Private Lives

Suddenly she stood up and began opening the boxes on the bed.

‘What are you looking for?’ Ruby asked.

‘Pictures, photos, letters, anything like that,’ said Anna.

Ruby shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t bother,’ she said. ‘I packed those boxes and there’s nothing like that. I thought it was a bit strange, actually, ’cos Amy was a bit like our mum, she was a hoarder, could never throw anything away.’

Anna frowned at her.

‘You mean that in that whole flat, there were no photos at all?’

‘No, should there have been?’

Of course there should, thought Anna. Amy was a model, and she spent her life in a social whirl. The place should have been covered in pictures.

‘What about a computer? Did she have one?’

‘I thought she did,’ said Ruby. ‘She definitely used to have a laptop and she’d send me emails all the time, so she must have done. But when we cleared her flat, we couldn’t find it. Or her mobile.’

Anna frowned, while Ruby began rifling through her sister’s chest of drawers.

‘Before you ask, there were no mobile phone records or a diary, although who keeps one of those these days? But she did have this.’ She took a battered address book out of the drawer and gave it to Anna. ‘I had to use it to ring her friends about the funeral. Their numbers are all in there.’

Anna flicked through.

‘How many of them came to the funeral?’ she asked.

‘About a dozen.’ She rattled off the names, although none of them meant anything to Anna.

‘The only one who didn’t come was Louise, actually,’ said Ruby. ‘I was a bit sad about that because Lou was Amy’s best mate in London. They used to be flatmates before she moved into that posh flat by the Thames. I met her a few times; she was nice, she worked at a magazine.’

‘Why didn’t she come?’

Ruby shrugged. ‘Don’t know. She sent my mum a really nice letter saying how sorry she was, but when I tried to call her, her number had been disconnected. I rang the magazine and they said she’d left to go travelling.’

‘When did she leave?’

‘Not long after Amy died.’

The sky was turning dark as Anna’s car crept slowly along the inside lane of the motorway. At least she wouldn’t have to lie to Helen Pierce about traffic snarl-ups – it seemed as if the whole of the M1 was being dug up tonight – and it certainly gave her time to think. Not that it was getting her anywhere. The further she delved into Amy’s life, the harder it was to see clearly; it was like walking blindly into a dark wood. If only she had been able to go through Amy’s missing laptop and mobile phone, she was sure she would have found something of interest: photographs, emails, texts. But then, of course, perhaps that was the exact reason she hadn’t been able to check them. It was as if Amy’s flat had been cleared before Liz and Ruby Hart had done the official job.

She pulled out her phone, wondering if it was too late to ring. No, men like Phil Berry were always on call. That was sort of the point. She scrolled to his number.

‘Phil. It’s Anna Kennedy.’

‘Friday night,’ said the man, his Irish accent softening the words. ‘Ten thirty. Someone’s been a bad boy if you’re calling me now, Anna.’

She laughed. Phil Berry was a former consultant with Hill Securities – one of the private investigation giants that Davidson Owen had used for forensic accounting and chasing down witnesses. She’d worked with him on half a dozen cases before he’d left to set up on his own, undercutting his old firm. He was cheap, he was quick and he was completely reliable. If you wanted to find someone, he would find them. Anna thought of him as a human bloodhound.

‘I need you to track someone down for me.’

‘Don’t you ever call to invite me to dinner?’

Anna chuckled.

‘Not this time, Phil. I need the whereabouts of a girl named Louise Allerton. Twenty-four, works in fashion journalism. Class magazine. Left the country six months ago to go travelling, not been heard of since. I need to speak to her urgently.’

‘I’ll get on it straight away.’