ I waited for him to get my joke. ‘Gulom? Gollum? Oh, never mind. What I mean is the last house-sitter said Mr Gulom had a huge battle with planners to get this built. The locals were up in arms. But it’s done now and you can’t see it from the outside so all that’s subsided. He’s been forgiven a lot for having a decent garden, unlike the one you dug up.’

‘Not personally.’ He let his fingers play in the water. ‘I didn’t take the spade to it myself.’

I glanced over my shoulder to the stairs back up. ‘Wanna strip off and dive in? I won’t tell anyone.’ In fact, I’d probably join him.

‘Sorry. Another time, maybe, I’ll come for a swim. After all, I can’t have you invalidating your insurance by leaving you to swim alone. Jess …’ He looked down. There were some cracked tiles that moved a little under his feet.

‘That wasn’t me. Shoddy craftsmanship – or my predecessor had a really wild party. I’ve reported it to the agency but they’ve not responded.’

‘Ah. About that. We think Glass Tower might’ve gone out of business.’

‘What? Couldn’t you have led with that? Jesus, I’m owed a month’s salary.’ I raced upstairs to find my phone to dial Heather. It rang out.

Leo joined me in the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry. We can’t find anyone still working for the agency and the listing at Companies House is also out of date. But, on the bright side, they didn’t own this house; it belongs to Mr Gulom. If you can contact him, then maybe he’ll pay you directly?’

‘Or maybe the agency has done a midnight flit with my pay?’

‘Do you know how to contact him?’

I dug my fingers into my hair and squeezed. ‘No, but there has to be a way.’

‘I’m looking for him too.’

‘Why?’

‘He and Chernov were business rivals apparently.’

‘And you’re wondering who hated Chernov enough to plant him in his garden?’

‘If the victim is him. I’ve still not got an ID on the body.’

‘But you believe it is?’

‘Signs are pointing that way.’

I looked for missing people for a living. How difficult would it be to find a stupendously rich guy who was also possibly on the run if he was responsible for a dead man next door? Probably more than for the ordinary runaway who didn’t have bottomless coffers to fund their escape.

‘Let me know if you find him, won’t you?’ I asked.

‘Same here. That’s one of the tasks I’ve set Harry, to see if there are other addresses on the correspondence.’

I perched on the edge of the kitchen table and tapped the phone against my mouth. ‘You know who would have another number?’

‘No, who?’

‘The school. If the Guloms weren’t in residence full-time, they had to have left an emergency contact number.’

‘Jess, you’re brilliant! The same would apply to the Chernovs too.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s four already.’

‘It’s a private school. Longer hours. If you go now, I bet you’ll still find people there.’

He moved closer to say goodbye. I made the move into a hug and was pleased when he held it for a second and squeezed me tighter. All my old attraction to him came zinging back. To be honest, it hadn’t gone very far. ‘Thank you, Jess. We still need that talk.’

‘Yes, we do. But go. You don’t have long.’

‘I’ll leave Harry and the team with you. Will you still be here when I get back?’

‘Not going anywhere, Inspector. I live here, remember?’

With a nod, he was out of the door and driving away.

I should’ve told him that on a Friday evening around school pick-up time, it would be quicker to walk.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.