This Dark Place: A Detective Kelly Moore Novel Page 3

  Donaghue stopped. “Everyone knows everyone here,” he said. “Everyone knows everyone all too well.”

  5

  The projection booth was at the end of a long windowless hallway on the second floor that curved around to the other end of the building. The room was a jumble of wires and lighting rigs, metal boxes and film canisters. Two projectors—a clunky old one, sprocketed for film, and a boxy new one for digital video—pointed out the narrow horizontal glass window overlooking the theater. The only chair in the room was occupied by a young man with a boyish doughy face, dirty blonde hair, and a gray complexion. He wore a leather motorcycle jacket despite the close atmosphere, and he smiled wanly at the visitors as he leaned back, tipping his chair precariously.

  “Gawdon Bennett! Watcha cock, Donaghue?”

  Kelly stared at the mealy mouth that pronounced these indecipherable words. She looked sideways with a questioning look at Donaghue, who sighed dramatically.

  “Roane Davies,” he said. “Meet Detective Chief Inspector Dunne of the London Metropolitan Police, and Detective Kelly Moore of the New York Police Department.”

  Roane didn’t move. “Aiight,” he nodded. “I been sat on me Jack Jones waitin’ on ye for quite some time. Was thinking ’bout grabbing me tifter and going for a ball.”

  Kelly watched as Dunne leaned in close to the kid.

  “Look, you little snot,” he said. “We’ve read your file and know that you’re a mamma’s boy from Southwest Surrey whose daddy owns a supermarket franchise. So cut the cockney rhyming crap, sit up, and show some respect.”

  Davies’ expression changed from brightly smug actor to bored public schoolboy as he slowly lowered the front of his chair and put his feet on the carpet.

  “Just puttin’ on a little show for our friend from across the pond, sir. I’ve been working on a monologue for the professor’s seminar.” He nodded in Donaghue’s direction. “Y’know, a working-class bloke from back in the day, down on his luck…” Roane gave Dunne a flat look. “How can I help you, Officer?”

  Kelly thought that Dunne might knock the kid’s head off.

  “Thanks, Roane,” she said in a friendly tone. “Professor Donaghue probably told you that we’re investigating the death of Priscilla Ames.”

  Roane swallowed, momentarily losing his studied cool. “It’s awful,” he said quietly. “Unbelievable, really.” He nodded before regaining his previous stance.

  “You’re close with Avery Moss, right?” Kelly asked.

  “Yeah,” Roane replied. “Avery and I are together. Have been for a couple of months.” He sat up a little straighter.

  “Tell us about Avery and Priscilla,” Kelly prodded. “What was their relationship like?”

  Davies shrugged. “Best friends. They lived together.”

  “C’mon, Roane,” Dunne cut in. “You can do better than that.”

  Roane gave Dunne a sneer before responding to Kelly. “Well, they came over here to study together. They’d known each other since they were small. But they’d been growing apart since getting to London, hanging out less and less, from what I could tell.”

  “Can you think of any reason Avery would want to hurt Priscilla?” Kelly asked. Dunne shot her a disapproving look. Davies’ cheeks flushed.

  “Nah, if anything it would be the other way ’round.”

  The detectives waited for Roane to go on.

  “I mean, Priscilla and me, we had a fling. But that was months ago. Avery’s the one for me.”

  Kelly looked at him. Roane was good-looking, sure, but not in any sort of remarkable way. And he didn’t strike her as being the sharpest knife in the drawer. Kelly had a hard time picturing Avery Moss with him.

  “You dated Priscilla Ames?” Dunne said.

  “It wasn’t really dating…” Davies answered. “It was ages ago. I haven’t had anything to do with her since then. Avery hadn’t spent much time with her lately, either. I dunno anything about Priscilla more recently. If you want to talk to someone who does, find Jenny.”

  “Jenny?” Kelly said.

  “Jenny Hooks. Priscilla’s other best friend at school,” he said, using air quotes. “When Jenny’s not here, you can find her at her flat in Chinatown, playing out some tired old B-movie. She thinks she’s Bettie Page.”

