What They Knew

by Marion Todd

  Clare nodded and went into her office. She felt oddly tired, today. Maybe the strain of the investigation was catching up with her. The Christmas holidays seemed weeks ago, now. She hung her coat on a hook and switched on the computer. While it booted up she took out her phone and called the DCI to update him on events.

  ‘Want me to come up for the interview?’

  ‘Sandra Holt? No, I think Chris and I will be fine. She told us most of it last night anyway.’

  ‘Make sure she has a solicitor,’ he said. ‘We need to be absolutely sure her actions were the only possible ones in the circumstances.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  There was a pause and Clare was about to end the call when he said, ‘You’ll be relieved to have this one tied up, Clare. Maybe take a few days off when it’s done.’

  She wondered about this. It was the second time he’d said something like that. Was she starting to look her age? She opened her bag and took out a small mirror and peered at it. Her face did look drawn. Maybe she needed…

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a tap at the door and Zoe’s face appeared. Clare motioned her to come in. She came slowly into the room and she seemed to be grasping for the right words.

  ‘Just wanted to say sorry, boss – all that fuss last night.’

  Clare smiled. ‘No harm done, Zoe. You are okay?’

  Zoe smiled. ‘Definitely. I was going to make a cake to say thanks, you know? But Becca came home with me and we opened a bottle…’

  ‘Best thing you could have done. But mind you steer clear of Attracto.’

  Zoe nodded. ‘No danger. I’m done with that site. Matter of fact, I might not need it…’

  ‘Oh?’ Clare was intrigued.

  ‘Got a message last night. Facebook. Lad I was at college with.’ She grinned. ‘I’m seeing him tonight.’

  Clare smiled. ‘Oh, that’s lovely, Zoe. I am glad. Just remember, though…’

  ‘Guard my drink, yeah, I know.’ She hovered as if unsure what else to say, then, ‘Better get to work, or I’ll have Jimbo on my back.’

  Clare laughed, wondering if Jim knew what Zoe called him. Left alone, she sat thinking. They were all pairing off now. But maybe she wasn’t meant to be part of a couple. Maybe it was time to start looking after herself. On an impulse she rose and went in search of Zoe who had just started tapping at her keyboard. ‘Zoe?’

  ‘Yes, boss?’

  ‘Your hair – where do you go? To have it done, I mean?’

  ‘McArthur’s in South Street,’ she said. She studied Clare. ‘You fancying a new look?’

  Clare shrugged. ‘Maybe. Not red, though.’

  ‘No. Not your colour. Don’t go to my girl, then. See if you can get an appointment with Greta. She’s great with colour. Not too whacky.’

  * * *

  Clare’s next call was to Raymond Curtice.

  ‘Hi, Clare.’ He sounded as perky as usual and she could just imagine him busily piecing together the events of last night. ‘Just working on your case now. Bit of a messy scene, though.’

  ‘It was. Anything so far?’

  ‘Yes, hold on…’

  She waited and then a moment later he was back.

  ‘Okay. First of all, he had a strip of tablets in his pocket.’

  ‘Rohypnol?’

  ‘Yep. Now we analysed the wine bottle and both glasses. There were no drugs in the bottle itself and, initially, both glasses tested negative.’

  ‘Initially?’

  ‘Once we got them back to the lab we examined what was left in the glasses under a UV spectrometer. Definitely Rohypnol in one of them.’

  This matched with Sandra’s story that she thought he’d slipped a tablet into her glass.

  ‘Manage to get anything from the chilli in the fridge?’

  ‘Sadly no. The wine would have soaked in. Shame, really. It smelled lovely.’

  Clare had to smile. Only Raymond could be faced with such a scene of horror and think how appetising a bowl of chilli smelled. ‘What about the knife?’

  ‘Dr Holt’s prints only. Pretty expensive knife, though. Sabatier. Probably saved her life. It had to be sharp to get through his clothes, given she must have been stabbing wildly behind her.’

  ‘Okay, thanks Raymond. Anything else, give me a buzz.’

  Chris appeared at the door. ‘Gillian’s just phoned from the hospital. They’ve released Sandra Holt. She’s bringing her in now for interview.’

