Chapter 16 #2
So she’d held up his phone to his sleeping face to unlock it and gone into the camera roll.
Faisal was always cagey about handing over his phone during the hours of consciousness.
To kids Lulu’s age, it’s like putting your kidney in someone else’s hand and hoping they don’t squeeze.
She’d just assumed there was disgraceful filth on there and considered it no further.
The first thing Lulu saw on Faisal’s unlocked phone was herself. That’s sweet, she thought, he’s taken a photo of me while I sleep. Then she clicked on the thumbnail. She was asleep in the image, and he was awake. More than that, he was looking at the camera.
She scrolled back through the images.
They’d been going out five weeks by this time, but five pretty intense weeks, and they’d spent a lot of nights together in her room.
His room, he’d explained, was some way out of town, and also it was in a disgusting shared house, so she’d never actually been back to his place.
So maybe there had been twenty nights, tops, that they’d spent together, in her room.
Every single night, there was a photo of her in bed, asleep. The picture had been taken as a selfie, and by her side, in every shot, was a wide-awake Faisal, staring at the camera dead-eyed.
In one of them, he was holding a knife.
Now, Lulu was pretty scared at this point, but she was a smart girl, and she knew what she should do.
She checked his sent messages, and found he was sending these pictures to a strange email address consisting of jumbled letters and numbers.
Twenty of these messages, all sent off, to be used by someone else as …
what? They weren’t nearly revealing enough to be pornographic.
Erotica, then? Maybe. Power-play stuff. Or was it kompromat?
Was she being set up as an acquaintance of this guy? Who, really, was Faisal?
A less together girl than Lulu would have deleted everything in the shock of the moment, woken her new ex, dumped him and kicked him out.
But she poured herself a glass of water, went to the window, looked out at the cold light of the English Channel, and worked out a better plan.
Then, as he slept, she sent the photos to her own phone from Faisal’s, forwarded the emails, then deleted them from his ‘sent’ folder, put the phone back by his side, dressed, left, and walked through the night to the nearest police station.
Luckily for Lulu, the local police force was recovering from a recent scandal involving one of their officers, and were especially keen to ‘hear women’s voices’ right now.
Before Faisal could wake up for a hung-over piss, Brighton’s best and brightest had set Tasers to stun, gone to the flat, and taken him into custody, and that had been that as far as Lulu was concerned.
The wheels of – well, not justice, but university administration – had moved quickly.
Within a few days she had been moved into alternative accommodation and had a new phone number.
When offered the chance to go home for a bit, she hadn’t taken it.
Silently, I reckoned that made sense. Charli Harcourt seemed to have many qualities, but I couldn’t see her playing the doting mum for long.
Lulu told us this with faint boredom, and I could hear in her voice the bits of the story she’d relayed half a dozen times already.
Maybe that’s how people get over trauma – they just repeat the words until it’s banal.
Or maybe her father’s death had put this incident in the shade.
In any case, the Faisal Fiasco seemed to have already faded and assumed the importance of a rather dull old anecdote Lulu dug out occasionally because she knew other people might like to hear it.
But we needed something else from her: which is why, when she’d finished, Em took her risk.
I’ve always hated the phrase ‘don’t change horses in midstream’.
I mean, back in the day, were enough people really escorting more than one horse across a stream and finding it necessary to change, only for it to go wrong?
Why would you even want to change horses in the first place?
But it’s much more lyrical than my updated version, Rule 20. Stick with the story you’ve got.
Em breaks that rule in three … two … one …
She leans forward. ‘Thank you for telling us that, Lulu. It’s all very helpful. But the truth is, we’re not from Student Services.’
Lulu raises her eyes. ‘You’re not?’
Em shakes her head. ‘Not even close. Can we trust you, Lulu?’
Lulu nods. She’s interested suddenly.
Em leans further forward still, until her torso is practically horizontal. ‘I’m sorry to mention this. I know the last few days will have been terrible. And ordinarily I’d love to be able to leave you alone. But the fact is: we worked for your father.’
