‘It’s driving Diana crazy . . .’
Graham began to nod, as
if he was beginning to understand her motives for being here.
‘What is it, Miss Miller? What’s your involvement here? Life insurance policy won’t pay out if it’s suicide?’
Rachel shook her head vigorously. ‘It’s nothing to do with money,’ she said tartly. ‘My sister is grieving. It’s hit her pretty hard, I think, and all this uncertainty doesn’t help.’
The policeman raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a criticism of our investigation?’
‘Just an observation.’
Graham stirred his coffee and put down his spoon.
‘So is that all?’
‘Just humour me and answer a few questions.’
He had a doubtful expression on his face.
‘Why was Julian on his knees? Diana told me she found him on his knees.’
‘It was a short-drop hanging.’
‘Short drop?’
‘The victim dies by cutting off the oxygen supply to the brain. All it needs is sufficient pressure on the neck.’
‘And you’re sure he did it himself? Someone couldn’t have broken into the house and killed him? Can a murder be dressed up as suicide?’ She could feel her mouth running away with her.
He gave her a doubtful look.
‘Well, can it?’ she pressed.
He picked up his spoon and began playing with the foam at the bottom of his cup.
‘I know it’s hard, Rachel. People don’t want to think that someone they love would do something like this. But there’s nothing to make me think anything other than that Julian took his own life. A locked house, no sign of entry, forced or otherwise, complete surveillance coverage – yes, we’ve been through it – and no one unusual in or out of the house. In theory, of course, someone could dress a murder up as a suicide, but it would be very, very difficult. I’ve seen it happen once in my career, and that was a professional hit, although we could never formally confirm that. In this instance, the only other person in the house was your sister, but unless she forced him into the noose, which I don’t buy, then yes, we’re looking at a suicide.’
She took a pen and a scrap of paper from her bag and scribbled her number on the back of it.
‘Out of business cards, I’m afraid. If you come up with anything that might help my sister make sense of this, you will give me a call?’
He gave her a sideways look as he handed her his card.
‘Why do I get the sense you’re doing a bit of detective work on your own?’
‘Me?’ she said innocently. ‘I’m just a diving instructor these days, Inspector.’
‘Then a piece of advice. Look after your sister, wait for the inquest and then go back to your Thailand room with a view. It’s a better place for you there, I promise you.’
She met Liam outside Covent Garden tube station. Long Acre was packed with tourists and the night air hummed with music and conversation.
‘I can’t move in this thing,’ said Rachel, wriggling in the blue dress as they moved away from the main thoroughfare. It was Liam’s cue to say that it looked hot, sensational; instead he muttered something about Mark Graham thinking it must have been his lucky day.
‘I hope you don’t mind me inviting a friend along. I just thought she might be useful,’ he said as they approached Casper’s on a quiet corner of Covent Garden.
Rachel’s heart sank. She had been thrilled when Diana had suggested they should have a night on the tiles. Could have kissed her, in fact. Lately she had been wondering if life experience beat the optimism out of you, but still she harboured a faint hope that Liam might see the error of his ways and proclaim his undying love for her, and dinner à deux in a glamorous, exciting place seemed the perfect opportunity to do that.