Walking with Ghosts

kids, whatever. After a bath and a bit of scent and make-up they all look great. Eddy gives them a hundred quid for the weekend.’
    ‘You know where these cottages are?’ asked Marie.
    ‘Sure. Eddy doesn’t go anywhere near them. I have to get them cleaned up, stock the bars, deliver the girls down there.’
    ‘D’you get much warning?’ Marie asked. ‘When will the next party be?’
    Joni smiled. ‘That’s why I’m here,’ she said. She pulled two fat brown envelopes from her bag. ‘Eddy gave me these last night. I’m taking four girls to the cottages today. Then a couple of politicians’ll arrive around six o’clock tonight. According to Eddy one of ’em’s a top civil servant, but the other’s a cabinet minister.’
     
    When Joni left, Marie went through the India Blake file. She read through the transcripts of Geordie’s interviews as well as her own. Something was nagging at her. Something they’d missed. But she couldn’t work out what it was. She made coffee and drank it looking out of the window. The pain in her head slowly ebbed away. She turned to the file again and read it from beginning to end.
    She was putting all the paperwork back into order when Sam arrived. Marie told him about Joni Prine, and what she’d said about Edward Blake.
    ‘It’s only a hunch,’ he said. ‘But if I was on this case I’d have another go at India Blake’s old friend, whatever her name was.’
    ‘Naiomi Leaver? You think she knows more?’
    ‘Just reading between the lines,’ Sam said. ‘There was no love lost between Naiomi and Edward Blake. Naiomi could still be guarding India’s secrets in the belief that she was killed by her husband.’
    ‘Slow down, Sam,’ Marie said. ‘We can’t be sure that Edward Blake didn’t kill her.’
    Sam shrugged. ‘The police don’t think so. If they did they’d never have let him go.’
    ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I don’t have anything else to go on. I’ll drive over to Naiomi’s house. Got the car keys?’
     
    Naiomi Leaver was posing in the doorway to her cottage. She was a perfect miniature, composed entirely of fat-repelling enzymes. So small, she’s almost a waste of skin, thought Marie. Then checked herself quickly. Women’s bodies were a no-go area. Soft targets. Easy meat. She’s just small, for Christ’s sake. You could be, too, if you lived on pencil make-up and eye-drops.
    This morning Naiomi was dressed in white designer jeans and a short-sleeved red top with a plunging neckline. The plunge was extraordinary, almost reaching the woman’s navel, yet betraying not a hint of mamilla, not an air bubble, or a blob. Marie reflected that the entire garment would not supply herself with enough material for a headband.
    No scones or fine tea service today. Marie was invited into a warm kitchen and provided with a ladder-backed chair next to a red gas-fired Aga. Naiomi Leaver remained standing. She poured coffee from a cafetière into black mugs, handed one to Marie. ‘Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’
    Marie sipped the coffee. A lot of money had gone into cutting Naiomi’s age from a good thirty-five to an excellent twenty-eight. ‘I want to ask you again if India was having an affair.’
    Naiomi shook her head. ‘I thought she was, yes. But when I asked her about it, she told me she wasn’t. I told you that last time.’
    ‘Yes, I know. But you said you were fairly sure, not absolutely sure. What did you mean by that?’
    Naiomi tightened the lines around her mouth. ‘Who can be absolutely sure about another person? People tell you what they want you to know. The rest is guesswork.’
    ‘Did you believe she was killed by her husband?’
    ‘Yes. I still do. Edward is a rotter. He’s capable of anything.’
    Marie put her mug on top of the Aga. ‘He’s certainly a womanizer,’ she said. ‘And his political and business methods aren’t exactly whiter than white. But there’s no evidence to show he murdered her. On the contrary, it looks as though he didn’t.’
    Naiomi laughed harshly. ‘He’s clever, that’s all. He fooled the police, and now he’s fooling you.’
    ‘But what if he isn’t as clever as you think, Naiomi? What if India was killed by someone else? And that someone else was left free to kill again? Because of your vendetta against Edward Blake.’
    ‘It’s not a vendetta.’ Naiomi Leaver clenched her fists, the tension turning her knuckles white.
    ‘OK, what would you call it?’
    ‘I