Oh, shit. And now, like a chump, I have to play along, and give a little nod, like I knew she would say this. What is she playing at?
Whatever it is, Lulu’s digging it. She nods again, enthusiastic. ‘What did you do for him?’
‘We were investigating who might want to kill him.’
It’s all I can do not to let my eyes widen and my head slowly swivel round like an owl’s.
Em, Em, Em, abort, let’s just ask a few questions and get out.
We had a good cover story, which you’ve now torpedoed.
For Christ’s sake. But she keeps going. ‘He paid us, and I know we let him down. Both of us, and our associates. But he hired us, and we want to work until we have an answer.’
Lulu is eating this up with a spoon. ‘I knew it,’ she mutters.
‘We were actually in Bridling on the night, but we didn’t get there in time.’ Oh my God. We may as well handcuff ourselves now. ‘But we’re determined to do the right thing for him. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?’
‘No, of course.’ For someone who’s lost her father, there’s something a little unnerving about how calm Lulu seems about this whole volte-face of Em’s. Maybe she’s in shock. I certainly am.
‘Richard – my colleague is called Richard, Lulu, he’s not really Kevin – you’re taking the lead on the case.
Perhaps you can start us off.’ It takes me a moment to realise Em is talking to me.
And as I glance sideways, she’s looking at me, and on the side of her face tilted away from Lulu, there’s the ghost of a twitch at the corner of her mouth. We will have words after this is over.
But Lulu’s looking at me too, expectant, so here goes nothing. I start off by mumbling a condolence, and she nods briskly, as if to say, Yes, that’s read, get on with the intrigue. She’s tougher than her appearance suggests.
‘How was your relationship with your father?’
‘It was fine. I live with Mum in the holidays, when she’s around, that is.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘West London.’ She says it dismissively, as though everyone lives in west London. For a second, I enjoy judging her, then I remember: she’s a child, she’s probably never known anything else, and considering what her parents are like, she’s refreshingly normal.
‘Did you see much of your father?’
‘Not really. They broke up when I was, like, twelve. He would come over a few times a year, for Christmas and the like.’
‘That sounds very mature.’
‘It wasn’t. They argued like children, then he would drink too much to drive home, she would walk out, we’d have an awkward conversation where he apologised to me over and over, then he’d fall asleep on the sofa and was gone by the time we woke up on Boxing Day. Every year.’
The Harcourt family Christmas reminds me why I’m glad to operate alone.
‘How was his relationship with your mother?’
‘How does it sound? They didn’t like each other. I mean, they literally called me by separate names.’
‘How’s that?’
‘She called me Lulu, because that’s the name she picked. He got the consolation prize of my middle name. From as long ago as I can remember, Mum’s called me Lu and Dad’s called me Pen. They’re messed up. Seriously.’
‘Pen?’
‘Penelope.’
‘Did you ever imagine that they might … reconcile?’
She laughs. ‘Why would they do that?’
Em chips in. ‘Sometimes people resort to hating each other because they can’t admit the alternative.’
Lulu looks at her. ‘I’m their daughter. I’m pretty sure they just classic hated each other.’ Either Charli was lying, or there was more going on in Lulu’s absence than they’d let on to their daughter.
‘How has your mother been since your father’s death?’
‘I mean, fine. She’s got super-clingy, though, as if someone’s going to, like, come after me. I guess this thing with Faisal and then the thing with Dad have got to her a bit.’
‘What about his work? Did you know any of his colleagues?’
‘There was Rob – Rob Wallace. He came over all the time when I was little. But he and Dad fell out in a big way a few years ago. Dad was livid. Rob said he wasn’t pulling his weight.
Wanted to take his name off the firm. He only kept it there because Dad legally owned enough of it to stop him.
And he admitted it sounded better having two names.
Made it sound distinguished.’ Another row between Harcourt and Wallace.
First this one, then the one Mrs P eavesdropped on a few weeks ago.
