A Song for the Brokenhearted Read online

  ‘I’ll be fine, thanks,’ said Helen.

  ‘Please. Where were you on Wednesday evening?’ Breen asked again.

  She was leaning on the cast-iron railings. ‘What is this obsession about Wednesday? Why are you acting so weird?’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘I was in hospital.’

  Breen blinked. ‘Is there something wrong with you?’

  ‘Oh, thanks for asking, Paddy.’

  ‘Why did you need to go to hospital?’

  She folded her arms. ‘I’m not going to go discussing…’

  ‘A hospital in London?’

  ‘Paddington.’

  ‘Why would you come to London to go to hospital?’

  She looked away, down the cul-de-sac. ‘Can we talk about this inside?’

  ‘You sure you’re going to be all right with him?’ said Elfie.

  Breen put his key into the door to unlock it. ‘And the hospital will confirm that you were in there?’

  She stopped halfway down the stairs to the basement flat. ‘Why do you want to know that? Why all these bloody questions? I thought you’d be pleased to see me.’

  ‘God, Helen. For once…’

  ‘I’m just asking.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘No, actually. They won’t be able to confirm that I was there on Wednesday evening. I signed myself out.’

  ‘Were you with anybody after that? Anybody who can confirm that?’

  Helen said, ‘Not unless someone on the Circle Line recognises me. I went round a few times.’

  All three of them stood there, Breen with his key, Helen with a dark look on her face, Elfie looking down at one, then the other. Breen considered for a second, then spoke. ‘You,’ he called up to the young woman. ‘Do you mind joining us down here for a while?’

  ‘You want me to come down there?’

  ‘Please. Just for a few minutes, I am going to need a witness.’

  ‘Is he OK?’ Elfie asked Helen.

  ‘All you have to do is be there with us. Just in case the police suspect me of colluding with Miss Tozer.’

  ‘What in bogging hell is going on, Paddy?’

  ‘You haven’t spoken to your parents yet, either?’ Breen demanded.

  Hesitantly, Elfie was descending the stone stairs.

  ‘My parents? No,’ said Helen. ‘I was meaning to call them but I didn’t get around to it yet. Explain, Paddy. Bloody hell.’

  ‘Come in,’ he said, opening the door. ‘Both of you.’

  Elfie stood looking around Breen’s room.

  ‘Who are you phoning?’ asked Helen.

  ‘The police,’ Breen said.

  ‘Why? What’s all this about colluding?’

  The phone at Scotland Yard was ringing now.

  ‘Paddy. You’re behaving very weirdly. What’s the nail varnish all about? Have you been wearing make-up?’

  Breen held his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Give me a couple of minutes. I can’t explain anything until I’ve done this. Trust me, Helen. Please. You’ll understand.’

  Breen was relieved to find Carmichael at his desk at Scotland Yard.

  ‘Helen’s here,’ said Breen.

  ‘And?’

  ‘She has an alibi for Wednesday. But it’s not a good one. Will you call CID?’

  ‘An alibi for what?’ said Helen. ‘This is really making my head hurt. Get off the bloody phone, Paddy What’s been going on?’

  Breen had his finger in her ear, trying to hear what Carmichael was saying.

  ‘Don’t let her go anywhere,’ said Carmichael. ‘What about last night? Did you find Doyle?’

  ‘Doyle’s missing,’ he said, and put down the phone.

  Helen looked at him. ‘So? What?’

  Breen said, ‘You’re a suspect in a murder case.’

  ‘Me?’

  Elfie’s eyes widened.

  ‘And Scotland Yard CID are going to come and interview you.’ He looked at his watch. It was just past 10 a.m. ‘I’d guess they’ll be here in twenty minutes or so. The less you know about it, the more obvious it’ll be that you know nothing about what’s happened. For your sake it’s best if I don’t say anything.’

  ‘Jesus fuck, Paddy.’

  ‘That’s why I’ve asked Elfie to be here. It’s for your own good. So we have a witness to say I didn’t tell you anything about the case, or tell you to say anything.’

