‘So you found the jacket in the bar on the night its owner was shot, and then a few days later you found a gun there after another man was shot. A jury might find that hard to believe,’ Geraldine said, ‘so let’s try again and this time you need to answer our questions truthfully.’
‘My client has nothing more to say,’ the lawyer replied.
Persuaded that Jack wasn’t going to add anything to his statement, Adam stood up and gathered his papers together as the suspect was escorted from the interview room.
‘He gave a neat explanation for having the gun without saying anything that implicates him in the shootings,’ he burst out when he and Geraldine were alone. ‘I’m not convinced by his account, but a jury might swallow it. I’m just saying – it’s something we need to consider. He confessed he took the gun, Geraldine, but we need more than that.’
‘What if it was Theo all along?’
Adam sat down again abruptly. ‘The thought did occur to me. To be honest, Geraldine, I’ve no idea whether it was the nutter or the wide boy, or if they were both in on it together, but whichever one of them it was, he has to be stopped. And if Jack’s statement’s a lie, and that comes out, then he might be lying about the shooting too.’ He shook his head, but he was smiling. ‘It has to be one or other of them. So if we’re not ready to break open the champagne yet, we can put it on ice.’
He jumped up and held the door for Geraldine. She couldn’t help returning his smile, although she felt his triumph was a little premature.
‘Champagne, eh?’ she replied. ‘It was a pint of bitter with my previous DCI. Things are looking up!’
‘That’s more like it. I was beginning to think you suspected we’d arrested the wrong bloke.’
Geraldine didn’t point out that it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened on this case. First Lenny, then Theo, and now Jack, had been accused of killing David Lester. She hoped they had the right man at last.
‘We need Jack to make a full confession. We know what he did with the gun afterwards, now we need him to own up that he shot both men.’
As Adam strode away, Geraldine checked her phone and saw a missed call. There was no message. She went outside to call back.
‘Hi Louise, it’s Geraldine – that is, Erin – Milly Blake’s daughter. You phoned?’
‘Yes. We wondered if you would like to be involved in the funeral arrangements?’
‘What?’
‘For your mother. Would you like to discuss it? We can make the arrangements for you, if you prefer not to be involved.’
Geraldine’s breath caught in the back of her throat so that she couldn’t speak for a second. ‘It’s not something I’ve really thought about. I mean, I’ve no idea what she would have wanted.’
‘It’s up to you, as her next of kin. But if you’d rather not be involved, you don’t have to be. You just have to say the word.’
‘Can I think about it?’
‘Of course. And did the hospital give you a letter from your mother? Only the ward sister mentioned it –’
‘Yes, they gave it to me.’
As they were talking, Geraldine walked over to a row of silver birches growing beside the car park. She was dimly aware of the faint rustling of the wind in the leaves above her head.
‘Oh good. And I take it there was no mention in the letter about what she wanted at her funeral?’
Geraldine hesitated to admit that she hadn’t opened the letter yet. She had put it in the drawer beside her bed, along with the one old photograph she had of her mother.
‘I’d like to think about it,’ she repeated. ‘When do you need to know by?’
‘There’s no rush. Shall we speak tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
She hung up. Having met her mother just once, she had until the following day to decide on the kind of funeral Milly might have wanted. Hysterical laughter bubbled out of her. She wasn’t even sure if she was laughing or crying. With a sharp intake of breath she pulled herself together. Her mother’s funeral would have to wait until she had read the letter at home that evening. In the meantime, she had a job to do.
60
THAT NIGHT, GERALDINE opened the drawer beside her bed and took out the photograph of her mother, and the envelope on which ‘Erin Blake’ had been written in shaky capital letters. She took them into the living room and placed them side by side on the coffee table. Then she went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of red wine. Returning to the living room she sat on the sofa, sipping her wine and studying the letter. It was sealed in a cheap white envelope that her mother must have been given in the hospital.
With sudden resolve, she gulped the rest of her glass of wine. Snatching up the letter she tore the envelope open, removed the sheet of paper, and stared at the words scrawled on it. The writing sloped downwards on the right hand side of the page and it looked messy, but the words were easy to decipher. Having scanned through it, she poured herself another glass of wine and read the letter again carefully, struggling to cope with her shock.
Dear Erin
I’m sorry we never talked. It’s my fault. Forgive me. I never should have left it so long for us to meet. Now it’s me that’s waiting for you. I hope you come back to the hospital in time for me to see you. If you don’t, the nurse promised to give you this letter. Please forgive me if you read this. It means we never got to talk, not properly.
When the social worker said you wanted to meet me, I was so happy. But then she told me you’re a policewoman, and I knew it was better for you to know nothing about me and my life. You would be ashamed of me, and I couldn’t bear that. God knows I’ve done more than enough hurt to you already.
