Yvette’s breathing returned to normal. ‘He said he loved me.’
‘Len?’
‘Yes.’
‘You had sex with him while you were at the orphanage,’ said Brook quietly.
A pause. ‘Not actually at the orphanage,’ she replied. Brook looked at her, waiting. ‘Yes,’ she said almost inaudibly.
‘Louder, please.’
‘Yes,’ she repeated, her face like thunder.
Brook glanced across at Noble, who left the room, his face set hard, concealing the merest hint of anticipation.
I’m going to enjoy ruining that Welsh pervert’s life.
‘Detective Sergeant Noble has left the room,’ announced Brook for the tape. He looked back at Yvette. ‘You became pregnant at the orphanage?’ She nodded.
‘Please
answer yes or no for the tape.’
‘Yes.’
‘Was Len Poole the father?’ She lifted her head as though trying to remember. Brook assumed she was calculating if the knowledge still possessed monetary value. When she’d decided that it didn’t, she was able to answer.
‘Yes. Len was Russell’s father.’
‘And so you were able to persuade him that he should provide for you and Russell, in exchange for your silence.’
She was amused by Brook’s diplomacy. ‘Persuade, yes. I
persuaded
him that he owed me a comfortable living.’
‘And he provided that living because if his paternity ever came to light, he would be ruined,’ said Brook. Yvette shrugged as if only just realising. ‘So wherever he moved, he would send for you and set you up in a place nearby.’
She smiled. ‘Something like that.’
‘And give you money.’
‘Yes.’
‘Cash?’
‘Always.’
‘Even after he married his late wife?’
‘Len was aware of his responsibilities,’ said Yvette carefully.
Brook paused before the next question. ‘Did the sexual relationship continue after Russell’s birth?’
‘I’m not a whore,’ repeated Yvette. ‘I don’t have sex for money.’
‘Is that a no?’
‘That’s a no.’
‘Because once you left the orphanage carrying his child, you had the upper hand in your relationship.’
She shrugged again. ‘You could say.’
‘But
something changed recently, didn’t it?’ Yvette opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. ‘When I called last night, Len was at your house, wasn’t he?’
She looked up, startled. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. But I knew you had somebody with you and I suspected it was either Adam Rifkind or Len.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘You know about Adam?’
‘Not for certain, but he called you Eve when we dropped in on his lecture. That automatically makes him a
special friend
.’
‘It was only that one time at his holiday cottage,’ she mumbled.
‘So last night it was Len.’
‘Yes.’
‘You had sex with him?’
Yvette grinned at Brook. ‘For what it’s worth.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that two minutes is all the old bastard can manage these days.’
‘You don’t sound very fond of him.’
‘I hate him,’ spat Yvette.
‘Then why did you have sex with him?’ No answer. ‘He demanded sex, didn’t he?’
Yvette looked down at the floor. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s a dirty old man,’ she replied sourly, looking at Brook with contempt. ‘Like all men. Like you. Wherever I go you look at my body as if it belongs to you. Lusting after me. You, your Sergeant, Adam, that dopey kid Wilson. You only want one thing and you won’t be satisfied unless you get it.’
Brook’s expression was unmoved by the accusation. ‘Does that mean you refused?’
The wind
taken out of her sails, eventually she answered, ‘No.’
‘Because you didn’t have the upper hand any more?’
A pause. ‘No.’
‘Because he knew about Russell’s death.’
Yvette shook her head. ‘No. He didn’t know the first thing about Russell. Len wasn’t interested and never had been.’
‘But he knew something was wrong.’
Yvette sighed. ‘Me and Russell bumped into Len from time to time as he grew up. Small towns – you couldn’t help it.’
Brook nodded. ‘But when you followed him to Derby six months ago, he knew Rusty wasn’t his son.’
‘Yes. After Russell. . . we tried very hard to make sure Len never saw Rusty and it worked fine until Len spotted him at Parents’ Evening. He came to pick Alice up and Kyle introduced them. He knew straight away he wasn’t Russell.’
‘So what did Len do?’
‘At first he threatened to stop the money, but then he seemed to change his mind. Said he was sorry, that he’d been hasty. A couple of days later he came round with the money, as usual. But instead of just dropping it off, he said he needed to use the bathroom.’ She laughed. ‘Well, Rusty was wise to that.’
‘He was there?’
‘No, Rusty was never at home, always out filming stuff in the streets. But he knew after meeting him that it wouldn’t take Len long to look for proof he wasn’t his father. And then . . .’