  ‘What bloody case?’

  ‘You know how it works, Helen. I can’t tell you any details.’ He looked at his nails. Needed a bath. ‘What about your parents? Did you tell them you were going to hospital?’

  Helen paused. ‘You don’t actually believe I did anything, do you, Paddy? Whatever it was?’

  Breen sighed. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So I’ve just got to wait here until they come?’

  ‘Bummer,’ said Elfie.

  ‘Can I have a cup of real tea? Elfie here makes the most disgusting tea I’ve ever tasted in my life. Earl Grey. Have you ever tried that? It was like drinking old women’s drawers.’

  Elfie giggled.

  Breen said, ‘You told your parents you were coming to stay with me, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Helen. ‘So you spoke to them, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Call them now.’ He picked up the receiver and held it out to her. ‘Tell them you’re OK.’

  For the first time, she stopped looking angry and started looking worried.

  ‘What am I supposed to have done?’

  ‘Tell them you’re OK. Please.’

  Breen went into the kitchen with Elfie and put the kettle on while Helen talked to her mother.

  ‘No. I’m at Paddy’s now. I was… with a friend, that’s all.’

  He leaned his head against the closed door of the kitchen, trying not to listen.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to frighten you…’

  The kettle started to groan and fizz as the water heated. He looked for teabags. There were some old ones in a tin that he kept for guests.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ asked Elfie.

  ‘Did Helen say anything about where she has been all this time?’

  Elfie blushed. ‘Yes. But it’s private.’

  Breen nodded. Another boyfriend? Why not. He looked at his shoes.

  When Helen had finished the call he brought her tea on a tray.

  ‘Mum was crying,’ said Helen, looking shocked. ‘They were questioning her for at least an hour. Why were the police trying to find to me? What the hell do they think they’re doing?’

  Breen put the tray on the dining table and said, ‘I can’t say anything.’

  She frowned at him. ‘Were you something to do with all this, Paddy? I’ll bloody kill you if you were. You know what kind of effect that is going to have. The police going round and asking them, of all people, “Where’s your daughter, Mr Tozer?” Jesus.’

  Breen said, ‘I’m not the one who disappeared and then lied about where she was.’

  Helen looked stung. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.

  Elfie stood by the old mantelpiece puffing away at a cigarette, as if pretending she wasn’t in the room.

  ‘Did you actually do these drawings?’ Elfie asked.

  Helen joined her, leaning towards the sketch Breen had pinned on the wall. He had done it last winter, after she had left the police.

  ‘That supposed to be me?’ Helen said, peering at it. A picture of her naked back, in bed, drawn from memory. A long curve, with the shadow of a spine. Next to it, another of her face. Breen felt the colour rising to his cheeks.

  ‘Christ. Is my nose really that big?’

  ‘Quite good, actually,’ said Elfie. ‘I said you should be an artist.’

  Helen stood next to Elfie, putting her cup down on the mantelpiece. ‘My face is all squished up. I look like a Chink.’

  ‘I think it’s beautiful,’ said Elfie
. ‘You’re gorgeous.’

  Helen shrugged. ‘You need specs.’

  ‘The hospital, Helen. It’s important,’ said Breen eventually. ‘What were you doing there? I need to know what this is about.’

  Helen took her tea, looked up at the ceiling. ‘If you really want to know, I went to hospital to have an abortion.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes. Oh,’ Helen said quietly.

  Elfie pretended to peer even harder at the drawings.

  Breen said, ‘You were pregnant?’

  ‘That’s usually why you have abortions.’

  ‘With our…’

  ‘Who says you’ve got anything to do with it?’

  Breen sat down with a thump on a dining chair. ‘Christ. Why?’

  ‘Actually, I can’t explain anything,’ she said, deliberately mocking Breen. ‘Not now.’ She glanced at Elfie. ‘I don’t want to talk about it yet. OK? I’ll talk about it later. What the hell did you do your nails for, anyway? Are you on the turn?’

  ‘I was undercover,’ he said.