‘Can you imagine anyone wanting to take his life?’ I ask. ‘Anyone he argued with?’
She shakes her head. ‘I mean, he argued with everyone. But no, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to murder him.’ The M word brings us all up short, as if his body is in the room with us.
Em moves things along. ‘Do you know anything about your father’s finances?’
‘I know he was broke. He wasn’t earning much at the firm because Rob kept him off the good jobs. He threatened to leave but never did anything about it. He was always telling me that Mum got everything but the country house in the divorce, and if it wasn’t for that he’d have nothing.’
‘Where did he live in London?’
She shrugs. ‘Hotels, I think? He was in the country most of the time.’ Interesting. Clearly Lulu didn’t know about the flat in Battersea, and I bet Charli didn’t either.
‘Are you aware of what will happen to his estate?’
‘I saw his will a few years ago. I’m pretty sure it all goes to me.’
‘You’re right, Lulu.’
‘Does that make me a suspect?’ There’s a slight tremor in her voice, but despite that, she sounds bored saying it. I have to say, we’ve properly screwed up the Gen-Zedders. They can’t even be a lead suspect in a murder investigation without treating the whole thing with heavy irony.
‘We’re not the police, Lulu. We just want the truth. And I don’t think you’re really a suspect at all.’ It’s a good line of Em’s, especially because she doesn’t mention why we want the truth (to save our own necks). ‘So, you’re the main beneficiary of your father’s will?’
‘Yeah.’ Lulu gets out her phone and scrolls through a few photos. I can see from her screen that there’s text on there.
‘Is that your father’s will?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. My godfather sent it over, he’s doing all the executor shit.
He’s being a real pain, actually. Keeps on getting in touch, telling me it’s important we find some time to catch up.
Dad wanted me to be properly close with him, too.
He kept banging on about it lately. Even a few days before he …
before it happened, he rang me up telling me he was going to take me and Ben to lunch so we could reconnect.
Hang on, here’s the will. “The principal residence, any other properties and outbuildings—”’
‘Wait. What?’
She looks baffled. ‘He’s left me all his stuff.’
‘Yes, but did you say outbuildings?’
‘Yeah. I mean, there isn’t one, not at the house in Bridling.
It’s probably just, like, a legal term or something?
Like, if he had built one, or whatever.’ I stare at her as hard as I decently can, but I’m convinced she doesn’t have any secret knowledge.
Nobody’s that good a liar, and I should know, because I’ve been working on it my whole life and even I would struggle to summon up the complete bovine disinterest Lulu’s currently dishing out.
Em takes over before the pause gets awkward. ‘Have you spoken to the police?’
‘On the phone. They’re coming down tomorrow.’
Em holds out her phone. ‘You ever seen this guy?’
‘No. Should I have?’
‘He’s a person of interest.’ As Em draws her arm back, I can see she’s got a photo of Mr Bowling Ball, taken outside what looks like Davy’s building in London. How on earth did she have the presence of mind to get that shot? ‘If you see him, he’s trouble.’
‘Worse than Faisal?’
‘Much worse. One to avoid.’ Em looks down at her phone.
‘I’m out of questions. Richard, do you have any more?
’ I have none, and she takes over again.
‘Can you keep this to yourself, Lulu? There are good reasons why your father wouldn’t want it known that he’d hired us.
And there are good reasons for us to do our work undisturbed by anyone. Including the police.’
Lulu nods. Oh dear. The poor girl thinks we’re going to get justice for her father, when the most she can reasonably expect is that we get away with breaking into his house and are never seen again. ‘Can I call you if I think of anything?’
‘Of course you can. Rich, take her details.’
Another tie to this family. More evidence, all the time. I feel like we’re just doing a future jury’s work for them now, but I hit ‘stop’ on my voice recorder, hand over my phone, tap her number in, then give her a missed call.
‘Thank you, Lulu. You won’t regret talking to us.’ And with that Em stands, gives the grieving girl a brief but enormous hug, then walks out, with me trailing behind her.