by CJ Hannon
Collins head pops up from his work station. ‘Sir?’
The door opens. It’s Symonds, breathless, in uniform. ‘You’re here. I’ve been trying to contact you!’
‘We were in interview,’ Smithes says, radiating calm. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’ve just spoken to Mrs Spellerman on the phone.’
‘Where is Kathy now?’
‘No, her mother, Angela. She says she got a weird text from Kathy and she’s not answering her phone. She has one of those friend and family finding apps. Kathy Spellerman’s phone signal puts her at Beachy Head.’
Icy fingers run down the ridges of Astrid’s spine. ‘Is she… gone?’
Symonds shakes his head, ‘I don’t think so. Local team’s been dispatched.’
‘Van Doren. Collins. Let’s get down there.’
‘Step on it, Collins!’ Smithes yells.
‘I’m going as fast as I bloody can,’ he replies through gritted teeth, gravel shooting from the tyres as he rounds another bend.
The road winds and cuts up to the chalk headland, carpeted with luscious green on top. They pass the chaplaincy, known for its patrols to intercept potential jumpers.
‘Latest?’ Smithes barks.
‘Negotiator still on site. Kathy’s still with us,’ Astrid replies.
They park, and run at a jog past the sign for the Samaritans helpline, following the trail to the clifftop. There’s already a small crowd of onlookers, dog-walking rubberneckers, ramblers, and someone with a shoulder camera. The news teams had got here before them. Vultures.
The local force, in high-vis jackets, have a cordon set up already. They are experienced, some twenty suicides a year occurring here. A terrible thing to be used to dealing with, but there it was.
She spots Kathy, wind blowing her brown hair, head bowed to the rocks below. An officer stands ten metres or so behind Spellerman, the negotiator, she presumes.
‘Situation?’ Smithes asks one of the officers.
‘Negotiator on spot, sir. The girl threatens to jump if she gets any closer.’
‘Who is the negotiator?’
‘Christa Darcy.’
‘Radio and see if she’s in a position to come and talk to us a moment,’ Smithes orders.
Darcy turns to look at them when the radio sounds and jogs down to meet them.
‘DCI Smithes. DI Van Doren and DC Collins,’ Smithes says. ‘The girl up there, Kathy Spellerman, is a prime suspect in a murder investigation.’
Darcy nods. She’s short, with sharp eyes that flick back to Spellerman every few seconds. ‘I don’t want to leave her for long.’
‘Understood. Has she asked for anyone? Her mother?’
‘Her mother’s on the way, but she lives in Northampton.’
‘Christ,’ Astrid says.
‘Could I accompany you up there?’ Smithes says. ‘Make an appeal with you? I’m aware of some of the reasons why she might be standing there?’
Darcy gives a small nod.
‘Or…’ Astrid says, ‘just as a suggestion. I’ve actually met Spellerman before, sir. She knows my face. And perhaps… woman to woman…’
‘Whoever it is, come now, I’m not leaving her there any longer.’
‘Yes, good thinking. Go,’ Smithes says.
Darcy walks fast, muttering under her breath. ‘No judgements, be understanding. Have you had any training?’
‘I have, but I defer to your experience.’
‘Good,’ Darcy says. ‘What’s your first name?’
‘Astrid.’
‘Astrid.’
The salty wind catches in her lungs, her palms sweaty.
‘Kathy? It’s Christa. I have someone here, Astrid Van Doren. Would it be okay if she speaks with you a moment?’
Kathy turns her head from the drop. ‘It’s you. The detective.’
‘Can we talk?’
‘Are you here to arrest me?’
Darcy gives a curt shake of the head.
She doesn’t want to lie but the wrong word could prod her over the edge. ‘Just to talk, Kathy. Whatever you feel right now, I promise it won’t always feel like this.’
Kathy wipes a tear. ‘How could you possibly know?’
She holds up her hands. ‘You’re right… I don’t know exactly how you feel. But I do know what it’s like to be in love, and want that person with every ounce of your being. And I know grief, Kathy. The way it settles in your bones. You can’t imagine anything else, that feeling good again will ever be possible. That you’ll feel love again.’
