With a Narrow Blade (17 page)

Caroline licked her lips again. ‘I got the ticket for Flo that week. The week the numbers came up. I got it Friday, just after work. I was going to take it to Flo the next day, but something came up. So I still had it the following Monday morning.’

Hillary nodded. ‘And when you saw the numbers, you realized Florence had won.’

‘Yes.’

Hillary nodded, and paused for a moment. It was deathly quiet in the room, with only the gentle whirr of the recorder breaking the hush. ‘So you went to Flo’s that morning, expecting her to be cock-a-hoop. You thought she’d be celebrating, waiting to kiss you and hug you when you came through the door,’ Hillary said, letting her voice soften.

Caroline nodded, her eyes once more threatening to brim over. ‘Yes. But when I went in … there was nothing,’ she said, sounding amazed. ‘She was just the same as usual. She talked about having had a bad night, and I realized that she hadn’t checked the numbers, that she’d probably forgotten to do so because of feeling so ill.’

‘So you just never mentioned it,’ Hillary said, careful to keep her voice calm and soft, without any hint of judgement.

‘Yes. I kept expecting her to cotton on. You know, all that summer, every time I went to her house, I kept thinking, Today’s the day she’ll remember. She’ll ask me about the ticket. And I had it all planned if she did,’ Caroline said, looking at Hillary earnestly. ‘I would tell her the ticket must be in my old purse. I’d go and fetch it and show it to her, and that would be that. But she never did. And I began to think.… I began to think it might all work out for me.’

Hillary nodded. ‘You knew Florence Jenkins was dying?’ she said softly.

‘Oh yes. She was so desperately ill. I thought … any moment now, she’ll just go to bed and never get up again. But the months went on and on, and still she clung on. She was so determined not to die!’ Caroline’s voice rose to a squeak again, and she slapped a hand against her mouth, hearing her own hysteria and being somehow shocked by it.

In the observation room, Janine Mallow, having come straight from her wedding, was now sitting next to Paul Danvers, hanging on to every word. Occasionally, she’d shake her head in disbelief. Trust the boss to nail it on the head.

In the interview room, Hillary sensed they were coming to the crux of the matter, and hoped Caroline Weekes would hold out just a little longer. ‘Yes, Flo enjoyed life, didn’t she?’ Hillary said softly. ‘No matter how ill she sometimes felt. And time was running out for you. You knew you only had so long left to claim the ticket, before it became invalid. Which put you in a bit of a bind, didn’t it, Caroline?’ Hillary said softly, then shut up. She wanted Weekes herself to lay it all out for the tape. That way, once it got to court, no weasely lawyer would be able to say that she’d put words into his poor, distraught client’s mouth.

‘Yes,’ Caroline sighed heavily. ‘But I kept hoping she’d just … you know. Die.’ She sighed again, and stared down at her hands. ‘And then disaster struck,’ she said quietly. ‘That day, Monday, I was at work. One of the secretaries had bought a paper in her lunch break, and I saw that they’d rehashed the story and run the numbers again. I knew if Flo saw it, she’d realize they were her numbers.’

‘But you knew Florence had the papers delivered at night?’ Hillary chipped in.

Caroline nodded.

‘For the tape, Mrs Weekes has just nodded her head,’ Keith Barrington said again.

‘So what did you do, Caroline?’ Hillary asked.

‘I went over that night. I thought, if she already knew about the numbers, then that was it. It was all over. But she didn’t. She invited me in just as usual. She went straight to her chair and began to watch the telly, without a care in the world. But I felt sick. I was shaking. I felt so much worse than she did!’ Again Caroline Weekes’ voice rose to a fever pitch of self-pity, and again she broke off abruptly to take a deep breath.

Hillary nodded. ‘You felt so bad because you knew what it was you had to do?’ she murmured.

Caroline’s eyes overflowed again, and she nodded. Quickly, before Barrington could speak and break the flow, Hillary went on, ‘And just what was it that you had to do, Mrs Weekes?’

Caroline looked at her, as if asking permission to speak. Hillary nodded encouragement. ‘I had to kill her,’ Caroline finally whispered the dreadful truth out loud. Hillary was glad the tape was sensitive enough to pick up even the softest sound, but she knew she couldn’t leave anything to chance.

‘Please speak loudly and clearly for the tape, Mrs Weekes.’

‘I had to kill Flo,’ Caroline repeated obediently, and in the observation room, Paul Danvers let out a long, slow breath of relief.

‘I knew about the paper knife, about how sharp it was.’ Caroline Weekes spoke quickly now. ‘And Flo wasn’t watching me, she was watching the television. She was so used to me being there, doing a bit of dusting or tidying, you see, she never really took much notice of me. I just reached up for the paperknife, went up to her and … pushed it down into her chest.’ Caroline took a deep, shaken breath. ‘It was so easy. I never expected it to be so easy. I stood there for a moment, not realizing it was all over. Flo never made a sound. She didn’t even bleed much. I just stood there, looking down at her, and realized, well, that was it. It was done.’ She shook her head, seeming to be genuinely amazed. ‘I thought it would have been harder. Wouldn’t you have thought so too?’

