Authors: Val McDermid
R
achel McAndrew bore little resemblance to her sister. The dark business suit over a kingfisher-blue polo-neck jumper that she’d chosen to travel in was formal, in opposition to Bev’s more casual outfits. Where Bev was blonde and smiling, Rachel was brunette and reserved. Elinor didn’t want to rush to judgement – the woman had just lost her sister, after all – but she sensed in Rachel a more complicated and closed-off personality. Torin had insisted on meeting his aunt at the station and breaking the news himself. Elinor hadn’t tried hard to dissuade him. She reckoned he had the right to make some decisions. She’d be there to support him, and his aunt if need be.
Rachel had leaked tears at the news, but she’d composed herself quickly. ‘I feared as much,’ she said, her Northern accent still noticeable after years in Bristol. ‘I lay awake last night, trying not to give in, but I couldn’t convince myself. She wouldn’t walk away from her responsibilities, not our Bev.’ She’d tucked her arm proprietorially through Torin’s. ‘Come on then, Torin, let’s get back to yours and see what needs to be settled.’
Torin stood still, a stubborn cast to his jaw. ‘I don’t want to go home,’ he said. ‘Not yet. I’d rather be at Elinor’s.’
‘Torin, Dr Blessing’s done enough. I’m here now, I can take you off her hands.’ Rachel tried to draw him along with her, but he refused to move.
‘You’re both very welcome to come home with me,’ Elinor said.
‘That’s what I want,’ Torin said, stepping towards Elinor.
The atmosphere on the drive was awkward. Torin crouched in the back seat in silence while Rachel alternated between dripping tears into a tissue and turning to tell him how dreadful he must be feeling. Elinor had seldom felt more uncomfortable.
She left them in the living room while she made tea and opened a fresh packet of biscuits. It was the last one in the cupboard. Grief had done nothing to diminish Torin’s adolescent appetite. Either that or he’d taken to comfort eating like a terrier to rabbits. She carried a tray through and found them sitting on opposite sides of the room.
Rachel dived in straight away. ‘When can I see her?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Elinor said, aware of how little detail they’d given Torin.
‘Someone has to identify her, surely?’
‘You need to talk to my partner, Paula, about the details.’
‘She’s one of the people in charge,’ Torin said. ‘Paula’s determined to find out who killed my mum.’
‘She’ll be home later,’ Elinor added.
‘Will she be able to tell us how soon we can make the funeral arrangements? We need to get all that settled.’ Rachel took a box of sweeteners from her handbag and dropped one into her tea. She sat back in the chair, her legs tight together at knees and ankles.
‘When someone dies like this, you can’t have the funeral right away,’ Elinor said, trying to find a sensitive way to explain the situation.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s a question of evidence,’ she said. ‘After someone’s arrested, they’ve got the right to have their defence team examine the body.’
‘But that’s terrible. That could be months. How can you do that to people?’ Her voice rose in outrage. Displacement, Elinor thought.
‘I think some families hold memorial services. To mark the passing of someone they love.’
‘That’s not what’s important,’ Torin said angrily. ‘She’s dead, that’s what matters. Not what they do to her body. It’s just dead meat now.’
Rachel’s hand flew to her mouth, revealing perfectly manicured plum-coloured nails. ‘Don’t say that, Torin. That’s your mum we’re talking about.’
‘It’s not my mum. My mum’s gone. What they’ve got at the morgue, it’s nothing but a bag of flesh and bones. It doesn’t matter. This is where she is now.’ He clapped a hand to his heart, his face screwed up in his determination not to cry.
‘Of course she’s still in our hearts.’ Elinor passed the biscuits to Torin. ‘About your mother,’ she said to Rachel. ‘Will you phone her and break the news? Or is there a neighbour…?’
‘I’ll phone her later. I told her I’d speak to her this evening, once I knew what was what. So, if we can’t have a funeral, there’s no real reason why we have to stay up in Bradfield, is there?’ It was as if she couldn’t wait to get away.
‘Well, you’ll have to register the death. And deal with the estate,’ Elinor said.
‘Because the sooner we get Torin down to Bristol and settled in there, the better,’ she continued, as if Elinor hadn’t spoken.
Her words galvanised Torin, who straightened out of his slump and shifted to the edge of his seat. ‘Bristol? I’m not going to Bristol.’