‘I miss him so much.’ Kathy brushes away an errant strand of hair.
‘Of course you do, sweetheart. What do you think Martin would say to you if he could see you standing here?’
Kathy lets out a sound that could be a laugh, could be a sob. ‘Get down from there, silly girl.’
‘He wouldn’t want to see you suffering like this.’
‘It’s what I deserve,’ she sniffs, glances back at the crowd. ‘Is Mum here?’
‘On her way, it might be a couple of hours, Kathy.’ Darcy says.
‘I want to talk to Melody, then.’
Darcy shoots Astrid a look. Who?
‘We can do that, we can get Melody on the phone if you like?’
‘In person,’ Kathy says. ‘She needs to know… I need to tell her face to face’
‘What does she need to know, Kathy?’
‘Just get her here!’ Kathy screams, the ferocity astonishing.
Astrid holds up a hand. Christ. It had been going well. She takes a breath. ‘Okay, okay. Let me give her a call, okay?’ Just… please, Kathy, hold tight. We can sort this out, I know we can. Hold tight, sweetheart, please.’
50
Melody
Melody pulls into the car park at Beachy Head. An officer has coned off a space for her. Good job too. Double parked cars and vans everywhere. A Transit pulls in behind her, boxing her car in, a news crew stream out like a disturbed ants' nest, busying themselves with equipment, hair and wires.
She taps the driver on the shoulder and thumbs to the van. ‘If that is still boxing me in when I want to leave, I’ll back straight into you.’
His mouth rounds into an O.
‘Mrs Kitteridge is here,’ an officer says into his radio.
‘Send her up.’
Melody recognises Van Doren’s voice on the other end.
At the top of the headland, a crowd are gathered behind a cordon, the dots of high-vis jackets.
As she powers up the path behind the officer, a strange feeling of unease nestles in her. To think. Kathy, at Beachy Head. Her vet nurse had weighed things up, and sought her escape here.
She rounds the news cameras and crowd of onlookers, ducks under the cordon, lock-jawed. Van Doren steps out of a little huddle.
‘Thanks for coming so quickly, Mrs Kitteridge. This is Christa Darcy, our lead negotiator. You already know DCI Smithes, and DC Collins.’
Melody gives them a sharp nod and squints beyond them. A figure sits, hugging her knees to her chest. A picture of misery. ‘How is she?’
‘Listen to whatever she has to say,’ Darcy says. ‘Be understanding.’
Van Doren looks uncomfortable. ‘I’m having second thoughts about this. It’s a lot to ask of you, Mrs Kitteridge.’
‘I’ve known Kathy a long time. She asked for me, specifically, didn’t she?’
DCI Smithes pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Look, let’s not dance around it. Mrs Kitteridge, Kathy is in a confessional state of mind. You may have to hear some hard truths and we’re concerned about how you might react.’
‘What do you mean, exactly? Hard truths.’
Van Doren wrings her hands, ‘Mrs Kitteridge. I regret to be the bearer of this news. Your husband and Kathy were having an affair.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. When could they possibly have done that? Martin and I lived in each other’s pockets!’
‘Kathy will probably tell you about the affair.’
‘And possibly more. We don’t know.’
‘You can’t mean….’
‘I’m afraid it is a strong possibility.’ Smithes says, ‘And right now, our main hope of finding out rests on her not jumping off that cliff.’
Her anger flares. She points to Kathy. ‘That girl up there couldn’t hurt a fly! She would never do anything to hurt Martin, do you understand me? Never!’
‘Mrs Kitteridge.’ Smithes’ voice is hard.
‘I’m sorry,’ Van Doren addresses the others. ‘DCI Smithes, your call, but I recommend that we don’t send her up there. I’m sorry Melody, but this is a lot for you to take in.’
‘Then what did you drag me all the way out here for, if not to help?!’
‘Darcy? Your thoughts?’
Darcy thinks for a moment. Melody wonders at her job. That out of all the words in the world, her job was to pluck out the right combination and elicit a desirable outcome.
