cotton scarf wrapped around his neck, and very thin glasses perched on the end of his aquiline nose. He seemed to think that Frieda was there to service the boiler.
‘No,’ said Frieda. ‘I don’t know anything about boilers.’
‘I’ve taken the morning off.’
‘Even so, I can’t repair your boiler. I’m here about the murders of the Dochertys in 2001. I think you lived here then?’
His expression changed. ‘If you’re a journalist, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
‘I’m not a journalist. I’m part of an inquiry into the way that case was conducted.’
‘Are you a police officer?’
Frieda paused. ‘I’m a consultant working with the police.’
‘Do you have identification?’
‘Wait,’ said Frieda.
She walked out of the house and returned a minute later with a glowering Yvette, who showed her own badge, mumbled an explanation and left.
‘I know who you are,’ said Tait.
‘DC Long just told you.’
‘No, I mean I know who you are. I’ve heard of you. I know what you do. You should have said so before.’
Frieda started to answer but Tait wasn’t paying attention.
‘I can’t give you long. I’ve promised to be at work soon.It’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. Flora’s away and the cleaner’s had a baby.’
Frieda looked around. It was indeed a mess, but not of dirty plates or scattered papers. There were scraps of material everywhere, small bright heaps of silk.
‘I make things,’ Tait said. ‘In my spare time, of course. At the moment, I make ties, but not many people want ties any more. I sometimes make hats as well. You look surprised.’
‘I wasn’t really.’
‘The kind that ladies wear at Ascot. It’s great fun. It’s like being an engineer really – you have to construct that kind of hat. Do you wear hats?’
‘No.’
‘A pity. In my day job, I’m a tailor. Bespoke suits for men and women. We’re a dying breed. You may have heard of us – Taits of Piccadilly?’
Frieda hadn’t heard of them but didn’t reply. He gestured for her to sit, then lowered himself into the sofa, his long legs crossed in front of him.
‘I’m not quite sure what I want to ask. But I was hoping to find out more about the Dochertys as a family, get some sense of what they were like.’
‘You’ve come to the right house, then.’
‘You knew them?’
‘Oh, yes. We arrived here in 1995 and they came the year after. We became friends. It doesn’t always happen in London, does it? Not with neighbours. Sometimes it’s still hard to believe. When I look at their house, I still think of what it was like when they were there. We had such fun. When it all happened …’ He seemed to be struggling for words and not finding them. ‘And Rory, that was beyond anything. Just thirteen. Rick took it very badly.’
‘Rick?’
‘Our son. He was the same age as Rory. They were thick as thieves, always round at each other’s houses. Though I’m afraid at school Rory was bullied and Rick didn’t step in. That made it all worse, of course, when it happened. He felt terribly guilty, probably still does.’
‘Have you just the one child?’
‘Two. Saul was just six months older than Hannah.’ He pulled a face. ‘Is, I should say. Hannah’s still alive. Though she might as well be dead.’
‘So the two families were close.’
‘Yes. We even went on holiday together a few times. Corsica. The South of France. The best was Greece – we went on a dinghy sailing course. Hannah was the best by far. She was a natural athlete. I was hopeless, of course. I could hardly fit myself into the boat, knees up to my chin, and I kept getting hit by that thing the sails attached to.’
‘The boom?’ suggested Frieda.
‘It’s so odd to think of those times now. I can’t work out if it’s the past or the present that seems unreal. They just don’t connect.’
Frieda didn’t respond. What did she want to know from this man?
‘I can show you photos if
‘No,’ said Frieda. ‘I don’t know anything about boilers.’
‘I’ve taken the morning off.’
‘Even so, I can’t repair your boiler. I’m here about the murders of the Dochertys in 2001. I think you lived here then?’
His expression changed. ‘If you’re a journalist, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
‘I’m not a journalist. I’m part of an inquiry into the way that case was conducted.’
‘Are you a police officer?’
Frieda paused. ‘I’m a consultant working with the police.’
‘Do you have identification?’
‘Wait,’ said Frieda.
She walked out of the house and returned a minute later with a glowering Yvette, who showed her own badge, mumbled an explanation and left.
‘I know who you are,’ said Tait.
‘DC Long just told you.’
‘No, I mean I know who you are. I’ve heard of you. I know what you do. You should have said so before.’
Frieda started to answer but Tait wasn’t paying attention.
‘I can’t give you long. I’ve promised to be at work soon.It’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. Flora’s away and the cleaner’s had a baby.’
Frieda looked around. It was indeed a mess, but not of dirty plates or scattered papers. There were scraps of material everywhere, small bright heaps of silk.
‘I make things,’ Tait said. ‘In my spare time, of course. At the moment, I make ties, but not many people want ties any more. I sometimes make hats as well. You look surprised.’
‘I wasn’t really.’
‘The kind that ladies wear at Ascot. It’s great fun. It’s like being an engineer really – you have to construct that kind of hat. Do you wear hats?’
‘No.’
‘A pity. In my day job, I’m a tailor. Bespoke suits for men and women. We’re a dying breed. You may have heard of us – Taits of Piccadilly?’
Frieda hadn’t heard of them but didn’t reply. He gestured for her to sit, then lowered himself into the sofa, his long legs crossed in front of him.
‘I’m not quite sure what I want to ask. But I was hoping to find out more about the Dochertys as a family, get some sense of what they were like.’
‘You’ve come to the right house, then.’
‘You knew them?’
‘Oh, yes. We arrived here in 1995 and they came the year after. We became friends. It doesn’t always happen in London, does it? Not with neighbours. Sometimes it’s still hard to believe. When I look at their house, I still think of what it was like when they were there. We had such fun. When it all happened …’ He seemed to be struggling for words and not finding them. ‘And Rory, that was beyond anything. Just thirteen. Rick took it very badly.’
‘Rick?’
‘Our son. He was the same age as Rory. They were thick as thieves, always round at each other’s houses. Though I’m afraid at school Rory was bullied and Rick didn’t step in. That made it all worse, of course, when it happened. He felt terribly guilty, probably still does.’
‘Have you just the one child?’
‘Two. Saul was just six months older than Hannah.’ He pulled a face. ‘Is, I should say. Hannah’s still alive. Though she might as well be dead.’
‘So the two families were close.’
‘Yes. We even went on holiday together a few times. Corsica. The South of France. The best was Greece – we went on a dinghy sailing course. Hannah was the best by far. She was a natural athlete. I was hopeless, of course. I could hardly fit myself into the boat, knees up to my chin, and I kept getting hit by that thing the sails attached to.’
‘The boom?’ suggested Frieda.
‘It’s so odd to think of those times now. I can’t work out if it’s the past or the present that seems unreal. They just don’t connect.’
Frieda didn’t respond. What did she want to know from this man?
‘I can show you photos if
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