‘Of course you are, don’t be silly. We’re your family, we’re all you’ve got left now, with your dad off wherever he is. You’ll come to Bristol and live with me. Or your gran, whichever you prefer. We’ve both got room.’ She sounded matter of fact, as if it was open and shut.
‘Why would I want to go to Bristol? All me mates are here. I go to school here. I sing in a band here. Tell her, Elinor. I belong here, in Bradfield. It’s bad enough losing my mum without you making me lose everything else as well.’ Now he was on the verge of tears again. He rubbed his nose vigorously with his fist. ‘I’m stopping here.’
‘You can’t stop here. You’re only fifteen —’
‘Actually, he’s fourteen,’ Elinor said.
Rachel looked momentarily cross, but she quickly reversed into sympathy. ‘Torin, you can’t live by yourself. You have to see sense. A clean break’s best all round. You can make a fresh start.’
Now tears were spilling down his face. ‘I don’t want a fresh start. I want to be where I belong, where the places I go remind me of her and me and our life. I don’t want any kind of break. My dad said I could stop in Bradfield. If you make me go to Bristol, I’ll run away, I swear.’ He banged his mug down so hard that tea slopped over the table.
‘I understand why you’re so upset. I am too. I’m tearing up just sitting here. She was my sister, and my heart’s broken.’ Rachel delicately wiped a tear away with a tissue. ‘I want you with us because you’re part of her.’
‘What do you care? You don’t know me. You hardly see us from one year’s end to the next. You came for exactly one weekend last year, you and my gran. If Mum hadn’t dragged me down to bloody Bristol for half-term, that would have been it. So don’t pretend we’re close, because we’re not. You don’t know anything about me.’
‘We’ll learn,’ Rachel said softly. ‘We should have spent more time together, you’re right. But you always think there’ll be time, down the line. You never think it’ll be too late, just like that. You never think. I can’t make it up to Bev, but I can make it up to you.’
‘I don’t want you to,’ Torin said plaintively. ‘I need to be here. This is all I’ve got left.’
‘But you’re too young to be on your own, Torin.’
Elinor knew it was coming before he turned to her. ‘You’d let me stay, wouldn’t you, Elinor? I could rent out our house and pay you the rent. It wouldn’t cost you owt.’
‘You know you’re welcome here, Torin. But your aunt has a point. Your family can give you support we can’t. When you need to talk about your mum, about her past, about what she was like when she was your age, we don’t know the answers to those questions.’ Being so generous was surprisingly hard. To her amazement, Elinor felt an ache inside at the thought of Torin leaving them. She wanted him to stay. It was unfathomable. She’d never wanted children. But this boy had touched her in a way she hadn’t imagined possible.
‘We can phone. I can go there for my holidays. But please, Elinor, let me stay. I want to be here.’ He buried his face in his hands and wept. Elinor waited for Rachel to make a move, but she didn’t. So Elinor got up and perched on the arm of his chair and hugged him close. She’d be damned if she was handing the boy over to a woman who didn’t have the instinct to comfort him in his distress. When he eventually got himself under control, he stood up and said, ‘I’m going up to my room.’
‘I’m sure this isn’t what Bev had in mind,’ Rachel said as he closed the door behind him.
‘I think it will be up to Torin and his father to decide what’s going to happen in the long run,’ Elinor said. ‘Either way, this isn’t the time or the place. You’re both in a very emotional state. I suggest Torin stays here for now. We’ve spoken to Tom and he’s sanctioned Torin living here with us for the time being. You’d be welcome too. There’s a sofa bed in the study.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ve got keys for Bev’s. I’d rather feel her all around me than be in a strange place with strangers.’
‘Of course. The police have already searched it – my partner, Paula, did it as soon as we realised Bev was missing. It’s been hard for her, being so closely involved in the case. But if you like, I can call her and check that the police have finished with it?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I’ll take my chances. If there’s a problem, I’ll go to a hotel. I just want to get things sorted out. I was pretty sure I was coming to bury my sister. All I wanted was to organise a nice funeral and take Torin home with me. It looks like I won’t be doing either of those things.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Elinor said. And she was, because, as Paula regularly pointed out, Elinor was the nice one. But part of her felt a deep satisfaction that Torin wanted to stay.
