The Last Girl Read Free

had his silver hair cut since the last time I’d seen him, and a thin line of paler skin traced his hairline. He had just been on holi days, sailing in Croatia, and his tan made his teeth very white and his eyes extra blue. At that moment he was very far from smiling and his eyes were narrow with disapproval.
    ‘You took your time.’
    ‘The traffic was terrible. We got here as soon as we could,’ I explained, cringing a little in spite of myself.
    Derwent shrugged. ‘We’re here now. What’s going on?’
    ‘Have you ever come across Philip Kennford?’ Godley was speaking in a low voice.
    ‘As in the barrister? The QC? That Kennford?’
    ‘Got it in one.’
    Derwent whistled. ‘This is his house? Fuck me, there’s money in getting criminals off the hook, isn’t there?’
    ‘Who is he?’
    The inspector turned to look at me, unimpressed. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never come up against him, Kerrigan.’
    ‘I haven’t been doing this for very long,’ I reminded him. ‘Only a few of my murders have gone to trial yet.’
    ‘But you must have heard of him.’
    ‘Vaguely,’ I said.
    ‘Do you “vaguely” recall the Catford strangler? That freak who was raping and murdering women in their own homes? He did for eight of them before he got arrested.’
    I ignored the fact that Derwent had dialled the sarcasm up to eleven. This one I did actually know. ‘Because his son got done for aggravated assault and the DNA showed he was related to the killer.’
    ‘Yeah, they’d got DNA from inside one of the victims and it was a near match to the son – close relation – so it was only a matter of going through the family and finding the guilty party. They only got DNA off one body, and only a trace of it at that because he used condoms most of the time – just couldn’t resist dipping into the last one he killed bareback, or he decided it was worth the risk. Maybe he thought he was in the clear because no one had ever come knocking on his door. Peter Harbold his name was, an accountant by profession, a pillar of the community – no one you’d ever have suspected. Twisted bastard, as we found out.’
    ‘Keep your voice down,’ Godley warned, glancing behind him. ‘Kennford’s in there.’
    ‘I don’t care if he hears what I think of his client,’ Derwent snapped. ‘I don’t care if he hears what I think of the defence that got him off.’
    ‘He got off?’ I hadn’t remembered that.
    ‘He did indeed. The DNA sample wasn’t collected properly, according to Kennford. He found an expert to say it could have deteriorated before it was analysed so it couldn’t be relied upon. And Harbold had been very careful about covering his tracks so everything else was circumstantial. No confession, no difficulty in handling cross examination, no criminal record. The jury wouldn’t convict, even after a majority direction. Split down the middle. Cretins on one side, decent people on the other. The prosecution wanted a retrial but the judge said no go. No chance of winning unless there was new evidence, and there wasn’t.’
    ‘Are you that sure they were wrong?’ I asked, genuinely curious. I knew that Derwent didn’t have a lot of time for the jury system but he sounded particularly vehement.
    ‘I knew the officer in the case. Mate of mine. He wasn’t in any doubt about it. Couldn’t shake Harbold in interview. The guy had an answer for everything. He was prepared, my mate said. Just too smooth to be right.’
    I nodded. I had done interviews like that, too. Innocent people got flustered. They tended to ramble, to answer at great length, trying to be as helpful as they could. Innocent people were nervous, generally. It was the guilty ones who took it in their stride.
    ‘You can’t blame Kennford for doing his job,’ Godley said. ‘And in this case, he’s a victim.’
    ‘Or a suspect.’
    ‘If you like, Josh. But you should probably speak to him before you make up your mind about that.’
    ‘Fair