Ghigau 26

26. Monday 17th

 

Sam Tate pulled up outside the Booth residence at 9.25am. Her appointment was for 10am. She should have made this visit days ago but the events with O’Donnell had taken precedence. She looked up at the rendered facade of the three-storey terraced house, noting the cracked plaster and peeling paint. It was a stark contrast to the Talbot’s immaculate home.

    She stayed in her car, putting off the moment when she would have to step out into the already punishing heat, checking her notes before knocking on the door. 

    They were brief ;

        Catherine Tate 

        Nikki’s Talbot’s best friend?

        Lenny Talbot’s business-partner’s wife

        The only other key-holder for the Talbot’s house 

    Sam knew from experience, as every police officer did, and from home-office statistics, that the most likely person to commit a violent crime against a woman was, first — a relative or partner of the victim, second — a friend of the victim. Unlikely though she believed it was  that any of them had any involvement in Nikki’s disappearance, statistically, Lenny, Hermione and Catherine were top of that list. And even though Sam had no evidence that Nikki had come to harm, the longer she was missing, the more likely that possibility became.

    Catherine Tate answered the door in a loose fitting white smock dress and sandals. Her hair was tied back and she wore either no makeup or very little. Her smile was weak and unconvincing.

    “Detective Tate?” she said. Her tone was not unwelcoming but not friendly either.

    “Yes…, and you must be Mrs Booth?” Sam countered, offering her hand. Catherine shook it limply and then stood aside indicating that Sam should come in.

    The first thing Sam picked up was the faint but unmistakeable smell of weed. She wondered if perhaps Mrs Booth had felt the need to inhale some Dutch courage before her visit. 

    She allowed Catherine to usher her through to the living room which had the appearance of having been hastily tidied minutes ago. Cushions were plumped but haphazardly positioned, the coffee table had been recently wiped and still glistened with moisture.. A single shoe lay half tucked under the sofa, presumably missed in the rush.     

    Sunlight streamed through the bay window, illuminating clouds of dust-mites as they swirled in the atmosphere. The room was uncomfortably warm and the large, sash windows remained closed, making it feel stuffy and airless.

    Sam sat down on an armchair, avoiding the low slung sofa, and immediately felt the dig of a deformed spring poke the back of her thigh. She adjusted her position, straightening her skirt. 

    Catherine did not offer any refreshment and sat opposite her on a sagging and heavily scratched, brown leather pouffe; straight backed, hands crossed in her lap. 

    Sam spoke first.

    “Thank you for taking the time to see me Mrs Booth.”

    “Of course, it’s no trouble. I’m very worried about Nikki.” Catherine Booth said. 

Sam noticed that when she spoke, the tips of her fingers tapped out a rhythm in time with her words. It was a small movement , but it betrayed her nervousness.

    “Can I start by asking you when you last saw or heard from Nikki Talbot?” Sam said, opening her notebook.

    “Yes, um… I think it was last weekend, not the one just gone obviously, the one before.” Catherine said.

    “On the Saturday?” Sam was writing down as she spoke.

    “No, it was on Sunday, in the afternoon.” Catherine’s fingers drummed.

    “And that was here, at your house?” Sam asked.

    “Yes, she dropped in after her class, she quite often did that.”

    “Her class?” Sam queried.

    “She does Yoga,” Catherine explained.

Something about Catherine Booth bothered Sam. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It wasn’t anything overt, rather a combination of subtle tells, a listlessness of speech, a lack of engagement, as if her mind were elsewhere. For someone who’s best friend was missing, although she professed to be worried, there was a lack of animation, of reaction. Sam thought she might be on some sort of mood levelling drug, or perhaps it was just the weed.

    “Can you tell me what you spoke about that afternoon? Was there anything about Mrs Talbot’s manner that seemed different or ‘off’ in anyway?” Sam said.

    Catherine appeared to think about this, but again, her face betrayed no feelings, no emotion. Considering she was contemplating the last conversation she had with her friend who was now missing, it was definitely odd. 

    “I don’t think so.” Catherine ventured, somewhat hesitantly.

    “You don’t think so?” Sam repeated, waiting for Catherine to expand on this.

    “We chatted about stuff, you know just stuff, I can’t really remember.” Catherine said, shifting her weight on her seat and smoothing her dress over her knees.