I never wanted you to be punished for my wickedness. Please don’t hate me. I only wanted what was best for you. It broke my heart to lose you but I didn’t know what else to do. I think about you every day.
When you were born, they told me Helena was going to die. But she didn’t. And then time went by and I couldn’t give her away. It sounds bad, but nothing I ever did went right. Now I’m gone, you need to find Helena, and help her. God knows, I tried.
I wish I’d kept you as well but what happened was better for you. The social worker said the family you went to were good people. It would have been better for Helena if she’d gone with you but she was sick and they said she wouldn’t live.
I can’t help Helena but you can, if she’s still alive.
I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
Milly
your mum
When Geraldine finished reading, she touched the page gently with one finger. Her dead mother had written to apologise for never knowing her. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Too emotional to think clearly, she understood only that, through some bitter irony, her career with the police had prevented her mother from wanting to meet her. Reading the letter again, she gathered that she had a sister, Helena. Her sister had been expected to die when Geraldine was born, but she had survived. It sounded as though Helena might be her twin.
She gazed around her neat living room with a sense of unreality. She had no idea what her mother had done that could be so shameful. Whatever it was, Geraldine would have done her best to help her. She was devastated to learn that her mother had died believing Geraldine might not forgive her. The fact that her mother had been reluctant to meet her once she had learned her daughter worked for the police suggested that Milly had lived on the wrong side of the law. But that did not excuse her refusal to give Geraldine a chance to help her.
‘I forgive you,’ she whispered to a sheet of paper with words scrawled over it. ‘I forgive you.’
Her bout of crying over, she went to the kitchen and returned with the wine. She knew she ought to eat something before finishing the bottle, but this was not the time for being sensible. She wanted to get so pissed she would care only about her hangover in the morning, and not even think about h
er mother. Or her sister, Helena. Putting her feet up on the sofa, she poured herself another glass of wine. Thinking about the letter, she started to feel angry. It was true her mother was dead, and she would never have the chance to try to build any sort of relationship with her. That was sad, but it was her mother’s fault. While she had been alive, Milly had refused to have any contact with her. Now it seemed she had only written to her out of concern for her other daughter, Helena. Her letter was not a genuine apology at all but an attempt to persuade Geraldine to take responsibility for the sister she had never known about, the sister Milly had been unable to part with.
No longer sure she could forgive her mother, Geraldine stood up and was surprised to find herself a little shaky on her feet. She hadn’t had that much to drink. Going into the kitchen, she popped some frozen bread in the toaster and took a packet of cheese from the fridge. Tea and toast shouldn’t be beyond her in her sozzled state, and it would soak up the alcohol. Tomorrow she needed to get back to the job that had scared her mother away. At least that had never let her down. As for Helena, Geraldine didn’t even know if she was her sister. Thinking about the way her mother had treated her, she could not see why she should care. She had lived all her life so far in ignorance that she had a biological sister. Only now it would be Geraldine’s decision if she turned her back on her sister. Knowing changed everything.
She carried her mug and plate back into the living room on a tray. Catching sight of the letter and photograph lying on the table, she trembled. Miserably, she munched her toast, telling herself she was just tired, hungry and tipsy. All she needed was a good night’s sleep and she would be fine. She touched the signature where Milly had written her name, followed by the word ‘mum’, as though Geraldine might not realise who she was. Knowing she could never reply to her mother’s letter, she broke down in tears at the finality of that silence.
61
GROGGY FROM TOO much wine and too much sleep, it took Geraldine a moment to come to. Then, in a rush, she remembered her mother’s death, and the letter that suggested she had a twin sister. The lifestyles of twins who were brought up apart were supposed to be uncannily similar, but from Milly’s letter it seemed that Geraldine and Helena were very different. Geraldine had worked hard to become a successful professional woman, owning her own flat in a relatively expensive area of London. Her twin sounded dysfunctional. Drugs and crime might play a part in her life. Geraldine didn’t intend to rush blindly into a relationship with a stranger who might turn out to be a parasite ready to fleece her. If what Milly had written was true, Helena’s life might demonstrate what Geraldine would have been like if she had been brought up by her birth mother. She thought about it as she lay in bed. There was nothing to stop her tracing her sister and observing her from a distance; a stalker driven by benign curiosity. She would help Helena if she could.
She had put her mother’s letter and photograph away in her bedside cabinet. With the help of another photograph, Jack’s girlfriend had been identified. Before driving to work Geraldine wanted to speak to Sophia, to see if she could add anything to what they already knew about Jack. Sophia worked in a clothes shop in Camden, not far from where she lived. The shop was close to Camden Town station so Geraldine took the train there. It was sunny and warm as she strode along Camden High Street in early summer. The pavement was crowded with young people of different ethnicities. She overheard snippets of conversations from the other pedestrians as she walked by, a world away from Milly Blake’s sorry history.