T
he first thing Paula said when she came to meet him in the waiting area at Skenfrith Street was, ‘I’m sorry.’
Tony was puzzled. ‘Sorry for what? It’s not like I was doing anything else.’
Uncharacteristically, Paula made no quip about him being a sad bastard. Instead, she briskly ushered him through into the main part of the station and down a hallway lined with doors. The signs said ‘Interview Room’ followed by a number. ‘I misled you. I had to. It’s the only way I could stay on the inside.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Paula stopped in front of a closed door, number four. ‘You will.’ She opened the door and gestured for him to enter.
The claustrophobic room was painted battleship grey with a low ceiling covered with acoustic tiles. There was no two-way mirror, just bare walls and a video camera mounted in one corner. DCI Fielding was already sitting in one of the grey plastic bucket chairs arrayed on either side of the grey table with the recording equipment. She didn’t even raise her head from the file in front of her when they walked in. All she did was wave a hand at the chairs opposite her.
Tony had been in plenty of police interview rooms, but always on the questioner’s side of the table. Unsure of what was going on, he sat down facing Fielding and was even more disconcerted when Paula took the seat next to her. Paula took out a notepad and pen and arranged them in front of her. He could see there was a list, presumably of questions, but he couldn’t read her handwriting upside down.
‘What’s going on, Paula?’
Fielding looked up. ‘Let’s get the tape running, McIntyre.’
Paula gave him an apologetic look but she pressed the buttons on the recording equipment. After the long beep sounded, she said, ‘Interview commenced at six twelve p.m. Present are DCI Alex Fielding, Detective Sergeant Paula McIntyre and Dr Tony Hill. Dr Hill, it’s our intention to interview you under caution in connection with the murders of Nadzieja Wilkowa, known as Nadia, and Beverley McAndrew, known as Bev.’
‘Are you arresting me?’ There would be no mistaking his incredulity on the recording.
‘Not at this point, no. We simply wish to ask you some questions. You’re entitled to have a lawyer present. Would you like to have a lawyer?’
The role reversal was so startling that Tony couldn’t quite process it at first. ‘What do I need to be lawyered up for? I haven’t done anything. Apart from a couple of unpaid parking tickets. On you go, Paula. Ask anything you want.’
‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’
‘What defence? I thought you weren’t arresting me?’
‘It’s a form of words, Dr Hill. As you well know. This isn’t the time or the place for levity. Two women are dead.’ Fielding’s eyes held no promise of warmth. He’d heard she didn’t hold much of a brief for his dark arts; he hadn’t realised how deep her dislike for his work was. And of course, she was ambitious, which could be a hard thing for a female cop to negotiate. Solving these crimes quickly and nailing them on a high-profile offender would do her nothing but good in the eyes of those to whom those things mattered. Was he about to become a scapegoat? It was an unnerving thought. The only option was to pretend he had no idea what was going on.
‘Of course. I apologise. Please, I’m happy to answer your questions. Is this to do with the bus? Only, that was just by chance that occurred to me. I bought more shopping than I intended and I had to get the bus.’
Now it was Fielding’s turn to look baffled.
‘Tony,’ Paula said. ‘All in good time. The first thing I have to ask you is to cast your mind back three Saturdays ago. Can you tell us where you were that Saturday afternoon and evening.’
‘Saturday three weeks ago?’ Theoretically, it should be easy. A day when he had no appointments. A day when he could please himself. But with nothing to differentiate one Saturday from another, how could he say what he had actually done?
‘Bradfield Victoria were playing Chelsea at Stamford Bridge, if that helps.’ Knowing his love for the Vics, Paula had checked the fixture list ahead of the interview.
His face cleared and he smiled. ‘Of course. Ashley Cole conceded a penalty and looked like he was going to cry. I thought about watching it live at the pub, but I didn’t fancy fighting for a seat and all that relentless camaraderie. So I watched the game at home. I had a couple of beers. Then I walked up to the chip shop on Mistle Row and bought cod and chips for my dinner.’
‘Will they remember you?’
