Читать книгу Dead Man’s Daughter - Roz Watkins - Страница 13
ОглавлениеKaren Jenkins shuffled into the interview room, bashed her leg on the drab grey desk, and apologised to it. I smiled. It was the sort of depressingly British thing I’d do.
Craig sorted out the recording apparatus and took her through the formal bits and pieces. Jai was watching from an observation room. It was still only the afternoon of the first day and we had a solid lead. I prayed we could get this one cleared up fast so I could avoid my lie to Richard being exposed. There was no way I could delay my time off, whatever I’d said to him.
Karen was in her mid to late forties, and reminded me of one of those hairy dogs whose eyes you never see. She cleared her throat a couple of times and licked her lips. Glanced at me and quickly looked away. ‘Sorry. I’m not used to being questioned by the police.’ She gave a high-pitched laugh. ‘Can I make notes in my pad? It calms me.’
‘Yes, of course.’ I leaned back in my deeply uncomfortable chair.
She shook her head so her hair covered her eyes almost completely. ‘Right. Yes. No. I can’t believe it. Can’t believe it happened.’ She picked up her pen and tapped it against her pad, but didn’t write anything.
I chatted nonsense for a while to relax her and calibrate – noticing what she did with her hands and face when she was talking about the weather and the traffic.
Once I’d got the feel of her, I asked casually, ‘Were you close to Phil Thornton?’
She swallowed and looked down, much stiller than before. ‘We were colleagues. Not close as such.’
‘His wife was concerned someone might have been following him. Do you know anything about that?’
She hesitated. I could see her breathing. Raised voices drifted in from in a nearby room. ‘No. Sorry,’ she said.
‘Anything worrying him that you were aware of?’
‘Nothing that would get him killed,’ she said, more abruptly. ‘He was worried about Abbie. And about his wife, I think. She’s a bit odd.’ She made a few swoopy doodles on her pad.
There was a smell in the air, familiar but wrong in this context. I looked up sharply and scrutinised her. Had she been drinking?
‘When was the last time you went to Phil’s house?’
Her eyes widened a fraction. ‘I don’t know. Ages ago.’
‘What was the occasion?’
‘You should be looking at his wife, not me,’ Karen said. ‘He was worried about his wife.’
‘The occasion you went to his house?’
‘They had me and my husband round. I can check the dates and get back to you.’
I glanced at the wedding ring on her hand. ‘Look, you need to be totally honest with me. Nobody’s judging you. But what kind of relationship did you have with Phil?’
‘We were close. Nothing ever happened.’ Jagged lines on the pad, deeper now, solid fingers gripping the pen, her body tense and so different to when she’d been chatting earlier.
‘Karen, I don’t care if you were having an affair, but you need to tell me the truth.’
Her voice shook, as if she was about to cry. ‘We were friends.’
I waited a moment, but she said no more.
‘Have you ever watched those TV murder mysteries where the victim’s friend is always forging Dutch masters or stealing prize orchids or something like that?’ I asked. ‘So they lie to the police, and you’re screaming at the telly saying, “Just tell them about the sodding orchids” because it never turns out well. Have you watched any of those?’
She nodded and licked her lips again, looking on the verge of tears, the skin beneath her eyes beginning to puff up.
‘Where were you on Sunday night?’ I asked.
‘Me? I was at home. You don’t think I did it? I would never . . . ’ She was crying now, gulping and wiping her hand over her nose.
Craig dived in. ‘You see, we have these texts and phone calls on Phil’s phone.’
Karen jumped and looked at him, as if she’d forgotten he was there. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. You think I . . . Oh my God.’
‘You went there, didn’t you,’ Craig said. ‘To his house.’
Karen flipped her gaze from me to Craig, and to me again, and shoved herself back in her chair as if wanting to put distance between us. She moved her foot in anxious circles over the dismal grey carpet.
‘You’ve nothing to worry about if you tell us the truth,’ I said. Which wasn’t strictly true.
‘No. I wasn’t there. I phoned him, that’s all. You need to look at Rachel.’ She hunched over her notepad and drew more swoops, then dropped her pen onto the desk. ‘She’s had mental health problems. Who knows what she’d do?’
‘What problems has she had?’ I settled in my chair, as if there was all the time in the world.
‘She had a psychotic episode. She could be dangerous.’
