Sweet Little Lies (Cat Kinsella #1)(89)

‘No, but then she knows not to call when I’m holidaying with a client. They tend to want the full “girlfriend experience” and they don’t appreciate your phone going off every two seconds. It rather reminds them of what you are.’ She pauses, pouting. ‘Saskia could be away with a client I suppose?’

I shake my head. ‘She said she was going to her parents. I don’t suppose you know their address, or have a contact number?’

Her lip curls slightly. I’m not sure if it’s the bin-bag or the question. ‘Her parents? As far as I’m aware she never knew her father and her mother died well over a year ago. She was very distressed about it even though they hadn’t spoken in years.’

OK.

I relieve her of the bin-bag, offer to ferry it down the six flights. There’s no thank you, just a tight smile that suggests I’m probably better suited to the chore anyway. On my way down, I put a call in to HQ and get a message to Steele, through Renée, that it looks like there’s no parents in Somerset, or any other rural cider-drinking county for that matter, and therefore we have the very real possibility that Saskia French has done a bunk. Then I call Parnell who I tell the exact same thing.

Parnell tells me, as best he can in his semi-anaesthetised state, that he’s just jumping in the car and he’ll be as quick as he can.

*

When I walk back into the flat, the hall light’s now on and Naomi’s bent over a small puddle of water, holding a dustpan and brush awkwardly, like she’s not quite sure how to use it. A cylindrical vase lies on its side and small shards of broken glass are scattered around a few limp gerberas – once a cheerful yellow, now heading towards a murky light brown.

I address the top of her head. ‘Accident?’

‘No, I only just noticed it when I switched the light on. That table’s a bit crooked as well.’ She looks up. ‘This is odd. Saskia’s usually quite tidy. I’m surprised she’d leave behind a mess like this.’

So she left in a hurry, of her own accord or someone else’s.

‘Look, leave that, Naomi. Don’t touch anything.’ I gesture towards the living room. ‘Can we sit down? I need to ask you a few more questions.’

She thinks about this for a minute and I play along, allowing the pretence that she actually has a choice. Eventually she shrugs, pushes past me. ‘OK, I can’t imagine how I’ll help but if you must.’

I take the sofa – chic, angular, uncomfortable, like the sofa in Dr Allen’s waiting room. Naomi stays standing, leaning lightly against the windowsill. The low midday sun frames her beautifully and if it wasn’t for her jetlag eye-bags and completely flat expression, I’d say she almost looks celestial.

‘Did you ever hear Maryanne or Saskia say they were scared of anyone?’

‘No. But as I explained, I didn’t hear Maryanne say very much at all.’

I get specific, eyes primed for the slightest reaction. ‘Do you know Nate Hicks?’

The name doesn’t faze her. ‘I know who he is. I don’t know him personally.’

‘Did you ever see him with Maryanne?’

A languid shake of the head. ‘No.’

‘Have you ever seen him here?’

‘Not in a long time, but then I’m only here a few times a week.’

‘What about his wife, Gina Hicks?’

Her face stays blank, unreadable. ‘No.’

‘Did you know Saskia was having a relationship with Nate Hicks?’

Her head tilts. ‘You mean he’s a client?’

‘Well, it was a bit more than that. They were having an affair, a relationship. In Saskia’s mind anyway.’

She seems to find this amusing and lets out a deep gravelly laugh that doesn’t quite match the la-di-da accent she obviously works hard to maintain. ‘That’s an absurd idea,’ she says, recovering quickly. ‘A client maybe, but a lover?’ Her brown eyes sparkle as she says the word. ‘Saskia likes them young, skinny and arty. I don’t think I’ve ever known her date anyone over the age of twenty-five and the Hicks chap must be in his mid-forties at least?’

‘Saskia confirmed it,’ I say.

‘Well, that surprises me.’ She concedes quickly, too disinterested to argue the toss. ‘Why are you asking about him anyway? Has he got something to do with what happened to Maryanne?’

There’s a boredom to her voice that I find refreshing. A complete lack of emotional investment which means she’s less likely to lie, unlike every other person involved in this case.

On this basis, I decide to make her my trusty assistant.

‘I need to make a quick call,’ I say. ‘Can you see if there’s anything obvious missing from Saskia’s room? Do you know where she keeps her passport, for example?’

She looks unsure. ‘Well .?.?. I .?.?. I’m not really sure Saskia would be comfortable with me going through her things. I .?.?.’

‘Naomi, she’s been out of contact for nearly a week and she’s been sharing a flat with a woman who was murdered. We’re extremely worried about her, as I’m sure you are.’

I’m sure she’s nothing of the sort but she has the good grace to pretend at least, nodding solemnly and heading towards Saskia’s bedroom, if not exactly at a worried pace.