with this, do you?” Before he could answer, Nora shook herself. “Forget it—I don’t know why I even said that. I’m just so tired, you know?”
“I do know.” He drew little circles on her shoulder with the hand he was using to support it, feeling Nora relax against him as they sat in silent contemplation.
Once her breathing became regular, he knew she had dozed off. Simon pulled his head away to look down at the sleeping woman he loved. In repose she looked vulnerable and delicate. This close he could see the freckles across her nose and the fine reddish hair on her arms. Her hands were small, too small for the big grabs she took at life sometimes, he thought. He had the sensation of wanting to protect her forever from the dangers of being out in the world, a foolish notion, he knew intellectually. But sitting here in the aftermath of the strange and sad day they had been thrown into, Simon wanted nothing more than to wrap her up, to cocoon her away from people like the one who had committed murder last night, so that nothing and no one could ever hurt Nora again.
Chapter Fourteen
“This is a true story but I can’t believe it’s really happening.”
— Martin Amis, London Fields
10:10 PM
Heading down the hall toward Bryn Wallace’s neighbor, Declan consulted the note Watkins had left: “Althea Isaacs, bl/bl Jamaican, 50’s, lect/Trinity; hrd arguing near 12M.” He decided Miss Isaacs was black, but the second “bl?” Of course, blonde. Declan rang the bell, expecting it to be opened by a statuesque black Juno with blonde cornrows, perhaps adorned with noisy stacks of bracelets covering one arm and a brightly colored silk wrap thrown over a shoulder.
The woman who opened the door was of medium height with short, curly black hair streaked with grey, wearing dark glasses even at this time of night and dressed in a sleeveless black linen dress and comfortable black flats. Althea Isaacs had a tasteful gold chain hanging down the front of her dress. The only other spot of color in her attire was her matching gold earrings. She smiled politely, looking cool but troubled, as he introduced himself and produced his warrant card, which she ignored. So much for preconceived notions, he thought.
“Please come in, Inspector Barnes.”
Her educated voice had no hint of the lilt he’d expected. The door opened directly into her sitting room. She turned and led the way to two chairs set near the fireplace and slid in front of one chair, feeling it with the back of her leg, sitting as she pointed to the one opposite her. Declan sat, taking in the calm room decorated in soothing beige, cream, and gold without a jarring note. A ceiling fan kept the flat comfortable, and as he withdrew his notebook he took the opportunity to look around, realizing that except for stacks of DVDs piled on a back table, the only ornament was a jasmine plant that wound its way over the low table set between them, its sweet perfume reaching him as he wrote her name, the time, and the date on a new page.
“I appreciate your seeing me this late, but I’m sure you’re aware time is so important in cases like this,” he said.
“Of course. Time has little meaning for me anyway, and I want to help in any way I can—Bryn was a lovely girl and I am greatly grieved by her death.” Isaacs’ voice was composed but she cleared her throat after this speech and slid back deeper into her chair.
“How long have you been Miss Wallace’s neighbor?”
“Since she moved in almost two years ago. I’ve been in this flat for nine years.”
Declan looked around him. “It’s very peaceful in here.” Isaacs nodded in acknowledgement with a slight smile. “Did you know her well? Can you describe what kind of person she was for me?”
She flinched at his use of the past tense. “I knew her only as a caring neighbor. If the weather was poor and I didn’t go out, she always made certain I had provisions.
“I do know.” He drew little circles on her shoulder with the hand he was using to support it, feeling Nora relax against him as they sat in silent contemplation.
Once her breathing became regular, he knew she had dozed off. Simon pulled his head away to look down at the sleeping woman he loved. In repose she looked vulnerable and delicate. This close he could see the freckles across her nose and the fine reddish hair on her arms. Her hands were small, too small for the big grabs she took at life sometimes, he thought. He had the sensation of wanting to protect her forever from the dangers of being out in the world, a foolish notion, he knew intellectually. But sitting here in the aftermath of the strange and sad day they had been thrown into, Simon wanted nothing more than to wrap her up, to cocoon her away from people like the one who had committed murder last night, so that nothing and no one could ever hurt Nora again.
Chapter Fourteen
“This is a true story but I can’t believe it’s really happening.”
— Martin Amis, London Fields
10:10 PM
Heading down the hall toward Bryn Wallace’s neighbor, Declan consulted the note Watkins had left: “Althea Isaacs, bl/bl Jamaican, 50’s, lect/Trinity; hrd arguing near 12M.” He decided Miss Isaacs was black, but the second “bl?” Of course, blonde. Declan rang the bell, expecting it to be opened by a statuesque black Juno with blonde cornrows, perhaps adorned with noisy stacks of bracelets covering one arm and a brightly colored silk wrap thrown over a shoulder.
The woman who opened the door was of medium height with short, curly black hair streaked with grey, wearing dark glasses even at this time of night and dressed in a sleeveless black linen dress and comfortable black flats. Althea Isaacs had a tasteful gold chain hanging down the front of her dress. The only other spot of color in her attire was her matching gold earrings. She smiled politely, looking cool but troubled, as he introduced himself and produced his warrant card, which she ignored. So much for preconceived notions, he thought.
“Please come in, Inspector Barnes.”
Her educated voice had no hint of the lilt he’d expected. The door opened directly into her sitting room. She turned and led the way to two chairs set near the fireplace and slid in front of one chair, feeling it with the back of her leg, sitting as she pointed to the one opposite her. Declan sat, taking in the calm room decorated in soothing beige, cream, and gold without a jarring note. A ceiling fan kept the flat comfortable, and as he withdrew his notebook he took the opportunity to look around, realizing that except for stacks of DVDs piled on a back table, the only ornament was a jasmine plant that wound its way over the low table set between them, its sweet perfume reaching him as he wrote her name, the time, and the date on a new page.
“I appreciate your seeing me this late, but I’m sure you’re aware time is so important in cases like this,” he said.
“Of course. Time has little meaning for me anyway, and I want to help in any way I can—Bryn was a lovely girl and I am greatly grieved by her death.” Isaacs’ voice was composed but she cleared her throat after this speech and slid back deeper into her chair.
“How long have you been Miss Wallace’s neighbor?”
“Since she moved in almost two years ago. I’ve been in this flat for nine years.”
Declan looked around him. “It’s very peaceful in here.” Isaacs nodded in acknowledgement with a slight smile. “Did you know her well? Can you describe what kind of person she was for me?”
She flinched at his use of the past tense. “I knew her only as a caring neighbor. If the weather was poor and I didn’t go out, she always made certain I had provisions.
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