by Mia James
‘But he told me,’ said April, as Judith guided her back towards the gates. Her attitude was now more like someone steering a monkey towards a cage than a guest back to their tour. ‘He said he’d worked here for years. Tall man in overalls?’
Judith smiled indulgently. ‘I’m sure that’s what you think you saw, my dear, but let me assure you I have never seen anyone like that.’
‘He was in that little house ...’ She trailed off, knowing she had made a slip.
Judith tensed. ‘The gatehouse? No one has been in there. It’s been locked for decades, not even the police could get in when they were investigating that unpleasantness. You certainly shouldn’t have been over there.’
‘But he said—’
Judith was losing her patience. ‘Young lady, in the fifteen years I have been here, no one has worked when there’s a funeral,’ she snapped. They came down the steps into the courtyard. ‘Now, out of respect for the cemetery, I’m asking you to leave.’
‘I saw him, I did!’
‘Believe me,’ said Judith with mounting irritation, ‘no one who works at the cemetery fits that description.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure. There is no one else in this graveyard, and I will be locking the gates behind you.’
Chapter Twenty
The polystyrene cup had left a ring on the table. If she moved the edge of the cup very slightly, the cold tea would run around the bottom of it like a little river. By tilting it just the right way, she could make little bubbles.
‘April, don’t.’
She dipped her fingernail into the tea, watching the way the fluorescent lighting reflected on the milky surface.
‘April, will you stop doing that?’
She looked up and blinked, as if she was seeing the room for the first time. Not that there was much to see - the police interview room had bare off-green walls, one Formica-topped table and four chairs, that was it. Her mother was sitting next to her, shifting uncomfortably on her plastic chair. She had been irritable since they had arrived at the police station and that had been hours ago. She was swinging from listless to frantic and back again. April wanted to tell her mother to calm down; tutting and bristling wasn’t doing anyone any good.
‘It’s as if they think we’ve nothing better to do,’ said Silvia with irritation. ‘I’ve got to talk to the coroner again before the end of the day.’ She glanced at her watch for the second time in as many minutes and clicked her tongue. ‘It’s Friday afternoon, if we don’t get an answer now, we’re going to be sitting on our hands again all weekend.’
‘Calm down, Mum, fretting about it’s not going to help.’
‘But if I don’t fret about it, who will?’ said Silvia. ‘These people move at a snail’s pace - if we leave it to the bloody authorities they’ll spend weeks on the post-mortem, and then where will we be?’
April looked at her mother sadly. ‘Dad’s not going anywhere, is he?’
‘But how are we supposed to move on when we have this hanging over us?’ said Silvia, her eyes beginning to sparkle with tears. ‘We can’t even bury him, we can’t even say goodbye, I feel like we’re in total limbo.’
April put her hand on her mother’s. She knew what Silvia was going through, she knew she needed the funeral in order to let her grief out and that the delay caused by the post-mortem was driving them all mad, however necessary it was. At the moment, everything was bottled up inside her mother, all her pain and regret; it had nowhere to go. April could see the tension on her pale, lined face; despite spending most of the day in bed there were still heavy rings under her eyes. Not that April was exactly looking her best either. Since her off-piste visit to the cemetery two days ago, April had been plagued by bad dreams: faces at windows, sleeping angels that woke up suddenly and - the most disturbing, for some reason - an iron door with an upside-down keyhole which she couldn’t unlock. It hadn’t done wonders for her beauty regime; her hair had gone unwashed for the first time in years. There didn’t seem much point any more. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to be; she hadn’t been able to face school or anything else - in fact, she liked it better that way. The difference between April and her mother was that April was in no hurry to bury her father. Right up until the vicar threw that first handful of dirt onto his coffin, she could pretend to herself that he wasn’t gone, that he might be waiting for her when she got home, sitting at the breakfast bar, his nose stuck in a book. She didn’t want to move on, she didn’t want to face life without her dad. Yes, she knew he was dead. But to her, he wasn’t gone. Not yet.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies.’ The door to the spartan interview room opened and Detective Inspector Ian Reece came in, balancing two fresh cups of tea in one hand. He was followed by his sidekick, Detective Sergeant Amy Carling, wearing the same badly fitting dark green suit she’d worn that day they’d interviewed her at school about Isabelle’s murder.
‘Tea for you both, thought you could do with it.’ He spilled packets of sugar and plastic stirrers onto the table and pulled out a chair opposite them.‘Sorry for the delay, but you’ll understand that in our line of work, when something important comes up, we have to see to it right away.’
‘What I understand, Inspector,’ said April’s mother icily, ‘is that we arranged to come in to assist your inquiries into my husband’s murder. I had thought you would deem that “important”.’
The detective was in his mid-fifties, stocky, with short salt and pepper hair. And shrewd eyes which April guessed had seen most things there were to see.