  Without looking up from his notepad, Dunne asked, “Where were you on Saturday evening?”

  “At home at my flat in Camden ’til about ten, then out for some drinks with some mates.” He swallowed hard. “I got the call from Avery and went over to her place. The police were there when I arrived.”

  Dunne took down the names and phone numbers of Roane’s friends.

  “Thank you, Mr. Davies,” Dunne said. “You’ve been a great help. We’ll contact you if we need to follow up.”

  “Cheers, luv,” Davies responded with a deadpan expression. Dunne turned and wove his way around a pile of old film canisters stacked by the entryway. He thanked the professor and walked out of the dusty room. Kelly remained where she was for a moment. She gave Roane a cool stare, then followed Dunne out of the room, leaving Donaghue behind with the kid.

  “Nice guy,” Kelly said as she moved past Dunne.

  They walked down the hallway in silence until Dunne let out a short breath.

  “Cheeky little bugger.”

  6

  Rodgers and Joshi walked across the campus grass toward Kelly and Dunne. Rodgers was nearly twice Joshi’s size, but her shorter legs seemed to effortlessly kept pace with him. He was holding a black rectangular object. As they got closer, Kelly realized it was a computer.

  “Surveillance footage,” Rodgers said as they approached. “Joshi’s going to get on it right away.”

  “Nice work,” Dunne said. “Did security give you a hard time?”

  Joshi shook her head. “Nah. Flashed my badge and they turned it over. They didn’t know how to export the data, and I didn’t want risk making a bollocks of it on the spot, so we’ve taken the whole thing. I’ll extract what we need back at the station.”

  “There’s multiple cameras on campus,” Rodgers added. “And they all run through the central server, so hopefully we’ll get something from it.”

  “Great. Did you talk to anyone else?” Dunne asked.

  Rodgers set the computer down on the walkway and stretched his back.

  “This place is full of odd birds,” he commented. “You remember Thompson? He’s retired now and working security for the school. He was telling us stories…”

  Kelly looked over across the grass. Donaghue was walking a few paces ahead of Roane Davies, who was talking animatedly and trying to keep pace.

  “There goes the professor and his charge,” Dunne said.

  “Funny lot, eh?” Joshi said quietly.

  Roane and Donaghue appeared not to notice the detectives as they veered away down a stone path that led to the other side of the school.

  “Yeah,” Rodgers said. “Hard to get a good read on these actor types.” He turned to Dunne. “Anything else we need here, Jack?”

  “I don’t think so,” Dunne said. “You two can get cracking on the data back at the station. Detective Moore and I will go have a talk with the flatmate.”

  7

  Kelly and Dunne made their way through London’s late-afternoon traffic toward Avery’s flat in Covent Garden. She had moved there from the Fulham apartment after Priscilla died. Peter Ames was footing the bill. Kelly mulled over the few facts they’d gleaned about the case. On the face of it, it could be a suicide, even though Peter Ames didn’t want to believe that. The despair and hopelessness it would require for a person to take her own life, especially a daughter, seemed unfathomable to a hardworking, successful father. But Kelly had seen all kinds of deaths. They were always shocking in some way.

  Nine years had passed since Kelly’s older sister, Cass, had disappeared somewhere between Newcastle and London. Kelly had been twenty-three at the time, a young officer working the street in the 114th precin
ct in Queens. Since then, Kelly had proven herself to be a tough cop, a resourceful detective, and she’d landed a spot for herself on the Violent Felony Squad. Still, every death hit hard. Made her think. Made her feel stripped to the bone.

  “What’s your take on this one, DCI Dunne?”

  “Call me Jack, please. I’d say, a wealthy American girl comes to London, likes to live adventurously, falls in with a bad crowd—maybe gets into drugs, slips into depression, plays Russian roulette and loses. Flatmate comes home and finds her dead.”

  “Yeah, but what about her clothes? She gets all dolled up to sit at home alone? Doesn’t fit. And her best friend clams up. Plus, the school gives me the creeps. They’re holding back. I can’t put my finger on it. But there’s something going on there.”