  ‘Solicitor?’

  ‘On his way.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be glad to put this one to bed. If we can just get hold of John Mason’s phone and laptop records…’

  ‘What about your fancy new cyber thing?’

  ‘Need the phone for that, genius. I suppose it’s still not been found?’

  Chris shook his head. ‘Want a couple of lads up there to have another look? SOCO could have missed it.’

  Clare considered this. SOCO were thorough. She knew that. But it was worth another look. ‘Go on, then. See who’s available. But I want you in with me when I take Sandra’s statement.’

  * * *

  Sandra Holt was white-faced but calm when she arrived at the station. Her solicitor, a serious man in his fifties, was at pains to stress that Sandra was the victim. Clare reassured him on that point.

  ‘We’ll keep your client as short a time as possible. My sergeant and I already spoke to her last night, under caution, but I can assure you that was simply a formality. Once we have her statement she’ll be free to go.’

  They filed into the largest interview room, Sandra’s eyes flicking left and right as she took in her surroundings. Clare offered them drinks and Sara was despatched to make a pot of coffee. ‘See if you can find any biscuits,’ Clare whispered, and Sara nodded.

  The interview began with the usual preamble. Sandra’s voice, while quiet, seemed less hoarse than last night and she managed to give her statement with only a couple of pauses. Her version of events was unchanged from what she had told them at the hospital and within an hour it was all done.

  ‘I have a couple of officers still at your house,’ Clare said. ‘Just checking things over.’

  Sandra’s shoulders sagged at this. ‘I just want to go home.’

  The solicitor said, ‘I’ll take you for lunch, Sandra. We can stretch it out for a few hours. Then I’ll run you back.’

  Clare smiled her thanks to the solicitor and the pair departed.

  ‘All done?’ Jim asked when they emerged from the interview room.

  ‘Yeah, pretty much,’ Clare said. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d forgotten something but it wouldn’t come. She’d probably remember it in the middle of the night.

  Jim lifted his notepad. ‘I’m not sure if it’s relevant any more but I’ve managed to find Lexy Harris’s mother.’ He tore off the top sheet and handed it to Clare. ‘Address and phone number all there – if you want to speak to her.’

  Clare stood looking at the piece of paper. Stepps – an attractive town on the outskirts of Glasgow, for years the main route into the city from the east. Then the motorway had opened and the town had become much quieter. In fact, Clare couldn’t remember the last time she’d been through Stepps. And now that John Mason was dead and Sandra Holt had given her statement, did she need to speak to Lexy Harris’s mother? Probably not. All the same…

  She tapped the address into Google Maps on her phone. One hour, thirty-five minutes away. She caught Chris’s eye. ‘Fancy a road trip?’

  Chapter 51

  Clare was so used to bypassing Stepps on the new motorway that she only just saw the turnoff. She signalled and pulled over, earning herself a blast on the horn from the car behind. The road layout was unfamiliar, but she soon saw the distinctive Buchanan Tower standing out against the skyline and knew she was heading in the right direction. Despite the sad nature of their visit, her spirits rose as she drove past rows of houses built in the red sandstone, so redolent of Glasgow. Her home town but no l
onger her home.

  Chris was looking out of the passenger window as they drove along. ‘Nice town,’ he said.

  ‘I imagine it’s a lot nicer without the motorway traffic.’

  ‘Take a right here,’ he said, eyes trained on his phone. Then he looked up. ‘This is the street. It should be just along here on the left.’

  Clare slowed the car as Chris checked house numbers and finally they saw the house and pulled into the kerb. Clare thought she saw a figure at the window but it vanished seconds later.

  They stepped out of the car and surveyed the street. There were houses along one side and what seemed to be a park, bordered by trees on the other.

  ‘Think it’s a tennis club,’ Chris said.

  ‘Never mind that. Remind me of their names.’

  ‘Andrews. Roy and Irene.’

  ‘Interesting that Lexy kept Harris as her surname when her mum remarried,’ Clare said. ‘I wonder if she didn’t get on with her stepfather…’

  Chris shrugged. ‘Maybe. So… how do you want to play it?’