‘Yes, you’re quite right, Mrs Dunne,’ he said kindly. ‘I do apologise and we’ll try to make this as quick as possible - I’m sure you have other things to be doing and we do appreciate your assistance at this difficult time.’
Silvia looked as if she was about to say something more, but April raised her eyebrows at her meaningfully and she just nodded instead.
‘Fine, well, let’s start, shall we?’ The female officer set up a tape recorder and opened a large notebook.
‘Now, obviously we’ve spoken to both of you before about William’s death, but I wanted to get April in for a more formal chat to see if there’s anything we’ve missed. I understand that going over this all again will be difficult for you, April,’ said Reece gently, ‘but can you tell me in your own words what happened that day? Tell us everything you can remember, and don’t worry if it seems trivial or silly. We need to know as much as possible so we can find whoever hurt your dad, okay?’
April had been dreading this moment. She glanced at her mother who smiled reassuringly, but it wasn’t reliving the day that was worrying April: she hadn’t told Silvia about the fight with her dad yet. Her mother had left the house unusually early that morning to visit Grandpa Thomas, so she had missed the shouting match and April would have preferred that her mother never knew. It hadn’t escaped April’s notice, either, that she had no way to prove where she had been for that whole morning on a day when the police were going to find any change to her routine suspect. But that hardly mattered when, above all, April wanted to avoid recounting that horrible argument with her dad, to avoid explaining what it was about, making her look like a bitch and her father like a lunatic; she certainly didn’t want that being the last thing anyone remembered about him. But April knew she was trapped - they were bound to have spoken to the school - so, haltingly, she began.
‘I left the house at the usual time, I suppose,’ she said, looking hard at the teacup, ‘but then I walked down to Highgate Ponds. I didn’t get to school until gone eleven, and when I got there I went to the library.’
‘Just a minute,’ said her mother, looking at April, then the two police officers. ‘What’s this? Why didn’t you go straight to school?’
She glanced up at DI Reece. ‘I had a free period,’ she muttered, knowing it was futile to lie, but desperately hoping she could avoid an explanation.
DS Carling was shaking her head before April had even fini
shed the lie. ‘We’ve spoken to your teachers, April,’ she said with some relish. ‘We know you were supposed to be in lessons. What we don’t know is why you skipped class that morning.’
It was that witch Layla, thought April angrily. I bet it was, she was probably making the call to Crimestoppers the second she heard about Dad. ‘No, she wasn’t in lessons all morning, hair was wet, looked very guilty.’ Or maybe they just spoke to her teachers. April knew she was just looking for someone to blame when it was actually all her fault.
‘I ... I wanted to be alone.’
‘April? Why? What happened?’ said Silvia.
‘Nothing, I j-just ...’ April stammered, ‘I just had some things to think about.’
‘At that time in the morning?’ said Silvia. ‘And what were you doing down by the Ponds?’
April frowned at her mother. Who was doing this interview, her or the police?
‘I don’t know,’ said April lamely.
‘Did you see anyone there?’ asked Reece.
April shook her head. She could tell him before he started making any inquiries that no one had seen her there, not even the dog-walkers.
‘Why did you go for this walk, love?’ he asked her gently.
‘Was it because of this boy?’ asked Silvia.
‘God, Mum!’ cried April. ‘Whose side are you on?’
April let out a long breath. She was loath to come across as some weepy airhead, but she supposed it was better to be a heartbroken teen cliché than a murder suspect. Much better than discussing what had happened between her and her dad that morning. She felt bad enough about that as it was. So she nodded, looking down at her hands.
‘He was supposed to call and he didn’t and I didn’t want to go to Mr Sheldon’s class because he would be there,’ she said in a rush. ‘So I walked around in the rain, then I went to the library for a bit.’
Of course only Layla can confirm that, she thought. And I can’t see her rushing to help me out.
She turned to her mother. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I didn’t mean to upset anyone.’
Silvia surprised her by squeezing her hand. ‘That’s okay, baby,’ she said. ‘I’m not upset.’
DI Reece looked down at his notes, tapping the pad with a pencil thoughtfully. ‘And you didn’t see anyone suspicious or out of the ordinary hanging around?’
April shook her head.
‘What about the other time, the night Isabelle Davis was killed? Did you see anyone that night?’
‘What’s all this about?’ snapped Silvia. ‘April’s already given you a statement about that night. I thought this interview was about the day of my husband’s murder.’
Reece nodded. ‘Okay, so let’s go back to the start of the day,’ he said mildly. ‘What time did you get up? What did you have for breakfast?’
‘Oh. Well, I was up at about seven, I think.’
April winced as she thought of her excitement that morning, jumping out of bed, getting herself ready to see Gabriel.
‘Did you wake up, or did your dad wake you?’ asked DS Carling. April noticed that the chubby policewoman’s manner was much less friendly, her eyes cold and cynical. Good cop, bad cop so soon? she thought.
