Child's Play (D.I. Kim Stone #11)(16)

‘Bloody hate these places,’ Bryant moaned as they approached the front door. ‘Had an aunt that lived in something similar, too many stairs and weird layouts normally.’

Kim ignored him and knocked the door.

‘I mean who wants a bedroom beneath the kitchen or a—’

‘Good evening, officers,’ Veronica said, opening the door. There was no surprise in her tone at seeing them there.

She’d changed into smart jeans and a V-neck tee shirt with a rose embroidered over a chest pocket. Her hair had been let down and her feet were encased in flat deck shoes.

Unlike either of Belinda’s homes, a warm aroma, musky but not cloying, reached out and welcomed them in.

‘Please, go up,’ she said, pointing to the staircase that ran alongside the double garage. ‘My office is on the first floor.’

Only Kim heard Bryant’s tut as they took to the stairs.

The first landing opened up into what Kim guessed was more than a study.

The space immediately beckoned you in with its warm mix of period furniture. A vintage mahogany desk that caught the light from the south-facing window. A comfortable chair before the fireplace, mismatched cushions that looked worn but homely. An entire wall given to leather-bound books. Another wall with old framed movie prints. Glass jars spaced around the room containing liquid and wooden sticks. Her own attempts at keeping the air fresh in her own home was a few squirts of Neutradol and an apple-scented plug-in.

But this was a room that wasn’t trying to be anything except a comfortable space in which to spend time.

‘My favourite room in the house,’ the woman said, stepping in behind them. ‘I spend most of my time here,’ she said, crossing the room to open a door that led into a bright modern kitchen that was completely at odds with the space in which they stood.

‘May I get you anything to?…’

‘We’re fine, thank you,’ Kim said.

Veronica closed the door and pointed to the comfy chairs in front of the fireplace.

She took the left giving only one of them the opportunity to sit down. Taking the only remaining chair behind the desk would have been too familiar, intrusive.

Bryant moved towards the book wall as Kim found herself wondering if the two sisters had spent time together sat here bathed in the firelight as they sipped a glass of wine.

‘How may I help, officer?’ Veronica asked, crossing her legs at the ankles and folding her hands neatly into her lap.

Kim suspected the sisters had not sat side by side enjoying the space, given what Veronica had already told them about the relationship, which brought Kim to her first question.

‘Miss Evans…’

‘Veronica,’ she corrected quickly.

‘My apologies. You told us earlier that the relationship between—’

‘Please be careful with those, officer. Many are First Editions,’ Veronica said, without turning her head towards the sergeant.

Bryant stepped away from the book wall like a scolded child. Kim again marvelled that they appeared to have found someone that related to her more than they did to her colleague.

‘You told us that the two of you weren’t very close.’

Veronica’s mouth lifted in something short of a smile. ‘That’s not exactly what I said but it’s near enough.’

Yes, Veronica had said that the two of them couldn’t stand the sight of each other.

‘And yet you spoke to each other countless times every day, judging by her phone records.’

‘Absolutely we did,’ Veronica answered. ‘We are sisters.’

‘But you didn’t like each other?’

‘Correct again, officer, but I fail to see your point.’

Which was unbelievable for a smart, educated woman.

‘My point, Veronica, is that siblings who don’t get along tend to go their separate ways and choose to have as little contact as possible,’ she said. They don’t dress similarly, drive the same car, live within a few minutes’ walk of each other and speak twenty times a day on the phone, is what she wanted to say.

‘Each other was all we had left after our parents died.’

‘Did that bring you closer?’ Kim asked, trying to understand.

‘Not at all. Our childhood dictated that we would never be close.’

‘Could you explain why?’

‘Absolutely not, as it has no bearing on the case and will not assist you in the slightest.’

‘How can you be so sure of that; would you not want to do everything possible to help us catch the person that did this to your sister?’ Kim asked.

‘If I thought events from half a century ago were connected to her murder, I would share them but they are not.’

The mild curiosity in Kim’s stomach was now developing into a raging need to know what had existed between these women, and she would be the judge of what would help move the case forward.

‘Veronica, I really—’

‘Officer, your only interest in me should be where I was at the time of Belinda’s death, which is what I assumed to be the purpose of your visit and why I invited you into my home. I was here at my desk on a Skype call to the editor of the Daily Telegraph, which can easily be verified in a single phone call. Once you have established that our business is concluded.’