  ‘Not a clue.’ Clare began walking towards a gap in the hedge. A long monobloc drive led to a wooden garage and to the right of this sat the house. It was a two-storey villa in blonde sandstone with dormer windows built into the roof. A neat square of grass was surrounded on two sides with a narrow earth border and a path led off the drive to the front door. As they approached, the door was opened by a man who looked to be in his sixties. He was about the same height as Clare, with receding hair so black it had to be dyed. He wore dark grey trousers and a navy ribbed pullover.

  ‘Inspector Mackay?’ he said, not moving from the threshold.

  Clare smiled. ‘And Sergeant Chris West. Thanks for agreeing to see us.’

  He stood his ground. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘My wife – well, she’s struggled for years to put things behind her. It’s not good for her, you see.’

  ‘We’ll keep her as short a time as possible,’ Clare said. ‘If we could maybe come in…’

  Roy Andrews hesitated then stood back, just enough to allow Clare and Chris to pass through the door. He led them into a square sitting room. It was pleasant enough, Clare thought, with an off-pink carpet and a beige velour suite but it lacked personality, somehow.

  Irene Andrews was standing by a living flame electric fire. She was spare, dressed simply in dark trousers and a purple sweatshirt. Clare’s overriding sense was of someone who was tired. Not sleepy-tired, but tired of life, of going through the motions day after day. She recalled some of the fitter-looking residents she had seen on her brief visit to Pitlethie Care Home and thought how much more life they had about them than this woman.

  She introduced herself and Chris, and Irene invited them to sit. As Clare moved to the sofa she took the chance to scan the room for family photos. But she could only see a small one in a silver frame showing a white-haired boy of about two. Sam Harris, she guessed. There didn’t seem to be any of Lexy and she wondered about that. Had there been a rift?

  Irene waited until they had sat then she perched on the edge of a dining chair pulled out from a small gateleg table.

  ‘You should have a comfy seat,’ Roy Andrews said, but she waved this away.

  ‘I’m fine here.’ She glanced at her husband. ‘Maybe you could make us some tea, Roy? I’m sure the officers would appreciate that after their long drive.’

  Roy Andrews stood for a moment, clearly unwilling to leave his wife.

  She inclined her head towards the door. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  He left the room and Irene rose from her seat to close the door. Then she turned back to face them. ‘He fusses,’ she said. ‘Thinks it’s not good for me to dwell in the past.’ Then she lowered her voice. ‘What he doesn’t realise is I like dwelling in the past. It helps, you know?’

  Clare smiled. ‘I understand. And we’re so grateful to you for seeing us, Mrs Andrews.’

  ‘Irene, please.’ She resumed her seat then said, ‘What is it you wish to know?’

  Clare cleared her throat then began. ‘If it’s not too painful, I’d like to ask you about the day your son Sam died. I understand it was your daughter’s birthday party.’

  ‘Lexy, that’s right. She was eleven. Actually her birthday was the day before but it was easier to have the party on a Saturday.’

  ‘Were there many children there?’

  Irene nodded. ‘Quite a few. Probably a dozen girls, plus Lexy and Sam, of course.’

  Clare took out the photo she had taken from Ingrid McKinnie’s house. ‘I think some of the children in this photo were there. Is that correct?’

  Irene took the photo and studied it. A smile spread over her face. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen this before. I don’t suppose…’

  ‘I can have a copy made for you,’ Clare said. ‘Once our enquiries are complete.’

  Irene smiled then she looked back at the photo. ‘These three girls…’ she broke off for a minute then she said, ‘I always wondered – Lexy – when she said she wanted them to come to the party – I wasn’t sure. They hadn’t always been kind to her, you see, and I didn’t want her party to be spoiled. But she assured me they were friends. So I relented.’ She squinted at the photo again then said, ‘And that’s John, I think.’ Then she looked up at Clare. ‘I hope it doesn’t sound unkind but I always thought he was quite an odd boy.’

  And how, Clare thought but didn’t say. Instead, she asked, ‘Odd in what way?’

  Irene sat back, considering this. ‘Oh, I don’t know – just a bit strange. Not very talkative but always hanging about the girls. I suppose he lacked confidence and those girls, well, they were the in-crowd, you see.’