  “I felt it, too. But you know, they’re kids. Could be they’re covering up a little mischief they don’t want getting back to their folks. Forensics should be back with information today, which might throw some light on things.”

  “Uh-huh,” Kelly paused. “Why don’t you drop me off at Avery’s? I’ll talk with her alone. I’m familiar territory. I’m from New York. I know Peter Ames. It might put her at ease, maybe open her up a little.”

  “Goes against protocol, you know. Anything she says to you would be inadmissible in in court.” He broke off as he stopped short behind a recycling van. For the second time that day, Kelly lurched forward against her seatbelt. “But,” Dunne went on, “she’s already given her statement. I guess it can’t hurt.”

  He pulled up in front of a wide, modern, glass-fronted building about eight stories high. Kelly got out. She heard the tires squeal in a short burst as Dunne drove away.

  The lobby was bright and clean, its floor a smooth bluish marble. Mirrored walls housed a pair of elevators. The reception desk was unoccupied, so Kelly walked straight through. When she pressed the button for the elevator, nothing happened. She noticed the lens of a video camera mounted above a series of buttons. She pressed the top one and waited until a quiet voice said hello in an American accent.

  “Hi, Avery,” she said. “It’s Kelly Moore, with the NYPD. I’m a friend of Peter Ames. I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.” She dug out her ID and held it up to the camera.

  After a long moment, the elevator slid open and Kelly stepped inside. When it came to rest on the top floor, the doors opened directly onto a bright open room with a wall of windows overlooking the tops of trees and pretty Victorian buildings. A large glass vase of white lilies stood on a round coffee table next to a long thin oatmeal-colored couch. There were no plush Oriental rugs or heavy wooden bookcases here. Everything was clean, modern and neutral. The kind of minimalism that requires plenty of money.

  Avery stood awkwardly leaning on one foot, her arms folded across her body, hugging herself tightly. She regarded Kelly with a kind of tired curiosity. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled up in a topknot. She wore navy sweatpants, a gray T-shirt, and no makeup. She looked like she’d been crying.

  “Avery, hi. Thanks for talking with me. I know you’ve been through a lot lately, and it can’t be easy for you.”

  “Thank you,” the young woman said. “Won’t you sit down?”

  Kelly nodded, taking a seat on a low-slung chair. Avery sat opposite her on the edge of the couch. She looked uncomfortable; her body barely touched the seat. She reminded Kelly of the gazelles in nature videos that she’d loved to watch as a kid. Flighty and watchful, ready to flee at any moment.

  “Is the NYPD investigating Priscilla’s death?”

  “No, I’m here working with the local police trying to get it all straight.”

  “Well, I’ve already given the police a statement, but I can tell you what I know.”

  “That would be really helpful,” Kelly said. “Let me ask: You and Priscilla were very close, yes?”

  “Like sisters, really,” Avery answered. “We met in the schoolyard when we were nine. I beat up this boy that had called her a slut. She’d kissed his best friend on the cheek and the kid was jealous. Since then, we’ve been inseparable. Well…” Avery’s eyes welled up with tears and she choked back a sob.

  An image of Cass, towering over her own childhood tormentors, rushed into Kelly’s mind. “I know what it’s like to lose a sister.”

  Avery looked at Kelly with new interest. “Your sister was murdered?”

  “Missing,” Kelly said. “She got off a plane in Newcastle, intending to travel to London, and that was the last anyone saw of her. It was years ago, but it still feels fresh.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. I know Priscilla was your best friend, and this is really hard, but can you tell me about that night? You found her?”

  “Yes,” Avery said. She looked out of the large windows that spanned the living room wall. “I did. Find her. It was terrible. So much blood. But her face, I kept hoping she would just get up and walk away. But she didn’t. There was a hole in her head, her eyes were wide open.” Avery shut her own tightly, as if trying to force the image from her mind.

  “Had you noticed anything out of the ordinary in the days before Priscilla died? Did she seem depressed, or distracted?”

