Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(43)

“She chose somewhere expensive,” said Tristan when they’d been seated in the smart restaurant next to a huge glass window looking down at the teeming food court below. “It would be much cheaper down there.”

“We couldn’t have a decent conversation at the food court,” said Kate. “This is good. Quiet.”

“Jeez. Fourteen quid for a glass of red wine!” Tristan whistled. “Do you want me to hide the wine list?”

“No. The aim of this meeting is to get information,” said Kate.

“Do you want to get her tanked up on booze, in case she talks more?”

Tristan was for the most part a mature young man, but there were occasional flashes of a twenty-one-year-old.

“We need to make her feel relaxed and see what happens,” said Kate.

Just then a large lady wearing a bright floral dress was brought to their table by the waiter. She had an immaculate bob of brown hair, dramatic smoky eye makeup, and designer shades on her head.

“Hello? Kate and Tristan?” she asked. “I’m Victoria.” She was very well spoken and confident. They got up and shook hands.

“Is it Vicky or Victoria?” asked Kate when they were seated again.

“I haven’t been Vicky since school,” she said, pouring olive oil onto her side plate, adding a dot of balsamic vinegar, and mopping it up with one of the bread rolls the waiter had brought over in a woven basket. They made a little small talk and ordered. Kate could see Tristan was relieved Victoria didn’t order champagne—sticking to tonic water. Tristan and Kate had the same.

“So the mystery of Caitlyn Murray?” she said after the waiter delivered their drinks.

“You said in your messages with Tristan that you’d expected to get a call about her from a private investigator?” asked Kate.

“Well, perhaps I was being a little overdramatic . . . Only because the police at the time did so little. They didn’t seem to talk to anyone. They came in a few days after she’d vanished and told us that a police officer would be in school all that day in case any of us had anything to tell them . . . I don’t know how many of the girls went to talk to them.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Yes, I told them the little that I knew, but I never heard from them again,” she said, grabbing another bread roll and tearing it in two. There was something off about the way she answered. Was it guilt? thought Kate.

“You worked with Caitlyn at your father’s video shop?” asked Tristan.

“One of six video shops, thank you very much. Daddy was the north of England’s top franchisee.”

“Did Caitlyn have a boyfriend?”

“No one special,” she said. “There were a few suitors in the mix. Like any young girl of sixteen, she was quite the little shagger.”

A look passed between Kate and Tristan.

“She had several boyfriends?” asked Kate.

“No one serious. There was a lad who delivered soft drinks to the newsagent next door . . . A delicious blond with a washboard stomach, very Abercrombie & Fitch. We were both guilty of sleeping with him . . . He looked a bit like you,” said Victoria, fixing Tristan with a beady stare. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and poured himself more water. She had the breezy confidence of someone from the upper class.

“Can I ask where Caitlyn met with this delivery lad?” asked Kate.

“He delivered drinks and popcorn to the video shop. One lunchtime, when Caitlyn went out for some food, he was all flirty. I was a thin slip of a girl back then, with tits like rocks. It was all over in ten minutes but rather fun . . . A couple of weeks later, I came back early from lunch to find Caitlyn and him at it in the same place . . . Up until then I’d thought she was a little prim and frigid, but we bonded over the sexy delivery lad.”

“Are you sure you’re happy to talk about this?” asked Kate, who was surprised the conversation had taken on such a confessional tone before the first course had even arrived.

Victoria waved it away with her third bread roll. “Of course. Although I seem to be making young Tristan uncomfortable.”

“No. I’m good,” he said, trying to hide his annoyance. He looked pleased when the food arrived. Kate and Victoria had ordered the spaghetti carbonara, and Tristan the macaroni and cheese with a bread-crumb crust.

“This is scrumptious,” said Victoria as they tucked into their food. Kate was finding her difficult to read. Everything seemed so breezy and confident and jolly hockey sticks.

“There’s one thing about Caitlyn’s disappearance that is really troubling us,” said Kate. She went on to tell her that Megan Hibbert had seen a man picking up Caitlyn from the youth club in a brand-new Rover.

“Well, I never went to this Carter’s youth club,” said Victoria through a large mouthful of spaghetti. “I remember the three scholarship girls talking about it—Wendy, Megan, and Caitlyn. The youth club sounds ghastly, but that was probably Paul who picked her up.”

Kate felt Tristan’s knee press against hers under the table.

“I’m sorry. Paul? Paul who?” asked Kate.

“Paul Adler. He was a police officer for a couple of years, a very good one, too, but he was attacked on the beat one night—two thugs with a knife jumped him, and he lost an eye . . . He had a glass eye made, a very good one. It almost exactly matches his real one.”