  Clare smiled. ‘Was the party going well? Before your son went missing, I mean.’

  Irene’s gaze dropped and she seemed to be running through the events in her mind. Then she nodded, slowly. ‘I think so. We’d had some games in the garden and then we were making pizzas.’ She smiled. ‘Lexy loved pizza and she’d asked if the party guests could add their own toppings. So, I was in the kitchen doing that with the children, a few at a time. Lexy was there too, supervising – that’s what she told me. She was quite a shy child. I think she enjoyed feeling she was in charge.’ Irene paused for a minute and her brow furrowed. Then she continued.

  ‘It was only when the last four came in and their pizzas went into the oven that I realised Sam was missing. I asked the children and they said he’d been playing on the climbing frame. So I sent Lexy out to bring him in. And that’s when we realised…’ Irene reached into her sleeve and pulled out a tissue. She dabbed her eyes then said, ‘We realised Sam wasn’t in the garden.’ She swallowed.

  ‘Would you like a break?’ Clare asked but she shook her head.

  ‘No, I want to tell you. To talk about it. Roy…’ she gestured towards the kitchen. ‘I can’t talk to him about it. He won’t…’ She blew her nose on the tissue then carried on.

  ‘We searched everywhere. It was quite a big garden, you see. Lots of trees. But I think I knew from the start. Knew he wasn’t there. I ran – ran for the gate. And I saw his shorts. They were red, you know. And his hair, his lovely blonde hair – almost white…’ she nodded, as if to emphasise this. ‘Lovely hair. Anyway, I ran down the bank. I fell. Nearly ended up in the water myself. And I picked him up.’ She broke off again, reliving the moment. Then she said, her voice barely above a whisper, ‘He was heavy, you know? A dead weight. There was a noise. An awful wailing. I didn’t know it was me. Then someone tried to take him but I wouldn’t – wouldn’t let go. And then Dan – he was Sam and Lexy’s dad, you know – Dan, he said it was the ambulance and I had to let them have him. But I knew, if I did, they wouldn’t give him back.’

  The tears were coursing down Irene’s face now and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Then she turned a tear-stained face towards Clare. ‘I knew he was gone, you see. I had known Sam since the moment he was conceived. I knew every in
ch of his perfect little body. I knew his personality and how his eyes would light up when he was happy. And I knew – I knew that the light had gone from his eyes for the last time.’

  The door opened and Roy Andrews came in bearing a tea tray. He looked at his wife and set the tray down on the gateleg table. ‘I told you she wasn’t to be upset. You shouldn’t have come.’

  Suddenly, Irene seemed to snap. ‘I want to talk about it,’ she cried. ‘Don’t you understand, Roy? I want to talk about it!’

  Roy stood for a moment, stunned into silence, then he picked up a cup and saucer from the tray and handed it to her. ‘Here,’ he said, his voice lower. ‘This will help.’

  She took the cup and gave him a smile. ‘Thanks, love.’ The teaspoon rattled on the saucer as her hand shook and she set the cup and saucer down on a side table.

  As they drank their tea, Clare asked, ‘Are you in touch with Lexy? We weren’t able to make contact with her.’

  Irene shook her head. ‘She’s not had it easy, Lexy. What with Sam, then us moving. She never really settled in Bristol, you know. Then her dad and I separated, and he died a few years later. I thought, maybe, if we changed our name, moved back to Scotland, she might be happier.’

  ‘And was she?’

  Irene shrugged. ‘Not really. She did well at school, though. She’s a clever girl. Then she took a couple of years out and never moved home again. She went off to university but she always managed to have a holiday job. I helped her as much as I could, financially. But, until I met Roy,’ she threw her husband a smile, ‘it was a bit of a struggle – bills and so on.’

  ‘Did she finish university?’ Clare asked, wondering at the lack of a graduation photo. Irene seemed so proud of her daughter. The absence of a photo seemed odd.

  She beamed. ‘Oh yes. She did really well. First class honours. But she didn’t want a graduation celebration. Said she had a job lined up in Manchester and off she went.’

  ‘Does she come home much?’

  Irene glanced quickly at Roy then away again and she shook her head. ‘We’ve kind of lost touch.’