‘What exactly happened?’
‘You know Jess died? Rachel’s daughter?’
‘Yes. Four years ago.’
‘Well, that was . . . ’ Karen picked her pen up again and fiddled with the end of it. ‘Anyway, Rachel had a psychotic episode afterwards.’
‘What were you going to say about Jess? You cut yourself short.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t. I don’t know the full details.’
‘Of how Jess died, you mean?’
‘Yes. Phil didn’t like to talk about it.’
‘Just tell me what you know.’
Karen wriggled in her seat. ‘She fell out of a window. In that weird house. Not long after Rachel and Jess moved in.’
‘From a window?’ I was momentarily pitched off course. Why had I thought about dead children at the top window? Maybe I’d seen a news report and then forgotten it.
‘The attic window. The girls weren’t supposed to go up there.’ Karen grabbed her pen and doodled again. Jagged lines this time, like the start of a migraine. There was something she didn’t want to say. Something around Jess’s death. ‘It’s a weird house. Out in the middle of the woods. I remember when he bought it. He got obsessed with it. Had to have it.’
‘Did you know why?’
She relaxed a little with that question. ‘It seemed to be something to do with those weird statues in the woods. He was into art so maybe he liked the idea of owning them. I mean, I suppose they are cool in a creepy sort of way. But he was in a strange state at that time – I think he was in shock about his ex-wife dying.’
‘His ex-wife as in Abbie’s mother?’
‘Yes. She died not long after they separated.’
‘How did she die?’
‘Laura? In a car crash.’
I pondered the statistically improbable amount of death in this family, and made a note to do a check on the car crash, as well as the daughter’s death.
‘Rachel got really overprotective about Abbie,’ Karen said. ‘She adores Abbie, Phil said. As much as if she was her own daughter. And she kept thinking Abbie was ill all the time, even when she wasn’t, because she’d been diagnosed with Phil’s heart condition.’
‘Phil and Abbie had the same condition?’
‘Yes. Phil had a heart transplant a few years ago. I think he had to go abroad for it, actually, to China or somewhere. He’s fine now, but he has to take medication for the rest of his life. So of course they knew all the issues about waiting lists and how Abbie could die before a suitable heart came up. She got the symptoms younger, obviously. Phil was lucky in a way that it didn’t come on till later in life.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So, Rachel didn’t cope very well with Abbie’s condition?’
‘No, I suppose having already lost a child . . . ’
‘I don’t see the relevance of this,’ Craig said.
Karen reddened. ‘I just thought I should tell you Rachel has some strange beliefs. She could be going psychotic again.’
I gave Craig a Shut up look. At this stage anything could be relevant and I didn’t want to close Karen down. There’d be time to push her later if we got more evidence against her. ‘What beliefs does she have?’
‘It was because Abbie was having night terrors. She was screaming that her dad was trying to kill her or something.’
I glanced at Craig. He was very still, staring at Karen.
‘Did you say Abbie was dreaming that her father was trying to kill her?’ I said.
‘That’s what Phil told me. He was really upset about it. Obviously. He would never lay a finger on Abbie, so it was awful.’
‘It must have been. And he shared all this with you?’
Karen reddened. ‘Only because it was so weird and upsetting. Rachel thought some bizarre stuff about Abbie.’
‘What did she think?’
This seemed to be getting us off track and was probably a distraction, but I thought we might as well hear her out.
Karen pushed her hair off her face. ‘Rachel got it into her head that Abbie was remembering what had happened to her heart donor.’
I looked up sharply from my notes. ‘What do you mean?’
Craig stopped fiddling with his pen.
‘She thought Abbie was having nightmares because she remembered what had happened to the girl she got her heart from. Rachel had this theory that the donor child had been abused or even killed by her father.’
Nobody said anything for a moment. The room seemed to shrink a little. ‘Rachel Thornton thought that was why Abbie was having nightmares?’ I said. ‘Because of her new heart?’
‘Yes. She thought Abbie’s dreams were from the donor child’s memories. From her death, in fact. That’s why she thought Abbie was scared of Phil. She thought Abbie was confusing him in her sleep with the donor child’s father.’
This was one of the stranger things I’d heard.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You’re right to tell us anything you think could possibly be relevant.’
‘I think you’re trying to distract us,’ Craig said. ‘There’s no way a kid could remember something that happened to a different child.’