‘No more money,’ finished Brook.
‘Right. So we were careful. Rusty’s bedroom was a fake – his idea. His books, his posters – simple.
His
room but he never
went in there, not once, so he couldn’t leave DNA, hairs, that sort of thing.’
‘So you set the room up to make it look like his.’ Brook nodded.
‘And when Len called we knew he’d be straight in there looking for DNA. Well, it used to be his job, didn’t it?’
‘And when he went to the bathroom he stole Rusty’s toothbrush,’ said Brook.
‘No. Rusty wasn’t stupid. He hid his toothbrush in the bottom of my knickers drawer.’
Brook picked up an evidence bag and placed it down in front of Yvette. ‘This toothbrush?’
Yvette stared at it. ‘Where did you find that?’
‘Where you said. In your underwear drawer, in your bedroom.’
‘In my bedroom,’ she echoed.
‘Is that Rusty’s toothbrush?’ Yvette stared some more.
‘Yvette.’
She looked up at Brook and nodded faintly.
‘Please answer yes or no.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Thank you. Now this is where I get confused. If Rusty hid his toothbrush in your bedroom, how did Len get proof Rusty wasn’t his son?’
‘He didn’t. But he did the next best thing.’
Brook stared at her for a moment, processing the information. ‘Of course. He took your toothbrush instead. That’s why you had to buy a new one.’
‘Yes,’ said Yvette.
‘Len didn’t need to prove that he wasn’t Rusty’s father, just
that you weren’t his real mother. And if you weren’t Rusty’s real mother then he
couldn’t
be the father.’
‘Sly old bastard. We didn’t think of that.’
‘But that still begs the question: if Rusty’s bedroom was clean, how did Len get a sample of Rusty’s DNA?’
Yvette shrugged. ‘That I don’t know.’
‘Where is Rusty?’
‘I don’t know,’ she repeated with more force. ‘Everything I’ve told you about his disappearance is true. I haven’t seen him since the day before Kyle’s party. I don’t know where he is. I wish I did. You’ve got my phone. You must know how many times I’ve tried to get in touch with him.’
Brook took the phone from the evidence bag and handed it to her. ‘Show me a recent picture of Rusty.’
‘I told you. We had to be careful. There aren’t any pictures of him.’
Brook took the phone from her and, following Cooper’s instructions, scrolled down several photographs until he had the one he wanted. ‘Then who’s that?’ He turned the phone round to show Yvette the picture of the dark-haired boy with a small goatee beard. It had been taken three weeks previously.
Yvette gazed at the picture and smiled faintly. Her expression returned to neutral and she pushed the phone back to Brook. ‘That’s Philippe.’
‘Philippe?’
‘I called him Phil. He was an exchange student from Paris.’
‘Was?’
‘He went back to France two weeks ago. I met him at the college.’ She smiled fondly. ‘He’s an orphan like me.’
‘Is he a friend of Rusty’s?’
‘Rusty doesn’t know him. He’s a student, that’s all. Rusty
was spending more and more time . . .’ Yvette pursed her lips around the rest of the sentence.
‘And did you sleep with Philippe?’
This time there was no tantrum. She sighed. ‘He was nice to me.’ She looked at her solicitor who picked up the baton.
‘Is this relevant?’ said Roger Sands. ‘Is my client being charged with being friendly to her fellow students?’
Brook smiled. ‘Sorry. Just trying to be thorough. Let’s talk again about the boy filming on Exeter Bridge. You said you weren’t sure if it was Rusty. Was that a lie?’
She nodded. ‘I think it’s him. He looked like Rusty, moved like Rusty.’
Brook sat back in the chair. ‘Tell me about him.’
‘I love him.’
‘Don’t tell me about you. Tell me about
him
,’ insisted Brook.
‘Don’t you think we ought to take a break there, Inspector?’ interjected Sands, the solicitor. ‘My client has cooperated fully.’
Brook didn’t take his eyes from Yvette as he raised his hand to halt the interruption. ‘What about the other students? What do you think he’s up to?’ continued Brook.
‘I honestly don’t know,’ said Yvette. ‘But as soon as he arrived he latched on to that Adele Watson. She felt sorry for him at first but she’s smart. She knew he had . . .’ she paused, looking for the right words ‘. . . hidden depths.’
‘So he became her friend.’
‘Sort of.’
