Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(57)

“I like how my name looks in fancy silver embossed writing,” said Tristan, turning the card over. Kate had worried he might object to being “Assistant Private Investigator” to her “Private Investigator,” and she was relieved to see all was good.

“I think the best thing is that we’re honest. We say we’re investigating the disappearance of another young woman, which we are, and we think there could be some crossover,” said Kate.

The house belonging to Tammy and Wayne Smith was at the top of a row of terraces that snaked up the side of a steep hill. Kate could find a parking space only at the bottom.

They arrived at the front door a little breathless after the steep climb, and Kate wanted a moment to compose herself, but the front door was pulled open, and a thin woman with dark circles under her eyes came out carrying a black bag of rubbish.

“Yes?” she asked. “If you’re Jehovah’s Witnesses, you can piss off. I’m not in the mood. The last copy of the Watchtower I got through my letter box was put down in the cat litter tray.” She walked past them and went to the black bin by the gate.

Kate explained who they were, and they showed their business cards.

The woman looked them up and down, taking in Kate’s casual jeans and sweater with a long coat and Tristan’s bright red-and-blue jacket, jeans, and green trainers.

“You’re not press?”

“No,” said Kate.

“Come in,” said Tammy.

The house inside was cheaply furnished but cozy. The cluttered front room was filled with a sagging sofa, armchairs, and a huge flat-screen television, which was showing an afternoon cooking program where a bespectacled chef was carving a lattice into a leg of lamb with great enthusiasm.

A man who Kate recognized as Wayne from the news report sat in an armchair wearing a grubby dressing gown and staring listlessly at the TV. Tammy explained who they were, and he looked up at them blearily. Kate instantly saw he was drunk.

“This is Ruby, our other . . . Our daughter,” said Tammy. A thin, sad-looking girl who looked to be seven or eight years old sat next to the television brushing the hair of a pink My Little Pony. Tristan and Kate said hello and sat down on the sofa. Tammy took the other free armchair.

Kate noted that Wayne and Tammy were both heavy smokers. They both lit up cigarettes, and there was an overflowing ashtray on the coffee table. Kate couldn’t help judging them, though, as they puffed away in the presence of Ruby, who came to sit on the side of Tammy’s armchair. She was a sweet little pale-faced girl, with shoulder-length white-blonde hair parted to the left above her ear. Even though she wore a faded pink tracksuit, the way she wore her hair gave her a seriousness beyond her years.

“What do you want to know?” asked Tammy.

“When did you know Kaisha was missing?” asked Kate.

“Me and Wayne work shifts in a garden center warehouse,” started Tammy. “We was both working on the day Kaisha went missing. She was due to pick up Ruby from school.” She took a drag of her cigarette. Her face was bloodless, and she had huge dark circles under her eyes. Wayne, equally pale, with a bulldog set to his mouth, nodded along grimly, staring at the gas fire glowing in the corner of the room.

“Kaisha was happy at school?” asked Kate. The use of the past tense must have been a shock to Tammy and Wayne. They both looked like they’d been punched.

“She was,” said Wayne. He rubbed at his unshaven face. He wore several gold rings, and Kate saw “LOVE” tattooed on the fingers of one hand and “HATE” on the other. “She’s . . . She was at Hartford School doing A levels: maths and science. We don’t know where she got the brains from . . . ,” he slurred, his voice trailing off, and he looked up at Tristan, desperation on his face.

“She went missing on her way home from school?”

“Yeah. She had to pick up Ruby, most days,” said Tammy. “Kaisha gets the bus to school and back, and Ruby’s primary school is only down the road.”

“How long is the walk from school to the bus stop?”

“She goes from the school playing field and gets the number sixty-four bus, which comes to the bottom of the road.”

“She does sports on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” said Ruby, speaking for the first time.

Kate smiled down at her. “What kind of sports?”

Ruby cuddled up to Tammy, who moved the glowing tip of her cigarette to the other hand and lifted her up onto the arm of the sofa.

“Hockey. She was really good. She was on the under-eighteens team.”

“I didn’t like her playing,” said Wayne, grimacing and looking down at his feet. “It’s not ladylike. I know I’m not supposed to say that, but fuck it, there’s blokes who go and watch them girls practice. I seen them lining up at the fence, peering through,” he said, his voice rising an octave with emotion.

“Is it a private school?” asked Tristan.

“Yeah. She had a scholarship. Case you’re confused,” said Wayne, glaring.

“Did Kaisha mention a new friend? A boyfriend from school? Or someone older?” asked Kate.

“There was no boys. I used to wish there was,” said Wayne. Tammy shot him a look.

“Oh, did Kaisha have a girlfriend?”

“No, she fucking didn’t,” said Wayne. Kate could see he was becoming more alert and angry.