‘I didn’t say Abbie remembered,’ Karen said. ‘I said that was what Rachel thought.’
‘Thank you, Karen,’ I said. ‘It could be relevant, so thank you for telling us.’
She smiled and said almost under her breath, ‘I just thought it was weird.’
I left it a moment and then said, ‘We still need to know if you were having a relationship with Phil.’
She shook her head. ‘My husband mustn’t know . . . ’
‘There’s no reason your husband need find out.’
‘The children. He’d . . . He mustn’t know.’ She put the pen down. Her hand was shaking.
I waited.
‘It’s been over with Phil for ages. Please don’t tell my husband. He . . . He gets angry sometimes.’
‘Did you go to Phil’s house last night?’
She blinked several times and licked her lips. She’d be wishing she’d asked for a lawyer, wondering what we had on her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I know the phone calls look bad. But I didn’t go to the house. I didn’t kill him.’
*
I sat at my desk, looking sightlessly at piles of paperwork, deep in thought. Karen Jenkins had been right that her phone calls to Phil in the middle of the night looked bad. And she clearly had been having a relationship with him. It was hard to imagine her slitting someone’s throat, but if he’d finished the affair and she was furious with him, and maybe panicking that he’d tell her husband . . . She seemed the most likely suspect at the moment.
My mind drifted to her odd comment about Abbie’s dreams. I supposed having someone else’s heart inside you was potentially quite traumatic. It made sense that Abbie could have imagined what might have happened to the donor, and got scared. She wouldn’t actually know how the donor died – I knew that would have been kept confidential, but her imagination could have run away with her. Was she imagining that the donor child’s father had had something to do with her death? And then mixing him up with her own father in her dreams? That could have been horrible for Phil Thornton. Was that the reason for his artwork, the obsession with hearts? Intriguing though it was, it was hard to see how it could have had anything to do with his death.
Something slammed down on my desk.
Craig’s backside.
‘Jesus, Craig, you gave me a shock.’
He shoved some papers out of the way and settled down, angled towards me so I could see his flesh straining against his trousers. I needed to stop being so irritated by him – it was like in a relationship gone sour, where every little move sets your teeth on edge. He twisted to look at me. ‘I’ve spoken to one of Karen Jenkins’ colleagues. Karen’s sounding guilty as hell.’
‘What did her colleague say?’
‘He ended the affair. She has debts, and she’s terrified her husband will leave her. And she has a drink problem. The colleague’s happy to come in and make a statement.’
‘Obviously a good friend. I thought I smelt drink on Karen.’
‘Her husband might be violent too, this woman said. Maybe Phil threatened to tell him about the affair, and Karen was frightened.’
‘You got all the gossip.’ I was about to say more, in an attempt to be pleasant, but caught myself. The last time I’d said Well Done to Craig he’d asked if I was going to pat him on the head and give him a doggie biscuit for doing his job.
He sniffed. ‘Yeah, she was well up for dishing the dirt. And she said some bloke had come to the office to see Phil. The guy was furious, but no one knew who he was.’
‘That’s promising. Could it have been Karen’s husband? Could he have suspected about the affair? Or would her colleagues have recognised him?’
‘Not sure. I’m looking into it. And I asked her about the stalker. Phil hadn’t said anything about that. Seems likely it was Karen, but there had been an accident with a kid and Thornton got the blame. So the parents could have had a grudge against him. Apparently it happens quite a bit.’
‘What was the accident?’
‘The social workers took some kids who were in care to the beach, and one of them slipped on a rock and got badly injured. Phil was supervising when it happened. He wasn’t blamed officially – it was just an accident – but the parents might not have seen it that way.’
‘Karen didn’t mention that. She must have known. I agree she’s dodgy. But we need to look at Thornton’s wife as well. If he was having an affair, she’s got a motive.’
‘I checked with Rachel’s mother.’ Craig had been quick to start using Rachel Thornton’s first name. I wondered if he’d taken a shine to her. ‘She slept late and when she woke, Rachel had already left, but she woke at three thirty in the morning to go to the loo, and she heard Rachel snoring then. It’s Karen Jenkins. I’ll have a little bet with you.’ Craig leant across my desk, shirt stretching, and held out his right hand. ‘Fifty quid says it’s her.’