  ‘Undercover? You’re on sick leave.’

  ‘It’s complicated. I’ll explain after…’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Helen said, holding up her hands.

  ‘I did them, actually,’ said Elfie. ‘I thought they looked pretty cool.’

  ‘You?’ said Helen, looking from her to him and back again.

  ‘She was just helping out,’ said Breen.

  ‘I did his eyes too.’

  Helen grimaced and said, ‘Well, if CID see you with your nails like that, your career is over.’ She pulled out a second dining chair and took Breen’s hand. ‘Pass me my handbag, Elfie,’ she said.

  ‘So I just have to wait here?’ Elfie said. ‘Until what?’

  ‘Until the police arrive.’

  ‘He needs you to tell them how well behaved he was. That he didn’t tell me anything about this case. So that when they interrogate me and I say I don’t know anything, I’ll be telling the truth.’

  ‘A murder.’ Elfie was open-mouthed. ‘Wow. I mean, you didn’t do it, right?’

  ‘Oh, Elfie, don’t you bloody start.’ Helen took a small bottle of nail polish remover and upended it onto a chunk of cotton wool. ‘Stay still,’ she said to Breen.

  She started dabbing at his nails.

  Breen said, ‘I can’t believe you went and had an abortion without even being decent enough to ask me about it.’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ Helen hissed. ‘I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘Besides. I thought you were on the pill.’

  ‘I was on the pill. It was before Christmas. I was leaving London. There were a lot of parties. I may have been sick or something.’ She kicked off her shoes, moved to the next fingernail.

  ‘Without telling me. Without even discussing it.’

  ‘Look. I wanted to talk to you about all this. I know I owe you it. Only…’ She paused in her work, picked up the cup of tea. ‘This isn’t really how I imagined the conversation was going to go, you know?’

  A car was pulling up outside.

  ‘That’ll be them, I expect,’ she said, putting the lid back on her nail varnish remover and returning it to her handbag. ‘And I’ve only done half of one hand.’

  NINETEEN

  Breen sat at Carmichael’s desk.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ said Carmichael. ‘They’re just talking to her, that’s all. Nobody’s going to think she did it. She’s a copper, after all.’

  Helen was somewhere else in the building, still being questioned by CID. ‘And Doyle’s bird. She good-looking?’

  ‘Not your sort,’ said Breen. ‘Trust me.’

  ‘Did she have big bosoms?’ asked Sergeant Pilcher.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Breen.

  ‘She’s John’s sort, all right.’ Big laugh.

  Carmichael said, ‘But she thinks Doyle is dead?’

  ‘That’s what she says. She thinks he was murdered in Spain. Though she has no proof.’

  ‘So potentially we’re looking at three murders.’

  ‘Potentially. Yes. The other two bodies were hidden in woods. Could that be a pattern? Torture and then dumping the body?’

  Carmichael said, ‘Really, we’re no closer, are we?’

  ‘No, we’re not.’

  Breen waited downstairs for Helen Tozer. People scurried around the lobby looking important. Breen had spent his career working in old Victorian buildings; this place felt more like an advertising agency or a stockbroker’s office. It didn’t feel like a police station at all.

  Helen came out of the lift looking small and tired, fiddling in her shoulder bag for a packet of chewing gum.

  He stood. ‘Was it OK?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘They asked me the same thing over and over. They said I’m to stay in London a few days. They might want to talk to me again.’

  ‘You know how it works.’

  ‘I told them I’d be at yours. I hope that’s OK?’

  Breen smiled and said, ‘I’d like that. Let’s ask for a car. They can drop us home.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve had enough of the ruddy police. Can we catch a bus? I want to feel like I’m in London while I’m here, at least.’

  So they walked down Victoria Street, side by side towards the station, where they caught a 38, sitting at the front like schoolkids.

  ‘Will they be OK on the farm, without you?’ said Breen.

  She nodded. ‘They don’t even need me there, with Hibou,’ she said. She sounded petulant, like a child. ‘The CID. They told me about Bill Milkwood,’ she said.