    “So Mrs Talbot didn’t confide in you about anything that might have been bothering her? Worrying her? Sam asked.

    “Nikki never worries about anything.” Catherine said, and for the first time in their conversation Sam noted that there was some feeling behind the statement, some emotion. Instinct told her to press the point.

    “That’s very unusual isn’t it Mrs Booth? We all worry about things from time to time don’t we?” Sam said.

    “Not Nikki,” said Catherine Booth, warming to the subject. “She’s not scared of anything.”

    “I said worried, what makes you say scared?” Sam asked, “Do you think she has anything to be scared about?” 

    Catherine Booth fidgeted. “No, no, I just meant she’s very confident, very self assured, you know.”

    “Does she confide in you Mrs Booth?” Sam said.

    “About what?”

    “About anything, things that might be on her mind, things in her personal life. Sometimes we want a friend rather than a partner or a spouse, to air our concerns to.” Sam had the feeling that Catherine Booth knew more than she was letting on.

    “Like I said, she doesn’t worry about things. She has a nice life.” Catherine’s features hardened almost imperceptibly after she said this. There was a sourness to the line of her closed lips that Sam noted.

    Sam changed tack. “Did Nikki by any chance talk to you about some unwelcome communications she had been receiving recently?” She studied Catherine Booth’s face carefully as she said this, looking for any reaction. There was definitely surprise there — but whether that was surprise at the information itself, or that the subject had been brought up, she couldn’t know.

    “Unwelcome, communications?” Catherine’s tipped her head to one side.

    “Nikki had been receiving messages and emails from an unknown person, some of them quite upsetting.” Sam explained.

    “Oh, had she? I wasn’t aware.” Catherine said, now frowning with what, Sam was sure, was fake concern.

    “She didn’t mention anything about this to you, her best friend?” Sam said.

    Catherine’s composure slipped momentarily. “That sounds rather accusatory. I have already said I wasn’t aware.”

    “I’m not accusing you of anything Mrs Booth, I’m just trying to establish what Mrs Talbot’s state of mind was before she apparently voluntarily got into a car and disappeared without telling her husband, her child, her work colleagues, and it appears also her best friend, where she was going.” Sam let that sink in for a few seconds.

    “A car?” Catherine looked confused.

    “Have you not been following the reports online?” Sam found this hard to believe.

    “I, I  don’t go online very much. I’m a bit of a technophobe I’m afraid.” Catherine’s fingers nervously tapped out the rhythm of her speech.

    “We have cctv footage of Mrs Talbot getting into a car in the Camden area on the day she went missing.” Sam said.

    Sam reached for her phone and stood to show Catherine, leaning over her shoulder and holding it up so they could both watch. She sensed Catherine’s discomfort at their closeness. When the images had finished playing, she returned to her seat. The tension in the room had moved up a notch. 

    Something wasn’t right about Catherine Booth,  Sam was sure of it.

    “Good God,” said Catherine. “I don’t understand, whose car is it?”

    “We don’t know I’m afraid. It seems the car was using cloned number plates so we can’t trace the owner, as yet.”

    “But she got into the car? Why?”

    “We don’t know that either, but we think there might be some connection between the communications Nikki had been receiving and her disappearance,” said Sam.

    A bead of sweat appeared on Catherine Booth’s temple. It glistened for a second before she lifted a pale hand and brushed her hair back taking the tell-tale moisture with it.

    “I would like to help, I really would, of course I would,” Catherine said pleadingly, the tremor in her voice betraying the stress she was feeling. “But I don’t think there is much more I can say. I’m quite sure Nikki doesn’t know anyone who would want to do her harm, if that’s what you’re getting at?” 

    Sam employed a technique she had found quite effective in the past. Rather than answer Catherine’s question, she just held her gaze, saying nothing. The message she was silently sending being, ‘if you’ve something to say, say it now.' 

    Sometimes, if you left enough dead space, an interviewee would talk themselves into a corner — or a confession.

    “You don’t think she’s been… hurt or anything do you?” Catherine’s eyes glistened with fear. “Why would anyone want to hurt her?” There was a long gap before she dropped her head and mumbled, “I would never do anything to hurt Nikki.”

    “You wouldn’t?” said Sam softly, trying not to disturb Catherine’s thought process..

    Catherine kept her head down. She sighed loudly and appeared to lose whatever internal battle she had been fighting.

    “I sent the messages,” she said.