‘Three weeks on? I shouldn’t imagine so for a moment. It was busy after the game, I didn’t talk to anyone.’ He gave a hapless little shrug. ‘I didn’t know I was going to need an alibi.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘I went back to the boat.’ He smiled at Fielding. ‘I live on a narrowboat on Minster Basin. I spent the evening alone. I’m finally catching up with Scandinavian
noir
, so I probably watched a couple of episodes of
The Bridge
or
The Killing
then chances are I played Arkham City or Skyrim
on my Xbox.’
‘Do you enjoy violent computer games?’ Fielding butted in.
‘I enjoy computer games,’ Tony said. ‘Nobody gets hurt. It’s fake, DCI Fielding. Whatever the
Daily Mail
likes to think, the jury’s still out on any direct correlation between gaming and IRL violence.’
‘For the tape, what’s IRL?’ Paula asked.
Tony rolled his eyes. ‘In real life.’
‘Did you make any phone calls?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. You have my permission to check my records with my mobile provider though.’
‘Did anyone phone you?’
He locked his fingers behind his head and leaned back, making it obvious that he was thinking. At last he said, ‘I think that’s the Saturday when the Clinical Director of Bradfield Moor Secure Hospital phoned me but I didn’t pick up the call. I was in the middle of my game and I didn’t want to be interrupted by work on a Saturday evening.’
‘It might have been an emergency relating to one of your patients.’
Tony inclined his head. ‘Not very likely, but yes, it might have been. But I’m not the only clinical psychologist on the staff. I’m learning not to be indispensable.’
‘You’re sure that’s what you did that Saturday? You didn’t go shopping?’
‘I don’t do shopping, not in the sense of a leisure activity. I buy most of what I need online, and I buy my food at the supermarket. And I don’t go there any Saturday. I go weekdays when it’s quiet. Sometimes in the middle of the night, if I can’t sleep. I went there yesterday evening. As you know, Paula, because I phoned you up afterwards to tell you to look at the bus CCTV to see whether you could spot Bev McAndrew.’ He smiled at her, to remind her he was on her side.
‘Like I said, we’ll come to that. You didn’t go to see a movie that Saturday, did you?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I definitely didn’t do that. I can’t remember the last time I went to a cinema to see a movie. Either I stream them or I watch them on DVD. I hate the smell of cinemas. Popcorn and hot dogs.’ His face echoed his disgust.
And so it crawled onwards. On Monday evening, when Bev had been abducted, he’d been at home, working on a parole report on his laptop. ‘You can get some techie geek to check the time stamps on my computer.’
‘Time stamps can be faked,’ Fielding said dismissively.
The previous night, when Bev had been killed and dumped, he’d explained that he’d walked across town to Freshco and come home on the bus.
‘Why did you go all the way to that Freshco? There are plenty of places you could have shopped closer to home,’ Fielding asked.
Tony frowned, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two women. ‘Because that’s where Bev was most likely to have gone shopping after work. It was a reasonable hypothesis that her abductor might have acquired her there.’
‘And how did you know all that?’
‘Because Paula told me.’ The ‘duh’ was unspoken, but Paula heard it loud and clear.
Fielding gave Paula a look of angry perplexity. Tony realised he might have dropped Paula in it even more than himself. Was this what all this was about? Was Fielding using him to destroy Paula?
‘DS McIntyre?’ Her expression was certainly severe enough for his theory to be on the money.
Paula wasn’t conceding ground, however. She spoke clearly and confidently. ‘I talked to Dr Hill after Bev went missing. I wanted to see if he had any suggestions that might help me trace her. I spoke as a friend of the family. Not as a police officer. It was barely a police case at that point.’
Fielding’s grim expression indicated that Paula hadn’t heard the last of this. ‘So you decided to mount your own investigation, Dr Hill?’
‘Not really. I needed a walk, I needed some shopping. Bev was at the back of my mind, that’s all that was going on.’ He leaned forward, his expression pained. ‘Am I a suspect here?’
‘At this point, we’re just trying to resolve some issues,’ Fielding said.
Tony wondered again what those issues were. Surely there were easier ways to bump Paula off the case, if that was what Fielding wanted? Perhaps he needed to be a little more proactive. With his skills, he should be able to control this interview. He tried his best conciliatory smile. ‘Only, if I’m a suspect, why would I call Paula and suggest looking at the bus CCTV? Why would I help your investigation?’