I was relieved Craig was being pleasant (ish), although I didn’t quite trust it, and I wasn’t sure what to do with his outstretched hand. If I shook it, he’d probably tell Richard I’d bet on the outcome of the case. If I didn’t shake it, he’d think I was snubbing him. I was sure other people didn’t put this much thought into every little interaction. I ignored the hand.
Craig pulled his arm back. The atmosphere stiffened.
‘Did you get the name of the parents?’ I said. ‘Of the child who had the accident on the beach?’
‘Of course I did. Mr and Mrs Darren O’Brian.’
‘She not have a name then?’
‘Don’t get all feminist with me – that was what they gave me.’
‘Get her name too, please, and check them out. They could have a motive.’
Fiona poked her head through the door. She caught my eye and a trace of a smile flitted across her face. ‘Craig, your wife’s in reception. With your kids.’
Craig jumped up, his bulk shoving my desk backwards in a persuasive demonstration of Newton’s Third Law. ‘Oh, Christ.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Shit.’ He blundered out of the room.
I beckoned Fiona over. ‘What are his wife and kids doing here?’
She moved close and spoke quietly. ‘I got the impression he’d promised to be home early, and he must have forgotten, so she’s dumping them on him.’
Craig was the kind of father who called it babysitting when he looked after his own children, so this was a fun development for Fiona and me. ‘Good for her,’ I said.
‘I suppose a new murder case is quite an excuse for being late though.’ Fiona was so damn reasonable.
‘But someone’s got to take responsibility, haven’t they, Fiona, and if it’s always women, nothing will ever change. Look at all the female detectives we know – hardly any of them have kids. And then look at the men – they’ve nearly all got them, but little wifey’s there in the background taking responsibility. Even if she has her own job – even if it’s a good job – somehow it’s always her taking little Johnny to the doctor when he’s got a snotty nose. And if it’s not kids, it’s sick relatives.’
‘It does seem to work out that way.’
‘Never mind the glass ceiling – there’s another ceiling made of nappies, baby sick, and grandparents’ corn plasters.’ I wondered what it would have been like if I’d had a brother – whether he’d have felt as responsible for Mum and Gran as I did. ‘And nobody questions it.’
‘Well, you clearly are. And so’s Craig’s wife.’ She gave me a conspiratorial look. ‘And luckily us two are better than the men here, so we can afford to spend more time on other things and still do a better job than them. That’s why Craig hates you so much.’
That felt like a punch. ‘Does he really hate me?’
‘Maybe that’s putting it a bit strongly. He knows he’s not DI material and you clearly are. And he’s maybe jealous we’re women and yet we can stay late, whereas he’s getting stick from his wife.’
‘I’m not exactly commitment-free.’
‘No, and the less said about my family, the better. It’s not exactly a positive thing that I don’t have much to do with them.’
Not for the first time, I wondered about Fiona’s family. She rarely mentioned them, apart from her gran and a brother who she liked, but who I got the impression wasn’t her only sibling. I vowed to get to know her better. But now wasn’t the time. Rachel Thornton was waiting to give a statement.
‘Have you met Craig’s wife?’ Fiona asked.
‘Yes, at that gruesome barbecue Richard organised, after he’d been on a course about how to make us all bond. I admit I may have made assumptions about her based on the quantity of make-up she was wearing. What’s her name again?’
‘Tamsyn. I think she’s actually alright. And I’m sure she has a point, but Craig needs to pull his weight on the case, doesn’t he? Kids or no kids. She can’t expect him to act like he’s got a nine-to-five job.’
He’d pull his weight alright. His desperation to undermine me would ensure that.
I looked at my watch. ‘Right. I’m interviewing Rachel Thornton. Craig was supposed to be doing it with me. Can I give you a shout if he’s had to go home?’
‘Sure.’
I set off towards the interview room, and as I was passing through the reception area, I saw Craig’s wife shooing a child towards the door. She looked up, saw me, and gave a bright smile. ‘Meg! Hello.’
Thank God I’d asked Fiona for her name. I smiled awkwardly. ‘Tamsyn.’
‘I wanted a word actually, if that’s okay.’