‘Er, I woke up myself.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Well,’ said Reece, ‘why do you think you woke up so early? I’ve got kids myself and most mornings a bomb wouldn’t shift them.’
‘I don’t know,’ said April, unsettled to see Carling scribble ‘Doesn’t know’ in her jotter. Is not knowing things an offence? she wondered with alarm.
‘Well, what did you do the night before?’
Her mind flashed on Gabriel, his face looking up at her window. They couldn’t know about that, could they?
‘N-nothing,’ she stammered.
‘Her friends came over,’ said Silvia.
‘And this would be -’ Reece consulted his notes ‘- Caroline Jackson and Simon Oliver?’
Jesus, how did he know that? April was now seriously off balance. If they already knew about Caro and Simon coming round, what else did they know? Did they know she had lied about seeing Gabriel on the night of Isabelle’s murder? If it had been Gabriel who had tipped the police off about finding her body, then he could well have told them she was there too. Suddenly she became really frightened. What if she couldn’t prove where she had been at the time of either murder? What if they thought she had something to do with her dad’s death? Nerves made her try to bluster it out, cover her fear up with anger.
‘Yes, so what? Can’t I have friends over?’ she snapped.
‘Of course, love,’ said Reece. ‘We were just wondering what the occasion was. Some problem at school? Or was it all about this boy?’ he said, his tone jocular and amused, like it didn’t matter much, but April could see the way his mind was working: if she hadn’t been in school the next day, something must have happened the evening before or first thing in the morning to keep her away, something serious. Reece consulted his notes again. ‘And I understand you had a talk with Mr Sheldon after school that day?’
Silvia looked at April sharply. She didn’t need to speak to communicate her meaning: You and I are going to have a little chat after this, young lady.
‘What did you discuss with him, exactly?’ continued Reece.
‘He wanted to know why I hadn’t been in class that morning,’ said April defensively.
‘Look, what’s all this about?’ said Silvia impatiently, looking at Reece. ‘I thought you brought us here to help you, not to have you grill my daughter like this.’
‘We’re simply trying to establish how April was feeling that day, Mrs Dunne,’ said Carling with a slightly superior tone. ‘It’s important to know the state of mind of all the suspects—’
‘Suspects?’ snapped Silvia, her cheeks flushing. ‘My daughter is a child grieving for her father, not a suspect!’
‘Now, now,’ said Reece, ‘let’s not get all het up here.’
‘I think I’m well within my rights to get “all het up”, Inspector,’ said Silvia. ‘April has told you everything she knows and you seem to be intent on insulting her. She is sixteen years old, for goodness sake. Her father has been murdered. We came here voluntarily, so if you’re not going to ask any relevant questions, I think we’ll leave,’ she said, moving her chair back.
DS Carling cleared her throat. ‘Actually, the meeting with Mr Sheldon was lucky for April. If she had left five minutes earlier, she might have been there when the attack happened. Their talk gives her an alibi.’
‘An alibi?’ hissed Silvia. The fury came off her like heat and DI Carling flinched. ‘Do you really think that my little girl might go to her own home and tear her own father’s throat out?’ She was on her feet and screaming now. ‘How dare you even consider such a thing?’ she yelled, leaning forwards over the table and spitting the words out. Silvia turned to the detective inspector and her voice was suddenly cold and hard as stone. ‘I will have your job, your career, your comfortable, cosy life for this. Mark my words, you have made a terrible mistake.’
April could see from his expression that DI Reece fully agreed with her.
With that, Silvia took April’s hand and calmly walked to the door. ‘Goodbye, Detective Inspector,’ she said.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you missed school that morning?’ asked Silvia.
April shook her head. ‘Because you don’t want to know.’
Silvia slammed the car door, breaking the silence. They hadn’t spoken on the drive back to Covent Garden. April was still reeling from the grilling, Silvia was still fuming, and somehow in the space of the journey mother and daughter had turned all their anger and frustration towards each other. April had been grateful for her mother’s fearsome protectiveness in the interview, but slowly that had turned to annoyance; why had she asked so many questions? It was almost as if she was trying to help the police catch her out. She guessed that Silvia was similarly annoyed that Apr
il hadn’t told her about skipping school. But then why would she? She wasn’t going to tell her mother everything, was she? Especially when her mother barely acknowledged her most of the time.
‘What do you mean, I don’t want to know?’ snapped Silvia, unbuttoning her trenchcoat as they walked from her granddad’s underground garage up into the house.
‘Because you haven’t been there for me, have you?’ said April.
‘What are you talking about? I’ve been here with you every moment since we left Highgate.’
‘Oh, is that what you call it? Sleeping the day away, sitting in the dark? I came in to speak to you loads of times, but you just wanted to watch daytime TV with the curtains closed. I’ve not gone to school all week - is that news to you too?’