she hurled herself out. ‘This way.’
She led me to a small conference room and spent ages fiddling with the blinds, trying to block out the low sun that was shining across the table and making me screw up my eyes. I clenched my jaw to stop myself from telling her to hurry up, waiting until she was seated opposite me to start asking questions.
‘Did you know Anna well? Had she worked here for long?’
‘About five years.’ She tilted her head from side to side, thinking. ‘Yes. Five.’
‘Would you say you were friends?’
‘Close colleagues. We had a good working relationship.’ Vanessa laid a slight emphasis on the word ‘working’.
‘Would you know what was happening in her personal life? Any boyfriends?’
She shook her head. ‘She went on a couple of dates but nothing serious. She wanted to get married, not have a boyfriend, and it was a bit hard to have one without the other. She was quite well off, you know, and someone had told her she’d be a target for gold-diggers.’
‘What about her social life? Friends? Classes or groups that she went to after work?’
Vanessa’s face was blank. ‘I really don’t think so. She watched television a lot. And she shopped.’
I’d looked through Anna’s wardrobe before leaving the flat and it was all colour-coded and neat and dry-clean only. None of it was showy, though. If anything, she’d dressed so subtly as to be almost invisible, and the clothes seemed to be made for someone older than she was. Looking at Vanessa, languid in grey cashmere with a pencil skirt, I thought Anna had been dressing to impress her boss.
‘How did she travel to work?’
‘No idea.’
‘Was she popular at work?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did she ever make people redundant?’
‘She helped to process redundancies, but it wasn’t her responsibility to do it alone.’
‘Was she involved in disciplinary proceedings?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Did she have any enemies that you know of?’
‘Of course not.’
‘What sort of person was she?’
‘Efficient. Competent. Dedicated.’ The words came without prior thought and I realised I was getting the short form of the eulogy that would be emailed around the office along with confirmation that the rumours were true, it really was Anna Melville from the sixth floor who had been murdered … ‘She was liked by everyone who knew her,’ Vanessa finished, as if that was the last word on the subject.
‘Would you describe her as attractive?’
‘Yes. Of course. I mean, I never thought about it.’
‘Did she ever have meetings with anyone from outside the company?’
‘Not that I can recall.’
‘What was her speaking voice like?’
Vanessa stared at me, floored.
‘Did she have a regional accent?’
‘No. She sounded normal. Totally normal.’ Vanessa herself sounded extremely posh, nay for no and yah for yeah. I was getting more nays than yahs, I thought.
‘There were two other murders in London in the last twelve months that we’re looking into. There may be a connection with Anna’s – it’s one of our lines of inquiry. Did Anna ever mention knowing anyone who’d been murdered? Did she ever mention the names Kirsty Campbell or Maxine Willoughby?’
A slow headshake.
‘Did she ever spend time south of the river, or in the East End?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Did she ever say she was scared of anyone?’
‘No.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘Yesterday, around four. I had to leave early. I’m supposed to be going on holiday tomorrow. Anna was going to look after things while I was gone. I just don’t know how I’m going to manage to get away now.’
I wrapped things up pretty quickly, asking if I could have a look at Anna’s desk. Without enthusiasm, Vanessa led me through a corridor of glass-walled offices to an area filled with cubicles, where every head was bent over a desk and every single person was aware of every move I made. Vanessa stood beside the cubicle, watching
She led me to a small conference room and spent ages fiddling with the blinds, trying to block out the low sun that was shining across the table and making me screw up my eyes. I clenched my jaw to stop myself from telling her to hurry up, waiting until she was seated opposite me to start asking questions.
‘Did you know Anna well? Had she worked here for long?’
‘About five years.’ She tilted her head from side to side, thinking. ‘Yes. Five.’
‘Would you say you were friends?’
‘Close colleagues. We had a good working relationship.’ Vanessa laid a slight emphasis on the word ‘working’.
‘Would you know what was happening in her personal life? Any boyfriends?’
She shook her head. ‘She went on a couple of dates but nothing serious. She wanted to get married, not have a boyfriend, and it was a bit hard to have one without the other. She was quite well off, you know, and someone had told her she’d be a target for gold-diggers.’
‘What about her social life? Friends? Classes or groups that she went to after work?’
Vanessa’s face was blank. ‘I really don’t think so. She watched television a lot. And she shopped.’
I’d looked through Anna’s wardrobe before leaving the flat and it was all colour-coded and neat and dry-clean only. None of it was showy, though. If anything, she’d dressed so subtly as to be almost invisible, and the clothes seemed to be made for someone older than she was. Looking at Vanessa, languid in grey cashmere with a pencil skirt, I thought Anna had been dressing to impress her boss.
‘How did she travel to work?’
‘No idea.’
‘Was she popular at work?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did she ever make people redundant?’
‘She helped to process redundancies, but it wasn’t her responsibility to do it alone.’
‘Was she involved in disciplinary proceedings?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Did she have any enemies that you know of?’
‘Of course not.’
‘What sort of person was she?’
‘Efficient. Competent. Dedicated.’ The words came without prior thought and I realised I was getting the short form of the eulogy that would be emailed around the office along with confirmation that the rumours were true, it really was Anna Melville from the sixth floor who had been murdered … ‘She was liked by everyone who knew her,’ Vanessa finished, as if that was the last word on the subject.
‘Would you describe her as attractive?’
‘Yes. Of course. I mean, I never thought about it.’
‘Did she ever have meetings with anyone from outside the company?’
‘Not that I can recall.’
‘What was her speaking voice like?’
Vanessa stared at me, floored.
‘Did she have a regional accent?’
‘No. She sounded normal. Totally normal.’ Vanessa herself sounded extremely posh, nay for no and yah for yeah. I was getting more nays than yahs, I thought.
‘There were two other murders in London in the last twelve months that we’re looking into. There may be a connection with Anna’s – it’s one of our lines of inquiry. Did Anna ever mention knowing anyone who’d been murdered? Did she ever mention the names Kirsty Campbell or Maxine Willoughby?’
A slow headshake.
‘Did she ever spend time south of the river, or in the East End?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Did she ever say she was scared of anyone?’
‘No.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘Yesterday, around four. I had to leave early. I’m supposed to be going on holiday tomorrow. Anna was going to look after things while I was gone. I just don’t know how I’m going to manage to get away now.’
I wrapped things up pretty quickly, asking if I could have a look at Anna’s desk. Without enthusiasm, Vanessa led me through a corridor of glass-walled offices to an area filled with cubicles, where every head was bent over a desk and every single person was aware of every move I made. Vanessa stood beside the cubicle, watching
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