Oh God. ‘I’m just on my way to an interview now. But . . . ’
‘It’ll be quick.’ She moved closer. She looked like she’d recently applied foundation and lipstick. How did these women find time? The child had plonked himself on a seat and was looking at his phone and swinging his legs, in a way which made him appear both engrossed and pissed off at the same time. ‘I’ve said it’s okay for Craig to stay late tonight, in the circumstances, but I was going to ask you if you could maybe go a bit easier on him?’
I took a step back. ‘Sorry?’
‘He’s been working late a lot and I need him to do more with the kids, and the pressure seems to be coming from you.’
Had he been working late? I didn’t remember much of that. I didn’t know what to say.
Tamsyn lowered her voice. ‘He wants to impress you.’
Now I was in some kind of parallel universe. ‘Right. I don’t think I’m putting pressure on him but I’ll bear it in mind. I’d better go. Sorry. Nice to see you.’
I smiled at a point above her head and scarpered.
*
The light flickered overhead, emphasising the deep, February blackness outside. We were in our oldest interview room – the only one that had been available – and it was rich with layers of unidentifiable smells which no amount of cherry disinfectant could remove. We couldn’t even leave suspects in there because it had too many ligature points.
Rachel Thornton perched on the edge of her chair, bouncing her knee and tapping her fingers on the table. There was a tension in her upper body that seemed set into the bones, as if she’d been anxious for so long it had become part of her structure.
She’d got a lawyer in, as some people always did – midrange, I guessed. Not super-smug and shiny, and with a rather unfortunate mole on his chin, but not actually downtrodden.
‘We have a few more questions for you,’ I said. ‘And we need to get you to sign a statement for us.’
I had to focus on the interview, but couldn’t get Craig’s wife out of my head. Was any of what she’d said true, or was Craig making it up for his own reasons? I knew for sure he wasn’t trying to impress me.
Rachel’s gaze darted between Craig and me. ‘Why’ve you asked me to come in here? Can you not imagine how I feel? And I don’t want to leave Abbie for long. She’s distraught.’ She seemed very different from earlier – as if she’d moved past her initial shock and into defensive mode. When she mentioned Abbie, I saw a lioness protecting her cub.
‘It’s important for us to move quickly,’ I said. ‘We realise it’s difficult for you, but the first forty-eight hours are vital. We want to find who did this to your – ’
The lawyer butted in. ‘We’re very unhappy about your actions this morning.’ He stared aggressively at me.
I jerked upright. ‘Sorry?’
‘We’re considering a claim for police brutality.’
‘You’re what?’
Craig visibly perked up. He looked from me to the lawyer and back again.
‘It’s clear you used unnecessary force against my client. You pushed her to the ground, causing injury to her arm and hip.’
A wave of anger swept over me. ‘Let’s get it on record, shall we, that I used reasonable force to attempt to prevent your client compromising a crime scene. In retrospect, I clearly didn’t use enough force, because she has indeed compromised the crime scene, making it harder for us to catch the perpetrator. And incidentally, she punched me.’
The mole twitched. He clearly hadn’t known about the punch. ‘We reserve our position. I’m just putting you on notice.’
I took a breath and turned to Rachel. Was this coming from her or from her overpaid lawyer? I decided to ignore it for now. ‘When did you last speak to your husband?’
Her face showed a moment of confusion. Why wasn’t I saying more about the brutality accusation? Then, ‘Last night, from Mum’s phone.’
‘And how did he seem?’
‘Okay, I think. Maybe not quite himself?’
She seemed almost embarrassed. I assumed the police brutality thing had been the lawyer’s idea.
‘Not quite himself in what way?’
She was still bouncing and tapping feet and fingers, and had angled herself towards the door as if planning to make a run for it. She looked brittle and light, as if you could push her and she’d topple over. ‘I don’t know. He’s been a bit secretive recently, and angry with me for no reason. Complaining about me working too hard, that sort of thing.’
It sounded like the familiar story of the angry adulterer – finding fault with his wife so he could feel better about his own behaviour.
‘What job do you do?’ I asked.
‘Accountant. It can be busy sometimes but he was being unreasonable.’
Her voice was one-dimensional. She was hiding something, but this wasn’t at the heart of it.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I noticed a window open in your bedroom. Is that normal?’
‘I can’t sleep with the window shut. Phil complained at first but now he’s the same.’