  “Things hadn’t been the same in the last month or two. Pris started missing classes, sleeping in, spending more time in her room alone, staring at the computer. Sometimes she just locked herself in her room. It started around the time she was dating Roane, but seemed to get even worse when she started hanging around with Jenny. I didn’t think it was that bad, just a rough patch. But I was wrong. I—I should have helped her…” Avery’s voice trailed off and her eyes went flat.

  “Was she seeing Roane for long? He made it sound like it was just a blip.”

  “Well, it wasn’t too long. A few weeks, I’d say.”

  Avery didn’t strike Kelly as a jealous type. There was no anger or even hesitation in her voice when she spoke about Roane and Priscilla.

  “Any idea what she was doing online?”

  “No. She didn’t say, and, well, I never really asked. I figured it was the regular stuff. You know, shopping, Facebook. Homework. She was taking a scriptwriting class.”

  Kelly asked, “Were you two connected on Facebook? Instagram? Snapchat?”

  “We are, I suppose, but when you live with someone… You don’t see every post. And… Do you think she was involved in something bad online?”

  “I don’t know. Anything’s possible. Any idea why she was wearing lingerie around the house? Was she getting ready for a date?”

  “No. I’ve no idea.”

  “Any thoughts about where she had gotten the gun? Had she been hanging out with a rough crowd?”

  “No. Seeing the gun was a shock, too. I thought someone had broken in, killed… Priscilla, and left the weapon. I’d certainly never seen it before… Rough crowd? Not particularly, just kids from school. Roane, Jenny, maybe one or two others.”

  “Jenny Hooks.”

  “Yes. You know her?”

  “We met briefly today at the school.” Kelly pictured the girl with the bloody tattoos on her arm and the smirk on her face. Someone to check out further.

  She waited a few moments before going on. Avery stared out the wall of windows into the misty afternoon haze above the city.

  “Does anyone else have keys to the apartment? Roane? Other friends?”

  Avery hesitated, then shook her head. “No, no one. Just me and Pris.”

  “Where were you?” Kelly asked. “Before you came home that night?”

  Avery looked at Kelly, her face suddenly hard. “I’ve told my story to the police, Detective Moore. If this is an interrogation, I’d like to have a lawyer here.”

  “It’s not an interrogation, Avery. I just want to hear it from you. To help me understand what happened Saturday night.”

  Avery looked Kelly up and down, as if she was trying to figure out who she was. “I was at school late, rehearsing. Then I went out for a drink.”

  “A re
hearsal for a show?” Kelly asked.

  Avery shook her head. “No. Not really. I’m taking a Shakespeare workshop this semester. I needed to do a monologue from one of the tragedies. I had to perform it for the class this week. Or I would have, anyway. The professor let me postpone it…”

  “So, there was nobody else with you, there at school that day?”

  Avery shook her head again. “I don’t remember, really. It was a Saturday night. I tried rehearsing at home, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I thought being up on the stage might help. I wasn’t even sure if the Baxter would be open, but it was.”

  “Okay, so then after, you said you went out and had a drink?”

  “Yeah,” Avery said. “I thought I’d meet my boyfriend, Roane, but he was out with some of his mates. By the time he called, I was almost home. I was tired. I didn’t want to go back out and meet him.”

  “Where did you go?” Kelly asked.

  “A place near school,” Avery replied. “The Slug. It’s our local dive.”

  “Did you meet anyone there? Or see anyone you know?” Kelly asked.

  Avery shook her head. “No. There are people there from school a lot—students in the program—but I didn’t see anyone that night.”

  “What about the bartender?” Kelly asked. “Do you remember who was serving drinks?”

  Avery shrugged. “Not really. I think it was a guy.”

  “Okay,” Kelly said. “Then you came home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about what you found. No detail is too minor.”

  “Sure.” Avery paused, took in a deep breath, and let it out. Kelly waited, her face neutral.

  “I came in the front door and everything was quiet. The lights were off, except for the living room. Well, it wasn’t a light exactly. More like a glow, but Priscilla left the lights on quite often. I didn’t think anything of it. I thought she wasn’t home. I figured she might not be back until after classes the next day.”

  Kelly interrupted, “Did she stay out like that often?”