Murder in Hampstead by Sabina Manea (read this if txt) 📕

He gobbled his drink with a trembling hand and got up to leave.

The day after, Lucia circled Beatrice Hall before ringing the bell at the outer gate. The building was a doll’s house of Gothic Revival turrets and Italianate window arches. Close up, the bright red and yellow brick had dulled to a dirty brown, like everything in the city eventually did. It was the housekeeper who opened the door before handing her over to Adam. She introduced herself as Mrs Byrne – glum, bloodless, with a raspy Irish voice. Inside, the overload of porphyry and stained glass jarred, like a silent film set.

As anticipated, the house rested uneasily on its former glory. It had been reduced to a rabbit’s warren of musty corridors and garishly wallpapered, mostly uninhabited rooms. Lucia had never taken on a job that size. ‘It’s a big project. We’ll need to strip the walls and fix the plaster underneath before we can make a clean start. Hopefully, the plaster underneath is sound, and then my guy will only have to skim here and there. It’ll take a month, if not longer. You’re probably looking at ten to twelve grand, not including the new paint and wallpaper. I don’t think any of the lot in here can do better than that.’

‘I believe you, Lucia. I’ve talked it through with Aunt Alla, and she’s given me free rein to get this place sorted. If you’re sure you can do it, the job’s yours. Can you start on Monday?’

‘You’re in luck. I’ve just wrapped up my last commission.’

They shook on it, and Lucia found herself yearning for fresh air. Outside, she stood on the pavement, triumphant. It had been peculiarly straightforward. On the other hand, tracking down decorators was a lot of effort, and having one offer their services must have been a godsend.

She was about to start her van when she heard her name from the other side of the street. Danny Garrett crossed slowly towards her, hatred and disbelief etched into his coarse face. She had taken too many jobs from under his nose to expect friendliness.

‘You’ve been to the Hall then. What’s up?’ He wasn’t one for manners or false politeness.

‘I got the job.’

‘What d’you mean, you got the job?’

‘The painting job. Doing up the Hall. Adam’s given it to me.’

Danny was visibly grinding his teeth. For a moment she was afraid he might hit her. She straightened her back and pulled herself together. She wasn’t going to let a thug like him intimidate her. He backed off, annoyed that his aggression was bearing no fruit. ‘So, you got one up on me, Lucia. I hope you’ve got the stomach for it, if you catch my drift.’

‘I don’t, and frankly I don’t care, Danny. I beat you, and you don’t like it. Live with it.’

‘Well, don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. I’m still the boss around here, remember.’

Lucia laughed and got behind the wheel. She knew she’d rattled him. This called for a celebration. She decided she would treat herself to a meal out – nothing special, just a bowl of noodles and a glass of wine at the Blue Fish.

The restaurant was empty, save for a man huddled at a table in the window, tapping anxiously with slightly yellowed fingers as he waited to be served. Early fifties, fair hair that had been spared the grey, a weathered face that could have been attractive. His shirt and trousers looked averse to the ironing board. Lucia watched him for a while as they ate their respective meals in silence. As she was getting ready to leave, an impulse got the better of her.

‘Sorry to bother you. I’ve been trying to guess what you do for a living. My money’s on police inspector.’

The man’s expression shifted from startled to amused, and his blue eyes narrowed. ‘Near enough. Detective Chief Inspector.’

‘Thanks for indulging me. Have a good evening.’ She turned to leave, feeling smug at this small victory. It was a skill she liked practising in case she might lose it. This hypervigilance had served her well as a lawyer. Noticing the smallest details could give you an edge over the competition.

‘Before you go, tell me how you worked it out.’

‘You’re not dressed for an office job, and you haven’t got the nonchalance of an arty type. You look tetchy and you’re trying not to look at your knackered phone – so you’re on duty. Doctors are reckless with their health, but they don’t tend to smoke. That gives fairly good odds on law enforcement.’

The eyes smiled, and Lucia walked out. The balmy smell of the concrete, the last relic of the sweltering heat just gone, deflected her senses. The street was bathed in a low pink light, and between the buses crawling like fattened red slugs up and down the hill the traffic was thinning out. She felt everything belonged to her alone, and it felt like home.

Chapter 3

The week starting Monday, 31st August

(four days before the murder)

The weekend had gone by as if time were running out, and Lucia had barely slept. On the Monday she stood again outside Beatrice Hall, torn between anticipation and an odd hesitance which she tried to suppress. Mrs Byrne let her in, and the heavy doors shut behind them.

Adam was nowhere to be seen. The place was soaked in a pale, early morning light which did it no favours – it only brought up tiny dust particles and intensified its airlessness.

‘Come into the kitchen, Lucia, and have a cup of tea before you start. The Professor wants to meet you, and nobody can go through that on an empty stomach.’

Lucia followed Mrs Byrne down the stairs into the basement. The kitchen hadn’t changed much during the lifetime of the house. It could have had a certain