‘Like he became Russell’s friend?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you think Rusty saw Adele as another soul in torment? Do
you think he’s encouraging her to end her suffering? And Kyle? And Becky?’
‘You think he enjoys it!’ exclaimed Yvette.
‘I do.’
‘Rusty could be dead, for all you know.
He
could be the victim. Somebody could be hurting him as we speak.’
‘You still protect him even though he’s not coming back.’
‘What do you mean?’ she flared. ‘He loves me. Of course he’s coming back.’
‘He doesn’t love you any more, Yvette. That’s why he gave you to us.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Three years ago he helped Russell kill himself then took photographs of his dead body. And when he decided the time was right, he included the picture of your dead son in the Deity broadcast for the whole world to see. He’s moving on, Yvette.’
‘No.’
‘Was it jealousy? Couldn’t he stand sharing you with Len? Or Wilson? Or Rifkind?’ Brook studied her as she processed the information.
‘It must have been a mistake,’ protested Yvette. ‘He wouldn’t betray me.’
‘He already has. How long do you think it took us to make the link? He knew we’d be doing background checks on all the parents. He knew we’d find the link with Len. He knew we’d spot the picture and work out that you were living in the area at the time of the hanging. He knew we’d get a sample of Russell’s DNA to compare with yours. He’s given you to us on a plate, Yvette, because he’s done with you. Now, why don’t you tell us where he is?’
Her eyes
blazed. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,’ she screamed, sobbing furiously now.
Brook looked at his watch and then at Sands for the first time. ‘Now we can take a break.’
‘Do we believe her?’ asked Charlton, staring at the monitor showing Yvette Thomson, head in her hands, in the Interview Room.
‘I think so,’ said Brook, draining his tea. ‘Don’t forget she rushed down to the river when Len told her we’d found a body. She wouldn’t have done that unless she thought it might be Rusty. And if she’d had anything to do with Wilson’s death she wouldn’t have set foot near the place.’
‘So what are you thinking? This fake Russell Thomson is responsible for all this?’
‘He’s the fox in the henhouse, sir. He doesn’t belong. He’s not a teenager and he’s not vulnerable. But everyone he meets who is disposed to suicide is at risk from him.’
‘And Wilson?’
‘My guess is he went to pester Yvette for sex after the assault on Kyle. Rusty was filming the assault and must’ve followed him. Somewhere along the line, Rusty got hold of him and got into his head. And then he killed himself.’
‘Softened up with drugs?’ asked Charlton.
‘We get the autopsy results today. But I’m betting he was. By all accounts Wilson was too stupid to be vulnerable otherwise.’
Charlton blew out his cheeks. ‘Why’s he doing this, besides messing with our heads?’
‘Rusty?’ Brook thought about it for a second. ‘The short answer – fun.’
‘And the long one?’
‘It’s about control,’ said Brook. ‘Taking power from others gives him a control he needed in his early life but never had. Persuading people to kill themselves puts him in charge of his destiny – and others’. Maybe Yvette’s son
was
the first. But after that he got a taste for it.’
Charlton sighed and looked at his watch. ‘Four hours to the next broadcast. What are we charging Yvette with?’
‘We’re holding her under the murder warrant at the moment until the DNA checks are done.’
‘But you don’t think that will stick.’
‘Do we really want it to?’ said Brook. ‘I mean, she’s almost as much a victim as her son.’
‘I know, but
Assisting a Suicide
or
Allowing the Death of a
Child
hardly seems sufficient,’ replied Charlton.
‘No charge does. Reserve your anger for Leonard Poole, sir. Noble’s picking him up now.’
‘No Sergeant Noble today?’ asked Dr Petty.
‘We’re a bit stretched at the moment,’ said Brook with a smile. ‘Don’t worry. He’s working.’
‘That’s no comfort for my loss of a Sunday lie-in.’
‘No. We appreciate it, believe me,’ replied Brook, deep in thought.
‘Glad to hear it.’ She held his gaze a moment, waiting for more concrete evidence of his appreciation but Brook was oblivious. ‘So, Osiris, eh? Some people are never happy in their own skin. And making sure he has a few helpers in the afterlife – seems logical when you think of it like that. Any news?’
‘He won’t get far. Not that he wants to. He’s digging in somewhere.’
‘Here
we are. Phencyclidine,’ she read. ‘PCP or angel dust on the streets. Wilson had high levels in his bloodstream and would’ve been prone to hallucination and in a severe dissociative state.’