Ardery put up only that morning in the incident room.
But it was, as always, incredible to see the difference between someone in life and someone in death.
She followed Bella to the next floor, where Jemima had a bedroom at the front of the house. Paolo's room was just along the corridor at the back, Bella said, while her own room was yet another floor above.
She opened the door to Jemima's room. It had not been locked, and there was no key stuck in the keyhole on the inside. But that was not to say there wouldn't be a key somewhere in the room, Barbara saw, although it would be a challenge worthy of Hercules in the Augean Stables to find it.
"She was something of a hoarder," Bella said, which was like declaring that Noah was something of a rowing-boat builder.
Barbara had never seen such clutter. The room was a nice size, but it contained masses of belongings. Clothes strewn on the unmade bed and across the floor and drooping from drawers in the chest; magazines and tabloids and maps and brochures and handouts from people in the street; decks of playing cards mingling with business cards and postcards; stacks of photographs bound with rubber bands ...
"How long did she live here?" Barbara asked. It was inconceivable to her that one person could amass so much clobber in anything less than five solid years.
"Nearly seven months," Bella said. "I did speak to her about this. She said she'd get round to it, but I think ..."
Barbara looked at the woman. Bella was pulling thoughtfully at her lower lip. "What?"
Barbara asked.
"I think it gave her some sort of comfort. At the end of the day I daresay she couldn't let any of it go."
"Yeah. Well." Barbara gave a sigh. "All of it's got to be gone through." She dug out her mobile and flipped it open. "I'm going to have to ring for backup," she told Bella.
LYNLEY USED THE car as an excuse because that was the easiest thing to tell both himself and Charlie Denton, not that he generally told Denton where he was going but he knew the young man had not yet stopped worrying about his state of mind. So he popped into the kitchen where Denton was applying his considerable culinary skills to making a marinade for a piece of fish and he said, "I'm off for a bit, Charlie. Over to Chelsea for an hour or so," and he didn't miss the look of delight that briefly touched on the other's features. Chelsea could mean a hundred different destinations, but Denton would reckon there was only a single one that was taking Lynley out of Belgravia. Lynley added, "Thought I'd show off the new motor," and Denton said, "Mind how you go, then. You don't want anything marring that paint job."
Lynley promised he'd do whatever was necessary to prevent such a tragedy, and he walked to the mews where he kept the car that he'd finally bought to replace his Bentley, which had been reduced to a tangle of metallic rubble five months earlier at the hands of Barbara Havers. He unlocked the garage and there it was, and the truth of the matter was that he did feel the slightest thrill of ownership to look upon the copper beauty of the thing. Four wheels and it was only transportation, but there was transportation and there was Transportation and this was definitely Transportation.
Owning the Healey Elliott gave him something to think about when he was driving, besides thinking of the subjects he didn't want to think about. That had been one of the reasons he'd purchased it. One had to consider issues like where to park it and which route to choose from point A to point B in order to keep it safe from run-ins with cyclists, taxis, buses, and pedestrians pulling wheeled suitcases without a mind for where they were going. Then there was the critical issue of keeping it clean, of keeping it well within sight when parking it in a slightly less than salubrious area, of keeping its oil pristine and its spark plugs practically sterilized and its wheels balanced and its tyres filled to the appropriate degree. It was, thus, a vintage English car like all vintage English cars. It required constant vigilance and just as much maintenance. In short, it was exactly what he required at this juncture in his life.
The distance from Belgravia to Chelsea was so minimal that he