The Other Side of the Door by Nicci French (13 ebook reader .TXT) 📗

him through a friend. I can’t believe this has happened.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ said DI Wade. ‘This must be difficult for you. But you could be a great help in catching whoever’s done this.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Can I make you some tea or coffee?’

They said yes and I was able to bustle around the kitchen and collect my thoughts. I came back with a tray of coffee and biscuits. I got my address book and my mobile phone and my laptop and I read out a few phone numbers, addresses and email addresses of people who knew or might know Hayden, or know someone who had known him, and DI Wade laboriously copied them onto two sheets of paper. It was all very low tech.

‘Tell me about him,’ said DI Wallis, after the list was complete.

‘Tell you what?’

‘Anything you like.’

I gave an abbreviated and highly edited version of how I’d met Hayden, how he’d played with us, how I’d met some of his friends. So slowly and laboriously that I almost wanted to help her, DI Wallis leafed through the file page by page until she seemed to find what she wanted. ‘My colleague talked to you,’ she said.

‘Becky something.’

‘PC Horton. And you told her you didn’t really know his friends?’ She looked up at me. ‘Is that right?’

I felt my face getting hot. Was I blushing? Police officers can probably tell when you’ve got things to conceal. ‘I met some other people he’d played with. I don’t know if they were his friends exactly.’

‘What can you tell us about his personal life?’ said DI Wade.

‘I don’t know what you mean by that,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t really someone who divided his life into compartments. He played music, he hung out, that was basically it.’

‘I mean, was he in a relationship?’

‘I don’t think he was someone who had steady, permanent relationships, if that’s what you mean.’

‘So he didn’t have a girlfriend?’

‘Not that I knew of,’ I said, which was true, or not exactly a lie. I wouldn’t ever have described myself as his girlfriend.

‘Can you think of anyone who could have done this?’ said DI Wade.

‘When you talk to people, you’re going to find out that Hayden had a gift for rubbing them up the wrong way. He could be charming and he could be . . . well, difficult.’

‘Did you find him difficult?’

‘I think pretty much everybody did. He wasn’t malicious, but he took what he wanted from people and moved on. He pissed quite a few people off. As you’ll discover.’

‘This wasn’t just pissing someone off,’ said DI Wade. ‘Somebody battered him to death and they went to a lot of trouble to dispose of the body.’

‘That’s what I’ve been thinking,’ I said. ‘I can’t make sense of it.’

‘Did he have money problems?’ asked DI Wallis.

‘Of course he did,’ I said. ‘He was a musician. All musicians are basically broke. Except for Sting and Phil Collins.’

‘Was it a source of conflict?’

‘A couple of the names I’ve given you are people he used to play with. As far as I know, they had a bit of a bust-up over some money. They’ll tell you about it.’

‘A serious bust-up?’

‘It’s the kind of thing all bands go through. It’s always about the money—it doesn’t arrive or it goes to the wrong person or gets frittered away. But it was just the normal unpleasant band stuff. This wasn’t the Mafia. It wasn’t worth killing him over.’

‘You wouldn’t believe what people would kill over,’ said DI Wade. ‘It doesn’t generally seem worth it.’

‘It’s such a waste,’ I said, into the pause.

DI Wallis flicked through her notes as if she was looking for something. Then she raised her eyes towards me. ‘Did you like him?’ she said.

‘Like?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Did you like him?’

I was completely floored by that simple question. ‘That doesn’t seem the right word for someone like Hayden,’ I said. ‘It sounds too normal.’ I felt I’d said too much. I’d got too close to telling the truth.

AT LAST I rang Sally, dreading the conversation, but Richard answered. He said she and Lola had gone to stay with her mother for a while. When I asked when she’d be back, he said he didn’t know. His voice was heavy. Even listening to it made me feel wretched. I knew why Sally had gone and presumably he knew that I knew, but neither of us said anything.

I called Sally on her mobile but only got her voicemail. I left a message saying that if she needed to speak to me, I was there. It was the least I could do.

Before

That evening, back from the seaside, we lay in Liza’s bed together, our skin burned by the sun. Drowsily we kissed and made love and lay entangled with each other, and I half slept and when I woke he was there, looking at me. Maybe it didn’t matter how long this went on. It was the summer. What happened in the summer was like a dream, cut off from before and after, obeying its own impossible rules. I could lose myself in this until September, when work and real life began.

After

I made my way through the market at Camden Lock, pushing through the cartoon-style punks with their huge Mohicans, past the Goths and the tourists. Nat’s instructions turned out not to be very accurate and it took me some time to find the meeting-place. When I got there, I couldn’t see him at first. Eventually I caught sight of him some distance away. He was leaning on a bollard near the canal. As I approached, I saw that Jan was with him, bent over slightly, the way tall people often are, as if they’ve spent too much of their lives avoiding low ceilings.

‘Where have you been?’ Nat said.

‘I’m sorry. Some people arrived just as I was leaving. Police.’

‘Jesus,’ said Nat.

‘Why did you want to see me? Was there a reason?’

‘A friend of ours has just been pulled out of a reservoir,’ said Nat. ‘I’d call