‘And, we were wondering, it looked like someone had taken a shower soon before we arrived at your house this morning. Was that you?’ I spoke casually as if it didn’t really matter. Of course she knew it did, but sometimes if you got the tone right, they’d subconsciously follow your suggestion, and things would pop out before the conscious mind caught up.
Rachel wasn’t falling for it, but she was giving me something anyway. A flash of electricity. She stopped both the leg and finger tapping, and her eyes were wide. ‘No. Of course not. I didn’t get back until after you arrived. Maybe Abbie had one.’
Abbie had been covered in blood when I’d seen her, including in her hair, which had otherwise been dry. She didn’t look like she’d had a shower. Rachel may have been going through a similar thought process. ‘Or Phil could have had one late the night before.’
The lawyer sat forward on his seat, eyes flicking to and fro, mouth open ready to intervene if Rachel started to say anything too rash.
‘Phil’s drawings and sculptures – they were interesting.’ I pictured the carved girl with her heart missing. That one had seared its way into my brain. ‘They’re very . . . well, dark?’
There was something there. A crackle in the air. Something around the artwork. ‘Are they? I didn’t really think about it.’
The lawyer deflated a little. He hadn’t noticed.
‘Had Phil always been interested in art?’ I asked.
A tiny intake of breath. ‘I suppose so. Only as a hobby.’
‘And you had some mental health problems a few years ago?’
She relaxed – a slight shifting downwards of her weight, the energy that seemed to spin around her dropping a little. ‘After Jess died? I was upset but I wouldn’t say I had mental health problems. Who told you that? I had an infection and they couldn’t get to the bottom of it. And I was worried about Abbie. How could I not be worried when she could have died too?’
‘So, did everything improve once Abbie had the transplant?’
There it was again. She tapped her fingers repeatedly against her knee. Then spoke fast and somewhat mechanically, speedy- robot style. ‘Yes. I mean, we’re still worried about her, but it’s much better.’
‘Except for the night terrors? That must have been upsetting for Phil, particularly?’
‘Well, for both of us.’
‘What was she scared of?’
‘I don’t know, nothing in particular. She was just getting scared in the night. It happens.’ I could hear the dryness of her mouth. She hadn’t mentioned the dreams about Phil, or the theory about Abbie’s heart. Maybe she was embarrassed. Thought it would sound crazy.
‘But she was scared of Phil, wasn’t she?’ I said.
Rachel stood up. ‘I have to get back to Abbie.’
‘Why did you think she was having such bad dreams?’
‘I don’t know! She’d had a heart transplant! It’s scary. And Phil stupidly told her a horrible story about our house.’
On the face of it, this had absolutely nothing to do with Phil Thornton’s death. But if Karen Jenkins had been telling the truth, then Rachel was covering up the fact that Abbie had been terrified of her father. I decided not to mention what Karen had said, and see what more she came out with. The lawyer narrowed his eyes as if wondering what I was up to. Something was afoot.
‘But it was bad enough for you to take her to see a psychiatrist?’ I said.
She spun round and looked at her lawyer. My pulse whipped high. This was something.
A sharp knock on the door and Jai poked his head round. ‘Can I have a quick word?’
Rachel jumped up. ‘Can I go?’
Jai gave a rapid shake of his head.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll only be a minute or two.’ I stepped outside the interview room and pulled the door closed. ‘What have you found?’
Jai kept his voice low. ‘We got the ANPR data. She drove towards their house at seven thirty, not nine thirty like she said. Then she left again, and came back when you were there.’
‘Did the CCTV actually show that she went to the house?’
‘There’s no CCTV to the house. But she went along the main road just before the turning to her house.’
‘So, in theory she could have driven past and gone somewhere else, and then come back?’
‘But why lie about that?’ Jai said. ‘She told us she came straight from her mother’s house.’
‘I know, I know. She’s dodgy as hell. What about in the night? Have we found her on the CCTV then? Around the time of death.’
‘No. She could have avoided it then. Gone round the lane off the main road.’
‘But then why not avoid it later?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t avoid it deliberately.’
I pushed the door open and walked back into the interview room. Rachel was still standing. I looked towards her chair. ‘You’d better sit down.’
She glanced at me and then at her lawyer, who nodded. She sat down.
The room seemed very quiet, its air thick.
‘We’ve got the CCTV footage,’ I said. ‘You need to tell us the truth now. You went back home earlier this morning, didn’t you?’