Darcy sighs. ‘I tend to agree. We could go up there, point down to Melody. Maybe we can convince her to step away to talk to her?’
She’s heard enough of this rubbish and takes off, sprinting up the path.
‘Melody! Stop!’
But she’s running as fast as she can, her legs eating up the final metres to the summit.
‘Kathy! It’s me!’ She gestures to the trailing police officers. ‘Stand back. Give us some bloody space.’
Below, shingle, rocks, and the sea. Waves crash. The drop steals the breath from her lungs.
Kathy looks up at her, the wind blows her hair over her face, and she gathers it, tucks it behind an ear. ‘It’s a long way down isn’t it?’
‘You asked for me?’
‘I…’ her eyes swim with tears. ‘I’m just so… sorry, Melody.’
‘The police tell me you had an affair with Martin. Is it true?’
She nods, buries her head between her knees.
Melody takes a breath, feels a hand on her arm.
‘Melody, step away. Come on,’ Van Doren whispers.
She pins the detective with a stare. ‘Let me talk to her! Back off. Now. Kathy.’ Melody turns to her vet nurse. ‘You loved Martin?’
Her brown eyes soften and she wipes her eyes on her sleeves.
‘Kathy, Martin was very charismatic and exceptionally single-minded when he wanted something. That’s how he got me.’
Kathy sniffs.
‘But Martin could be a bad person at times, terrible in fact. You’re a bright, attractive girl. Martin would have taken advantage of your affection for him, twisted it to his own purpose.’
‘No, no, it wasn’t like that. I wanted it. I wanted him!’ She breaks off in sobs. ‘I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Especially not you, Melody.’
‘I understand.’ And she wonders if she does. ‘Now. Stand up, wipe those tears from your eyes and come here. Let’s put an end to this silliness.’
‘But–’
‘Kathy. You know I don’t like being made to wait. Now come on, there’s a good girl.’ She does something a little unnatural, raising her arms up, like she’d seen other people do thousands of times in her life.
Kathy gets up slowly, gives a glance behind her at the drop.
‘Now, Kathy. I don’t hug just anybody, don’t miss your chance.’
Kathy drifts to her, stumbling, crying, falling, collapsing into her frame, slumping into her breast, chest heaving in sobs against her. Tears and snot against her jacket. Not to mind, it would wash out.
‘You’re okay now, Kathy,’ she says, unsure of how much pressure to apply when squeezing back.
Over her shoulder, Astrid mouths Well done.
Fool. When would this detective stop underestimating her?
51
Astrid
She is in a sombre mood when she returns to Brighton Marina. There will be psychological assessments made of Kathy Spellerman before any interview can take place. Smithes let them off early to catch up on paperwork, though she has no intention of doing any.
When she swings open the front door, it bashes into a bag. It is full of Jenna’s things. There are two hard-shelled wheelie cases, a huge blue Ikea bag filled with clothes, picture frames, sketchbooks, and paperbacks.
‘Jenna?’ she calls. Her voice echoes back.
Astrid takes a long neck from the fridge, pops the cap and forces a wedge of lime into the neck with her thumb. She balls up her suit jacket and launches it at the counter. She slides down to the floor, resting her back on the fridge and thumps the back of her head against it. Unbuttons her blouse, rolls up the sleeves and drinks, drinks deep.
She checks her phone to see if Jenna had left her a message. Nothing.
But everything was going so well! I was going to propose!
She finds the photo of Cuckmere Haven she’d taken on her phone. There. I was going to do it there.
This is all too sudden. It must be that actor. That bitch.
She takes another swig.
She spoke of love to Kathy Spellerman on Beachy Head. As if she had a fucking clue. Spoken to the wrong person at the wrong place and time. The case was almost over too… but then there’d be another and another. What did Jenna expect? What did she want? She knew what she was getting herself into.
She could argue her case. Beg for Jenna to stay. But like Jenna’s final cigarette, she’d been given up on. Jenna didn’t backtrack from big decisions.
Keys clatter in the lock.
One eye closed, Astrid squints into the beer bottle. The spent crescent of lime, puffy and useless at the bottom.
