‘What’s he talking about, Roy?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Roy?’
‘Nothing.’
And then she slapped him hard across the cheek. She jumped down from the sofa and pointed her finger at him, holding it a few inches from his face. For someone so small and petite, she seemed to swell.
‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing. I…’ He collapsed onto the sofa, dropping his head into his hands.
‘He’s done it before,’ Johnny began. ‘When Ange was eighteen she got pregnant, he found out, saw the pregnancy test in her room, and he took her to the doctor, made her get rid of it.’
The temperature dropped a few degrees further as Daphne inhaled deeply again. This time she raised her hand and brought it down on her husband, much harder, striking him across the face. The sound reverberated around the room. Tomek and Anna were first to react. They jumped off the sofa, Anna pulling Daphne away.
‘I think everybody needs to calm down,’ Tomek said. ‘There are clearly some things you need to work through and discuss amongst yourselves, but one thing I think you all need to remember is that Angelica’s dead. No matter what happened in the past, you need to have her at the forefront of your thoughts now. We need to find her killer, and we need your help to do so, but that won’t be possible if you’re slapping and hurting each other. Now, if we have to put you in separate corners like a bunch of fucking children, then we will. I didn’t want to have to talk to you like that, but, well, you’ve made me.’
In an instant, the three family members’ behaviour changed. They lowered their heads and dropped their voices, apologising softly as they returned to their positions on the sofa, Roy massaging his cheek, moving his jaw to make sure it was still attached.
‘Thank you,’ Tomek said with a heavy sigh.
‘How is it that we can help you, Detective?’ Daphne asked.
Tomek perched himself on the edge of the sofa, lest they kick off again. ‘For starters, I wondered if you knew the names of any former romantic partners Angelica might have had.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The first name that had come out of Angelica’s family’s mouths was Cole Thompson, who Angelica had been in an on-off-off-on relationship with for six months almost two years ago. There had been no mention of Sammy Mercer, no mention of the thirty-year-old gamer who still lived at home with his mum. Perhaps she had been too embarrassed to introduce him to them, hadn’t wanted to show him off. Or perhaps she had simply used him for another purpose, like learning how to be good at Call of Duty or Grand Theft Auto. Tomek didn’t know, but he thought it very telling. According to Daphne and Roy, Cole was the perfect suitor for her, and Daphne had always hoped that they might stay together, that he might one day become their son-in-law, and raise the family’s status just as Rose had when she’d joined. They said he was kind, considerate, caring, and very, very, very funny – “do you remember that one time” Daphne had started before losing herself in a story about them all going out for a family meal at a classy restaurant. Tomek had let Daphne and Roy reminisce while he’d asked Johnny for his thoughts on the man. They had been condensed down to one word: legend. Tomek thought it was a bit much, considering he’d only known the man for a short while, but he hadn’t wanted to impose. He had, however, enquired the reason they’d broken up.
‘I don’t know, actually,’ Daphne had said. ‘She didn’t tell us much more than that they weren’t going to see each other anymore. She didn’t want to talk about it. And it’s such a shame because he was so sweet, so nice. He was like a member of the family already.’
Echoes of Sammy Mercer’s mum talking about her son rang in his ears as he pulled up outside Cole Thompson’s house. The twenty-nine-year-old lived in a two-bedroom bungalow in Rayleigh, and as Tomek knocked on the door, he was greeted by a small, bald man carrying a rucksack over his shoulder.
‘Mr Thompson?’
The man stopped just as his short leg made the long journey from the doorstep to the ground. He stood with one foot on the concrete and one still inside the building, his knee coming up to his chest.
‘I’m a Mr Thompson, yes. The other one’s at work.’
‘Cole?’
‘That’s my son. The one at work. What’s this about?’
Tomek showed his warrant card and explained he wanted to speak with the man’s son.
‘He’s not done anything, has he?’
‘Hopefully not. We’ve just got some questions we need to ask him regarding his relationship with Angelica Whitaker. Does that name mean anything to you?’
The man finally stepped out of the house and brought his other leg down. It was surprising how much shorter he was than Tomek. He repositioned his backpack on his shoulder in an attempt to make himself seem larger. ‘Ange? Yeah, I remember her. Right stunner, she is. Dunno how he ever managed that one, but what’s he got to do with her.’
Tomek ignored the question. ‘Can you remember the last time you saw her?’
It didn’t take long for the man to answer. ‘The other week. Cole said she was coming round while his mum and I went out for dinner. We saw her when we got home.’
‘The other week?’
The man nodded.
That was much more recent than the two years since the rest of the family had seen him.
‘Might I get his work address, so I can speak with him?’
Cole Thompson worked as a senior accountant for a small, chartered accountants on Rayleigh high street a short drive from his parents’ bungalow. The office was above a Superdrug, and when Tomek found him, the man was at his desk. He was dressed in a loose-fitting shirt, undone at the collar, and a pair of smart trousers. In the room the air was cool, blasted by an air conditioning unit to one side, presumably to mask the smell of the five sweaty men in there.
Cole Thompson was a physically attractive man, with all the right characteristics for him to feature on a magazine front cover somewhere: perfectly manicured hair without a single strand out of place, a fantastic jawline that was sharp enough to cut cheese with, broad shoulders that filled his shirt and then some, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that seemed to accentuate his almost symmetrical face. Not to mention the smell of aftershave that wafted up Tomek’s nose the moment he came across to him, helped along, of course, by the air conditioning. In many ways, he reminded Tomek of the estate agent who’d sold him his flat; the only difference was that Cole didn’t have any Turkey Teeth on him – garish, fluorescent white teeth that had been done on the cheap by a so-called professional overseas.
‘Cole?’ Tomek said.
Cole approached with his hand outstretched. ‘That’s me. How you doing?’
‘Good.’
‘Great. How can we help? I don’t recognise your face. Have you ever worked with us before?’
