case of murder?’
‘I still haven’t got over hearing that,’ said Les, sounding genuinely shocked. ‘If I’d heard Celeste had died from an overdose, I’d have been sad, but I wouldn’t have been surprised. She’d been heading that way for a long time. But why anyone would want to kill the kid …’
‘You presumably don’t have any idea who might have wanted to do it?’
‘None. There’re whole areas of her life I didn’t know anything about. She came from a wealthy family, I think, but she never talked about that stuff.’
I was faced with a moral dilemma. Moments before, only a couple of hundred yards from where I now was, I’d been asked by two policemen to tell them anything I found out that might have relevance to their investigation into a murder. I was now talking to someone who had known the victim very well. And the police had yet to make contact with him. My obvious social responsibility was to give Detective Inspector John Prendergast Les’s contact details.
I didn’t consider that option for very long. My natural curiosity was too strong. I wanted a private session with the witness before I put the police in touch with him. And I wasn’t even certain that I ever would put them in touch. Surely it wouldn’t take them long to make the connection under their own steam? I had no wish to obstruct their enquiries, but I was starting to regard the investigation as personal.
I fixed to meet up with Les that afternoon.
He was where he’d said he would be, on a park bench, not far from the much-advertised Portsmouth Historic Dockyard. There were good children’s play facilities within sight, but I reckoned the place would be considerably less family-friendly after dark. Still, it was a warm day. As I approached him, Les was blinking into the sun. The pallor of his face and arms suggested they hadn’t seen much of it recently.
He looked wary as I approached. He wasn’t about to say anything until I identified myself. ‘I’m Ellen.’
He stretched out a hand to me. ‘Les.’
For an addict – or perhaps recovering addict – he looked in pretty good shape. Though he was slender, the biceps bulging against his T-shirt sleeves suggested time spent in the gym. The tattoos on his arms didn’t look as if they’d been done by a professional. He wore jeans and anonymous trainers. His thinning hair was cut short.
I was dying for a coffee and there was a snack kiosk nearby. But I didn’t want to break the moment. I sat on the bench beside him.
‘You were right, incidentally,’ said Les. His voice still sounded as though he needed to clear his throat.
‘About what?’
‘The Boys in Blue. Had a call from them just after I’d finished talking to you.’
‘Was it Detective Inspector Prendergast or Detective Sergeant Prasad?’
He shook his head. ‘Somebody called Williams.’
‘Ah. So, are they coming to pick you up?’
‘No, Ellen … mind if I call you Ellen?’
‘Please.’
‘“Pick me up” sounds like they’re accusing me of something. They only want to talk to me for background information about Celeste.’
‘Of course. So, do they want you to go to Chichester?’
‘No, no, they gave me an address right here in Portsmouth.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Said I’d be there in half an hour. I’d probably be on my way by now if you hadn’t turned up.’
‘What made you think I might not turn up?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know you, do I? I get a call from you out of the blue. You could be anyone.’
‘I did say on my message that I know Dodge.’
‘Yes,’ he conceded. ‘Good bloke, Dodge.’ He looked rueful. ‘Like a role model for me. I really admire the stuff he does at ReProgramme. I thought I could go down the same route … you know, get qualifications, be a counsellor, help people who’re into this kind of shit. But that got screwed up after I met Celeste and – as you put it – “went off” with her.’
‘Don’t you think you can get back into the ReProgramme set-up?’
‘I don’t know. I let them down – I let Dodge down, in particular. And, of course, I let myself down – when I started using again.’
‘Are you using now?’
‘I haven’t done anything since I heard about Celeste.’
‘Well, that’s a start.’
He looked at me cynically. ‘Yeah? I heard on Saturday that she’d died. And where are we now – Monday? Clean for more than two days – let’s string up the bunting, shall we?’
‘All