She stands upright, not wanting Jenna to find her on the floor, not to remember her like this. She holds the bottle tight to her chest, and waits for Jenna to come through.
They get the green light to interview two days later. Kathy Spellerman arrives with her mother Angela and a smartly suited man named Barber; her legal representative. In the interview prep with Smithes, he drew up a strategy to account for the mental fragility of Spellerman. It fell on the sexist trope of her being the nurturing gentle one, while he got to ask the zingers at choice moments. Typical, but she swallows it.
‘Can I get you anything before we begin?’ Astrid asks.
‘No, I’m fine thank you.’
‘And how are you feeling? Up to a few questions?’
She gives a little nod, and Astrid is reminded of a little woodland creature.
Smithes cautions her and begins. ‘There’s a lot we’d like to ask you, Ms Spellerman. I’d like to give you the opportunity to freely come forward first with anything you’d like to tell us.’
The open trap, a playbook classic. Please, go on, incriminate yourself.
‘Why don’t you ask your questions,’ Barber says, clearly wise to this tactic. ‘My client can clear up any confusion you have about this case.’
‘No problem. Kathy, could we ask you about the night Martin died?’ This tiptoeing. Not her style.
Smithes holds up her original statement. ‘We have you on record stating you spent the evening with Lydia Gregorivic. But that wasn’t true, was it?’
‘No,’ she admits. Wise girl. The lawyer had prepped her well.
‘Help us understand, Kathy, why would you lie about something so important?’
‘A criminal offence,’ Smithes says. Thick and unnecessary. Go hard on the big stuff Bill, not this.
‘I…’
Astrid leans forward. ‘Kathy, it’s not a crime to have an affair, OK? We all make mistakes.’
Kathy gets a nod from the lawyer. ‘I was scared. I thought, maybe, if you knew where I really was, that you’d think I did it – killed Martin – I mean. But I didn’t.’
She’s lied smoothly enough in the past, Astrid thinks. ‘Tell us. Where were you then?’
‘I finished with Hugh and Lydia and pretended to walk home. Then I doubled back a few
minutes later. I went back, hoping Martin would see me.’
The lawyer watches closely, allowing play to continue. This narrative would be her defence. Astrid pays close attention, looking for holes, contradictions.
‘Why wouldn’t he want to see you?’
The lawyer intervenes. ‘Kathy, tell them what you told me. I think it is important context.’
‘Right,’ she takes a breath. ‘It started with Martin nearly three years ago. It just sort of happened one day when I was there working late.’
‘You were young, impressionable,’ Astrid offers in the pause, ‘Did you feel he took advantage of you?’
She shakes her head. ‘Nothing like that. I wanted him. I knew he and Melody were trying for a baby, and I think it was a bit of a strain on their relationship that it wasn’t working… and then…’ she closes her eyes, ‘you’ll probably find this out anyway so I may as well tell you. I got pregnant.’
Astrid tries not to show her surprise. ‘When?’
‘Last August.’
‘What happened?’
‘I didn’t tell Martin at first. I thought, stupidly, I could keep it a secret.’
‘But he found out?’
‘Morning sickness isn’t the easiest thing to hide, especially when your lover is a medical professional. I was maybe eight or nine weeks pregnant when he guessed.’
The story fits what she sees in the timeline of the emails. The playful tone between the lovers had changed to one of desperation from Kathy’s side. I need to see you. Please. Nothing’s changed! Let’s go back to how it was.
‘How did Martin react?’
‘Badly. He persuaded me it would be best to get an abortion. He arranged and paid for it all.’ She purses her lips as if trying to steel herself against crying again. ‘And that was that.’
‘That must have been hard.’
The lip takes another gnawing. She nods quickly. ‘Very.’
‘And how did that make you feel about Martin?’
‘I couldn’t understand it. He wanted a child so desperately with Melody, and here was I able to give him what she couldn’t… I didn’t want to hurt Melody, but…’
‘Kathy,’ the lawyer warns.
‘You hoped he’d leave her for you?’ Astrid says.