LITMIR.BIZ

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at the threshold, anxiety rising off her like a heat haze. Another person who didn’t sleep last night, Robin had thought when she opened the front door. She knew about Corinna, Maggie had told her yesterday on the phone, and as she’d come in, Valerie had touched her arm. ‘I’m so sorry about your friend.’

      ‘The police asked me that, too, when they looked,’ she said now. ‘She always keeps it like this – she says it feels bigger when it’s tidy.’

      ‘Is anything missing, that you know of?’ said Maggie.

      ‘No, I’ve checked. Her jewellery’s all there.’ She pointed to a lacquered box on the chest. ‘Not that she’s got much that’s worth anything, just the two rings Graeme’s mother left her and a charm bracelet. I looked for her overnight bag, just in case, but it’s still in the bottom of the wardrobe. She only had her handbag.’

      A shallow bamboo tray next to the box held a liquid eyeliner, mascara, and an eyeshadow palette in matte greys. Without touching it, Robin read the bottom of a Maybelline lipstick: Very Cherry. ‘Is this the make-up she uses?’

      Valerie nodded. ‘She’s got another lipstick in her bag but, normally, if she’s going on somewhere after work, she takes all this with her.’ Her voice became a croak.

      Maggie went back to the doorway and put her hands on her shoulders. ‘Valerie, love, I know it’s bloody impossible but try to give yourself a break, will you? You’re going to wear yourself out. Why don’t you have a cup of tea and we’ll come down when we’re finished? We’ll be very careful.’

      Valerie hesitated then nodded, her eyes shining with tears.

      They waited until they heard shoes on the kitchen tiles and a rush of water in the pipes. ‘Here,’ Maggie passed Robin a pair of exam gloves from her bag and put on a pair herself. She squeezed round behind her, opened the wardrobe and looked inside. ‘I’ll do this, you take the chest.’

      Robin tugged the shallow top drawer open, feeling the twinge in her shoulder. After Lennie had gone to sleep, she hadn’t risked moving, and she’d come round from the semi-conscious state she’d eventually fallen into to find one arm completely dead. Crouching toad-like, trying not to wake her, she’d extricated herself via the end of the bed, smacking her head on the top bunk as she’d stepped down.

      Becca’s underwear was a mix of comfortable black cotton and skimpier, lacier things in fuchsia pink, blue and jade green designed to be seen or at least worn for a bit of a private confidence boost. Like the rest of the room, the drawer was tidy – not Christine-standard by any stretch, but neater than her own by a factor of about five; the socks in pairs, for example, rather than a static knot tossed in straight from the dryer.

      T-shirts, then sweaters, all redolent of fabric softener. Robin worked her way steadily through them, shaking things out then refolding and laying them carefully on the bed. She ran her fingertips into the corners of each drawer and took out the striped lining paper. No photos taped underneath or love letters cajoling her to run away, leave it all behind; no little bag of resin or pills or even a cheeky packet of Marlboro Golds.

      The clothes were cheap – H&M, Primark, Zara; tops in rayon and flimsy cotton, the knitwear more manmade fibre than wool – but they’d been taken care of, ironed and neatly folded. They’d been chosen carefully, too. The going-out things had net panels and lacy bits – racy enough – but almost everything had some design, a detail that gave it a bit of flair: a ballet wrap, a boat neck, ties at the wrists.

      For all the times she’d done it, Robin hated going through people’s intimate stuff. Even in a situation like this, where the aim wasn’t to incriminate but to learn, maybe find a lead, it made her feel grubby. The thought of some sweaty-fingered DC raking through Corinna’s underwear made her want to puke all over again. But maybe it wouldn’t happen – couldn’t. Given the extent of the fire damage, Corinna’s clothes had likely been reduced to a heap of ash and melted hangers. Even if they hadn’t been destroyed, none of them would be worth keeping; those that weren’t burned would be drenched, and if they’d escaped even that, they’d reek so strongly of smoke that no one who’d loved Rin could ever bear to go near them. At least Di would be spared the task of sorting through her daughter’s things. But by the same token, there would be nothing for Peter to bury his face in, nothing left that smelled of his mother. Robin pressed the idea, running her finger along it as if it were a blade. She wanted it to hurt, to cut through to the ball of potential pain she still hadn’t been able to access. Why couldn’t she cry? What was wrong with her?

      With a screech on the rail, Maggie pushed things to one side and took out a black body-con dress. She held it up to the light.

      ‘She bought that in the sales last month.’ Valerie appeared in the mirror behind her. Robin jumped, and turned around.

      ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to … She and Lucy – her best friend – they got up at four o’clock to go. The trousers she was wearing when she … She got them sixty per cent off – she was so chuffed. She bought me a cardigan, too. That’s Lucy.’ In a second, Valerie was at Robin’s side, pointing to a photograph tucked into the mirror-frame of a pretty girl with light brown hair twisted into a top-knot. She wore a strappy, gym-type T-shirt and her face was flushed and shiny with sweat. ‘They did a 10K run last April, the three of them.’

      ‘He being the third?’ Robin pointed at the man with his arm around the girl’s shoulders, same age, mixed race. Eyes closed against the sun but grinning, a near-empty water bottle hanging between the fingers of his other hand.

      ‘Harry, yes.’

      ‘They look close – are they together?’

      ‘Lucy and Harry? No. Lucy’s going out with Cal – Calvin. They’re just friends, the three of them. I always worried about that – three’s a crowd – but it works. They’ve been friends for years, since they all started at Grafton House.’

      ‘Grafton House?’ said Maggie. ‘The private school?’

      ‘Graeme had a life-insurance policy. That’s what I spent it on. We talked about it before he died. She went to state school until she was eleven, then Grafton.’

      ‘Do you have Lucy and Harry’s numbers?’

      ‘I’ve got hers – she’ll be able to give you his.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Becca and Harry were never involved?’ said Robin.

      She shook her head. ‘As I say, it’s always just been platonic.’

      Missed opportunity, Robin thought; he was fit. She heard Corinna’s voice suddenly, dust-dry, ‘For god’s sake, Rob. I’m dead, you’re trying to find someone who’s probably dead as well – a little focus, perhaps?’

      The pain – longing, loss, a desperate urge to laugh; it was sheer luck that she didn’t yelp. She caught her own eye in the mirror – steady, steady – then Valerie’s. She looked away, took a deep breath. A little focus. ‘Yesterday,’ she said, ‘when you told us you checked in with her work because her bed hadn’t been slept in – was that unusual? If she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Does she stay over with friends? How often doesn’t she sleep here?’

      There was a pause, small but marked. ‘It was when I found the phone as well that I started worrying, not just the bed. Rebecca’s twenty-two. She can stay out, can’t she?’

      ‘Of course.’ Maggie, soothing.

      ‘But just to be clear, you mean with men?’ Robin pressed.

      ‘She’s an attractive girl, she’s never gone short of attention. She has flings, yes. One-night stands.’ Valerie locked eyes with her, as if daring her to be shocked.

      You’ll have to try harder than that, Robin thought. ‘Has she been doing it lately? Staying out, I mean?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Would she go home with

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