A muscle below her eye fluttered, and she gripped her hands together. ‘What? No. What have you seen on the CCTV?’
‘How about you tell us what happened?’
The lawyer shifted as if to put himself between me and Rachel. ‘Could we have a moment?’ he said.
Rachel spun round to face her lawyer. ‘It’s fine. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I must have forgotten. I nipped into Eldercliffe to go to the shops, and then went home.’
‘That’s not true, is it? You don’t appear on the CCTV going into Eldercliffe.’
‘We need a moment,’ the lawyer said.
‘I went to the other shop.’ Rachel sounded as if she was about to burst into tears.
‘Which one?’
Silence.
I was okay with silence. Rachel wasn’t. She picked at a piece of skin on her finger. The lawyer sat looking stressed but seemed to have given up trying to restrain her.
‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘I did go home first. I couldn’t get the landline to work and there’s no mobile signal so I drove off to call for help.’
‘But you didn’t call for help.’
‘I couldn’t get a signal so I came back.’
‘Over an hour later? You’re not a great liar. You know we’re going to find out. I’m sure you had reasons for what you did. It would be in your interest to tell us now.’
‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘Okay.’ She dropped her head forward and a tear splashed onto her jeans-clad leg.
‘Thank you, Rachel,’ I said quietly. ‘It’ll be for the best.’
The lawyer was poised like a cat about to pounce.
‘I got home and he was there. Already dead.’
‘So why didn’t you call an ambulance? Or the police?’
‘He was definitely dead. There was no point calling an ambulance. And I was worried you’d think I did it. I panicked.’
‘And left your child in the house with your dead husband?’
‘I know. I’m sorry. She was on sleeping pills. I never thought she’d wake up. Of course I regret now what I did. But I didn’t want you to think I did it. We’ve been having a few problems . . . ’ She let out a sob. ‘I thought you’d think it was me. It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill him.’
*
‘You took on the case then?’ Jai sat briefly on the chair by my desk, then stood up and leant against it. Why would no one sit on that chair? Were they so traumatised by experiences in Richard’s chair that they shunned anything remotely similar? It was as if they were playing a strange game with me – counting all the ways they could avoid sitting on the damn thing.
‘Richard left me very little choice. If we can make enough progress in the next week, you guys can carry on while I’m away and Richard won’t have to ship Dickinson in.’
‘Did you tell him you’d delay your time off?’
‘Sort of. But I can’t.’ I folded my arms and shivered. It was freezing. Our work-place had no temperate zone – there were either monkeys swinging from the door frames or polar bears ambling over the eco-carpets.
Jai leant forward to pull a few dead leaves from the spider plant that hovered on the edge of death on my desk. ‘Mary managed to do the PM today, but there was nothing too surprising. Throat slit with a sharp, pointed knife, twice in quick succession, using a stabbing motion. He was almost certainly asleep, and he’d taken one of his own sleeping pills. He hadn’t fought back, at least not in any way that injured him.’
‘Anything under his nails?’
‘No. No defence injuries. Everything was pretty much as we’d thought. She said he’d had a heart transplant in the past. It wasn’t the neatest of surgeries, but it had been doing its job.’
‘Any sign of the knife?’
Jai shook his head. ‘We’re waiting for fibre analysis and fingerprints. And we’ve got a warrant to search Karen Jenkins’ house. But my money’s on the wife now.’
‘Yes. Why the hell would she run off and not call anyone if she’s innocent? And I’m sure she wanted to get into the house when I was there, and mess up the scene. What was she afraid of us finding? Was Mary sure about the time of death?’
‘She was reasonably confident it was between 3 a.m. and 4 a.m.’
‘Rachel Thornton could have driven from her mother’s house,’ I said. ‘At three-ish. Then killed him, and driven back, taking the route round the lanes that avoids the CCTV, either deliberately or for some other reason. Her mother could have remembered wrong. Or she could be lying about the loo visit. You know what mothers are like where their children are concerned.’
‘But why would Rachel go back there at half seven, and then leave again?’
‘Maybe she remembered she’d left some evidence. Or maybe she wanted to check Abbie was okay.’
‘I suppose she could have gone off to dispose of the knife and her clothes and then come back to Abbie. But then she left again.’