Hillary ignored the question. ‘What did you do next?’ she asked instead, keeping her voice matter of fact.

As if picking up on it, Caroline Weekes suddenly did the same. ‘I knew my fingerprints must be on the handle of the paperknife, so I used the hem of my skirt to wipe them off. Then I went out, making sure the door latched behind me, and went home. Later that night, I realized I would have to go back in the morning, and be the first one to “find” her again. Just in case I’d done something silly. Made a mistake or whatever.’

Hillary nodded. ‘So, the next morning, you went to “find” Mrs Jenkins, played the part for any neighbours who might be watching, and reported finding her.’ She waited a moment, knowing this next bit was crucial. ‘You did it because you needed the money of course?’ she asked casually, almost as if it didn’t matter.

And Caroline fell for it, merely nodding absently. ‘Yes.’

‘For the IVF treatment. You and your husband were trying to have a baby, that’s right isn’t it?’

‘Yes. But I’m too old, and the National Health wouldn’t pay for it. My husband has a good job, and so do I, but we live right up to our income. The treatments could last for months – maybe even years. I
needed
that baby. You have to understand – I knew I’d lose him if I couldn’t give him a child. He’d find someone younger, someone who could conceive at the drop of a hat!’

The voice was rising yet again, and Hillary nodded soothingly. ‘Don’t distress yourself,’ she murmured the words almost automatically.

But Caroline Weekes had just admitted to the premeditated, cold-blooded murder of an elderly woman strictly for monetary gain. No jury in the world, surely, would show her leniency now.

‘I understand. You needed money badly. And Flo – well, she was an old woman, wasn’t she?’ Hillary said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Exactly,’ Caroline rushed in, glad that the policewoman seemed to understand at last. ‘She was in her seventies. She’d already had
her
child. She was ill and dying. What did she need the money for? She only had that dreadful drug-addict grandson, and what would he use the money for? Drugs,’ Caroline spat. ‘I wanted it to create another life. I knew Flo would understand.’

If Flo would understand, Hillary suddenly thought savagely, why didn’t you just tell her about the lottery ticket and ask her for a loan to see you through the IVF? Knowing Florence Jenkins, she probably would have done so without a single thought. However her face registered none of her thoughts.

‘So you killed Florence Jenkins for her winning lottery ticket, and then gave it to your mother to claim it. Did she know it was Florence’s?’ Hillary asked abruptly.

Camelot, when legally required to, had indeed coughed up the name of the person with the winning ticket. But it had not been Caroline Weekes, but one Martha Hoey who’d claimed it.

‘Oh no!’ Caroline said, appalled. ‘Mother knows nothing about this. I told her I wanted her to claim it because I didn’t want my husband to know. And Mother – well, Mother doesn’t like John much, so she was happy to.’

‘But in reality, you didn’t want to claim it yourself, just in case it got back to us, and we began to wonder?’ Hillary offered.

Caroline nodded, her eyes tearing up once more.

‘For the tape, Mrs Weekes has just nodded her head,’ Keith Barrington repeated one last time.

‘So, that’s it then,’ Paul Danvers said later that night. It was dark outside, and below stairs, Caroline Weekes was spending the first of what would, Hillary hoped, be many years behind bars.

The newlyweds, herself, Barrington and Danvers were all squashed together in his office, drinking champagne supplied by Mel, partly as a wedding celebration, partly as a case-closed party.

‘I feel kind of sorry for her,’ Janine said thoughtfully, glancing across at Mel. She would have kids one day, she supposed vaguely. Not yet, but one day. ‘It must be hard to really want a baby, and not be able to have one.’

‘Yeah, and I think she was right about that husband of hers too,’ Barrington said. ‘I reinterviewed him during follow-ups, and he came across as the sort who’d cut his losses and go for a newer model, if the old one couldn’t provide the goods.’

Hillary grunted. ‘Save your pity for Flo Jenkins,’ she advised them both sharply. ‘That old lady wanted nothing more than to enjoy her birthday and one last Christmas. And if she’d had that lottery win back when she’d been entitled to it, her last few months could have been spent having a high old time. She’d have liked that. Instead, a woman she thought of as her friend, a woman she trusted, put a paperknife through her heart. If you want to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for her.’

In the somewhat awkward silence that followed, Mel said softly, ‘Hillary Greene, champion of the dead.’

Hillary smiled wryly. ‘Damn right!’

Barrington excused himself first, and his departure triggered the newly-weds to go as well. Hillary also rose, but just as she reached the door, Paul Danvers raised his head. ‘Hillary, just a minute. How about a bite to eat?’

Hillary, one hand on the door handle, turned and glanced at him. He had to be kidding right? She had Regis breathing down her neck to move in with him, and now her boss, her
boss
, for Pete’s sake, was asking her out on a date. It wasn’t as if she even fancied him. She’d have to be insane to accept. ‘OK,’ she heard her voice say.

And Paul Danvers, totally but happily surprised, grinned as if he’d just won the national lottery.

A NARROW ESCAPE

ON THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW

NARROW IS THE WAY

BY A NARROW MAJORITY

THROUGH A NARROW DOOR