Fielding sat back. ‘If you figured it was going to come out anyway – which it would have, once we had a full-scale murder investigation under way – you’d be diverting suspicion by pointing us in the right direction.’ She let a tiny smile escape. ‘Plus, aren’t you profilers always telling us that killers like to inject themselves into the investigation? Seems to me that’s one interpretation of what you did with DS McIntyre.’
Tony gave a self-mocking groan. ‘Hoist by my own petard, eh?’ He paused, frowning. ‘What is a petard anyway? I’ve often wondered.’
‘It’s a bomb,’ Fielding said. ‘Stop trying to derail this interview, Dr Hill.’
‘Busted,’ he said, offering Paula a rueful look.
Fielding passed a couple of sheets of paper to Paula, who laid them on the table facing Tony. She tapped one. ‘That’s Nadia Wilkowa.’ And the second. ‘That’s Bev McAndrew. Have you met either of these women?’
He had to admit, Paula was good. She’d asked the question in such a way that he could answer honestly without dropping her further in the shit. It was in nobody’s interest right now for him to reveal she’d taken him to Nadia’s flat. It would simply muddy the waters. He’d worn gloves so there would be no prints and he hadn’t done anything to shed significant DNA there. Really, they should be in the clear. For now, at least.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said. He pulled Nadia’s picture closer. ‘She looks familiar. Actually, they both do. But I can’t place either of them. I’m sorry.’ He looked up, giving his best little-boy-lost. ‘Bev worked at Bradfield Cross, right? They call me in for a psych consult from time to time. And occasionally I have meetings there. I might have run into her there. But I can’t be certain.’
Fielding took another two pieces of paper from her folder and looked at them. ‘You’re an only child, is that right?’
‘Why is that relevant?’
‘Just answer, please.’
‘Yes. I am an only child as far as I’m aware.’
‘As far as you’re aware?’
He shrugged. ‘None of us can ever be certain of that. But I was brought up as an only child and I’ve no reason to think otherwise. Why do you care?’
Fielding set the two sheets of paper in front of Tony. The names had been blanked out with Post-it notes. ‘Do you know what these are?’
He glanced down at the graphs with their jagged peaks. ‘They look like DNA profiles.’
‘This one came from the National DNA Database. And this one came from a bloodstain on Nadia Wilkowa’s jacket. Even as a layperson, you can see the similarities,’ Fielding said. ‘Would you agree?’
‘I’ve no expertise in this area,’ Tony said cautiously. It was dawning on him that something more serious than fucking up Paula was going on here.
‘The reason for the similarities is that there’s a genetic relationship between these two people. What we call a familial relationship. A is the mother of B. Would you like to guess who A is?’
He met Fielding’s level, triumphant gaze. ‘No.’
‘It’s Vanessa Hill. Your mother. And this is presumably you. Can you explain how your blood came to be on the cuff of Nadzieja Wilkowa’s jacket?’
It was as if someone had punched him hard in the chest. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Then the adrenalin rush of fear surged through him, switching his senses on full alert. His brain raced frantically, synapses firing crazily, rifling through his store of memories to find this woman. He knew he was innocent, so he knew the answer had to be in there somewhere.
He had no idea how long had passed before Paula said gently, ‘Tony? Can you answer the question, please? Can you explain how your blood came to be —’
His expression was stricken. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said, his voice dry and tight.
Fielding shook her head. ‘I’d have thought you could do better than that.’ She turned back to her folder.
Before she could ask another question, Paula’s phone beeped. She glanced at the screen then showed it to Fielding, who nodded and got to her feet. ‘Interview suspended.’ Ushering Paula ahead of her, she left the room. Tony watched them go, feeling genuine fear for the first time since he’d arrived at Skenfrith Street.
‘Fuck,’ Fielding said as she closed the door behind her. ‘He’s got nothing. No rebuttal, no excuse, nothing. Now, let’s see what your pal Dr Myers has for us.’ The text from Dave Myers had simply said, Buy me a coffee. Seven minutes later Paula pulled in by the coffee stall that crouched under the North Stand of Bradfield Victoria’s premier league stadium. Dave liked meeting here; it reminded him of American cop shows, glossing their dull lives with a spurious glamour. Seeing her car, he stepped away from the counter carrying two coffees in a cardboard tray. He looked worryingly glum. His face fell further when Fielding climbed out of the passenger seat.