  ‘How much did they say about how he died?’

  ‘Not much. Got a cigarette? I’m out.’

  She lit it. The bus was mostly empty this time of day. A couple of women sat behind, clutching nylon shopping bags.

  ‘I’m not ruddy stupid,’ she said. ‘I know there’s got to be something that connected me to him. They wouldn’t say. You can tell me now, though, can’t you? They’ve interviewed me. Took my statement. It’s all done proper, like you insisted,’ she said.

  ‘I had to,’ said Breen.

  ‘Where would we be if we didn’t have procedures?’ she said.

  ‘Don’t be like that. It was to protect you.’

  She lapsed into sulky silence for a while. The British Museum looked oppressively grey ahead, the columns of the portico almost black with London grime.

  ‘Well?’ she said eventually.

  ‘He was tortured, just like Alexandra.’

  ‘Just like? How can it be just like? She was a girl, fuck sake.’

  The women behind stopped their chatter. Drew in breath.

  ‘The wounds were the same,’ said Breen.

  ‘How much the same?’

  ‘Cuts to his… nipples. Cigarette burns.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘And he had an egg in his… rectum.’

  Silence now, from behind.

  ‘Up his arse?’

  ‘I know.’

  The bell dinged and the bus jerked forward. They were nose to tail with a bus in front; the back of it read: Typhoo puts the ‘T’ in BriTain. They sat together silently for a while. The women behind resumed their chatter.

  ‘So you obviously thought it was me? That I’d read that report and jumped to some conclusion?’

  ‘I never thought it was you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just didn’t. You wouldn’t have.’

  She turned her head away from him. ‘Maybe you don’t know me at all,’ she said.

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  At Gray’s Inn Road, the pavements below were suddenly full of gowns and wigs. People stood on the pavements, files under their arms. Helen turned to him and said, ‘You know what this means, Milkwood being killed?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He’s alive. Whoever it is. He’s around. Maybe even in London still. Somewhere.’ She took a huge lungful of smoke and blew it
out through her nose. ‘This is amazing.’

  ‘Amazing?’

  ‘I mean, for the last four years we’ve heard nothing about who killed my sister. I don’t know what you’ve done but you’ve stirred something up. Things are finally moving, at least. There’s a chance of finding out what happened. I’m sorry if that sounds callous. I mean, I’m sorry for the guy. But…’

  She shook her head, still taking it in.

  ‘OK. You gave me a surprise. I got one for you too,’ she said.

  He looked at her. ‘What?’

  ‘I didn’t have the… you know, procedure.’

  ‘The… abortion?’

  ‘I was meaning to. Right up to the day I was booked in. But I couldn’t go through with it. That’s when I walked out. I went and sat on the Circle Line going round and round until they closed it. I went back the next day, only they didn’t have a bed for me any more.’

  Breen opened his mouth to speak, but then the bus braked hard and his head banged against the glass at the front. An old man had walked out to cross the street in front of the bus. The bus driver pressed the horn, but the old man just turned and flicked a V-sign at the driver.

  ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘Say something.’

  ‘So you’re still…’ He lowered his voice.

  ‘Still what?’

  ‘You know…’

  ‘Up the duff? That would be the logical conclusion.’

  Breen sat, looking ahead, at the smeary window. ‘Why didn’t you go through with it?’

  ‘Can we get one thing straight? Right now, I don’t want to have to explain anything,’ she said. ‘OK?’

  ‘Right.’ He nodded. ‘Only…’

  ‘Only nothing,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘My decision. No one else’s. I don’t want to explain it to you. To my parents. To anyone.’

  His mind started to unfog. She hadn’t gone through with it. There was something thrilling about her sitting next to him, pregnant. Like she had tattooed his name beneath her skin. He looked down at her, trying to discern anything beneath the coat she was wearing, beneath those tightly folded arms.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re looking so fucking happy. Technically speaking, it might not be yours, anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just saying,’ she said. ‘God. I’m so hungry. I didn’t have a proper breakfast.’