‘She might have realised there was something else she needed to get rid of,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to talk to Abbie. She was covered in blood when I found her so she must have gone into the bedroom and found her father while Rachel was out, poor kid. But she might have seen something. Maybe she remembers now.’
‘At least we’ve got a couple of good leads. Maybe it’ll work out okay with your gran.’
I twitched and glanced into the corridor. Nobody was around but I still whispered. ‘Richard doesn’t know what I’m doing, remember. But yes, fingers crossed.’
Jai leant closer to me and spoke quietly. ‘Are you okay? It must be pretty shitty.’
I smiled. ‘That’s an accurate analysis of the situation.’
He jumped up and pushed my door shut, then came back and actually sat on the spare chair. ‘When are you going to Switzerland?’
‘Thursday. I’ll spend Wednesday helping Mum get ready. And trying to spend some time with Gran.’
Jai looked down and laced his fingers together. ‘Craig said something about a brutality accusation? What’s that about?’
‘Oh, I know. It’s all I need, with Richard already on at me about my professionalism.’
Jai examined his fingernails as if they held the answer to the meaning of life. ‘But you’d done nothing wrong, had you?’
‘Of course not. Bloody woman. If anyone was brutal, it was her. She punched me.’
‘Why didn’t you report it?’
‘Because I’m an idiot. I suppose I didn’t want Craig to know she hit me.’ I looked at Jai’s despairing face. ‘I know, I know, he knows now anyway. And I shouldn’t let him get to me.’
Jai sighed. ‘It’s best to ignore him.’
A complaint was bad news for us, even if it had no basis, especially with the worry about us ignoring the stalker. Besides, the thought of someone complaining about me gave me a hollow, depressed feeling inside. I reached into my drawer for my stash of organic chocolate. ‘Here.’ I broke off a couple of chunks and shoved the rest at Jai.
I could see Jai coveting the whole bar, but he glanced at the price label. ‘Jesus.’
‘It’s cultivated by happy, fairly paid people in far-off lands,’ I said. ‘That doesn’t come cheap.’
Jai took a couple of squares. ‘Okay. I won’t take much. I’ll get an exploitative Yorkie bar from the machine on the way out.’ He jumped up. ‘Don’t work too hard.’
*
After another hour of researching, pondering, chocolate eating, and general fretting, I finally drove myself home and got in around ten, letting myself in to the accompaniment of an extremely loud commentary from Hamlet. He jumped onto the shelf in the hallway, knocked a pile of books and the phone onto the floor, and fell on top of them.
‘Jesus, Hamlet, aren’t cats supposed to be graceful? Nature’s supreme athlete or something.’
He righted himself, gave me a contemptuous look, and stalked off in a cloud of black and white fur, as if it had all been part of his plan. He was sulking at my lateness, but I’d arranged for a neighbour to feed him at six, so he hadn’t missed out.
I reached to pick up the phone, and saw the answer-phone light flashing.
Mum. I’d forgotten to call her back. With a hollow feeling, I pressed the button. Her voice was shaky and upset. ‘Love, I don’t know if we’re doing this too soon. She seems better today. Can you phone me?’
I dialled Mum’s number. She picked straight up. ‘Where have you been?’
‘At work, Mum. There’s been a murder. How’s Gran?’
‘You’re not taking on a big case, are you, Meg? We talked about this.’
‘It’ll be fine.’
‘Because you said you’d definitely take that time off. You specifically said you wouldn’t take on any big cases.’
‘Don’t worry. What’s going on?’
‘Oh Lord, she’s started eating again. Maybe it’s because she knows she doesn’t have much longer, but she seems to have rallied. Are we doing the right thing?’
I sank onto the stairs.
This was the nightmare of the situation. If we left it too long, Gran could end up in agony, permanently sick, vomiting twenty times a day. And it would be too late – she wouldn’t be able to travel. But if we did it too soon, Gran could lose weeks or maybe even months of life.
Hamlet butted his face against my knee. I got up and walked to the kitchen; put Mum on speaker-phone while I fed him.
‘What does she want to do?’ I asked.
‘She says she’s had enough. But she doesn’t want to get you into trouble.’
‘Look, Mum, it’s all booked. Let’s just see how she is. If we end up not going, it’s only money, isn’t it? I think it’s too late to cancel the plane tickets anyway. I’ll get over to see you as soon as I can.’