She found the shop where Sophia worked without any difficulty. The window displayed an eclectic mixture of vintage Indian cotton gathered skirts, Afghan coats and fake-fur bomber jackets, together with a couple of pairs of ankle boots, some odd hats and tasselled pashminas. The interior of the shop was dark. Almost every inch of yellow wall was covered in rails of clothes, and shelves packed with hats, bags, shoes and boots. Colourful dresses hung from hangers suspended on hooks in the ceiling. The shop assistant behind the till looked up and nodded a greeting. Geraldine recognised her from the photograph on Jack’s phone.
‘Are you Sophia?’
The girl was mixed race, beautiful in a sensuous way, with full lips and large, dark eyes. Above the counter Geraldine could see her curvaceous body, and long lean arms.
‘Is your name Sophia Laramie?’ Geraldine repeated.
‘What do you want?’ The girl glanced towards a second shop assistant who was tidying dresses on a rail and called out, ‘Shaz, can you get over here?’
The other assistant was older than Sophia, dressed in a long flowery skirt and a brightly coloured tasselled shawl, her middle-aged face heavily made up.
‘I’m the manager. Can I help?’
‘I’d like a word with Sophia. Is there somewhere we can talk?’
The manager glanced at Sophia. ‘Is this customer a friend of yours?’
‘I’m not a customer, and I’m afraid I’m not a friend either.’ Geraldine held out her identity card. ‘Now, is there somewhere we can talk in private?’
‘Go on.’ The manager nodded at Sophia. ‘I’ll take over here. You’d better go downstairs. You won’t be long,’ she added, as though the duration of the interview was up to her.
‘Follow me,’ Sophia said.
‘She’s not in any trouble, is she?’ the manager asked. ‘Only if she is, I’d like to know about it.’
After reassuring them that Sophia wasn’t directly involved in any police enquiry, Geraldine followed the girl down a spiral staircase past two changing cubicles, through a low door which Sophia unlocked. It led to a small office with a battered desk and an old computer. Sophia sat behind the desk and gestured to the one other plastic chair in the room.
‘I’d like to ask you about Jack Bates.’
‘What about him?’
‘Do you know him?’
Sophia wriggled uncomfortably on her chair and nodded.
‘Is he your boyfriend?’
‘He thinks he is.’
‘You know Jack was arrested on Monday evening for stabbing another man?’
Sophia’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything.
‘What can you tell me about the incident?’
Sophia replied that she hadn’t been there. At first, she said she knew nothing about it, but then admitted she knew the man who had been injured in the fight, insisting he was just a friend. When Geraldine asked if Jack was violent, she denied the allegation.
‘That ain’t it. Jack ain’t bad. He’d never hurt no one. He’s gentle. You should see the way he is with his brother, who’s like a kid.’
‘We know Jack’s violent. He was arrested for stabbing another man. And that’s not all. As well as using a knife, we believe he shot two men.’
Sophia looked scared. ‘Nah. Not Jack. Someone’s fitting him up.’
Geraldine pressed her point, but the girl refused to budge, insisting that Jack would never hurt anyone, and he must have been provoked into using a knife in self-defence.
‘Ain’t a guy allowed to take care of himself? Where was you lot when he was assaulted? That’s supposed to be your job, protecting people, innit?’
Geraldine changed her approach. ‘You told me Jack would like to be your boyfriend, and you also said you knew the man he attacked.’
‘He never attacked no one.’
‘You said you knew the other man involved in the fight.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Is it possible Jack stabbed him in a fit of jealousy?’
Sophia pouted. ‘You go putting words in my mouth, I’m gonna deny ever saying a word. I ain’t got nothing more to say to you. I need to get back to work. Shaz is up there all on her own. Now you gotta go.’
Geraldine followed Sophia back up the spiral staircase. The visit had been a waste of time.
62
LENNY WAS OUT when Gina returned home from the pawn shop. She waited for hours, fuming. It was late when he finally turned up, blind drunk. He had money enou
gh to get himself pissed when he wanted, which was most evenings, unless he was feeling ill. He staggered into the living room too drunk to take in a word she said. When she tried to talk to him seriously, he collapsed on to the sofa laughing hysterically, only to fall off it making a grab for her.
‘Get over here, baby,’ he called out, using the arm of the sofa to pull himself up on to his knees. His speech was slurred.
‘Get off me,’ she snapped. ‘You’re pissed. I’m going to bed.’
She could hear him snoring on the sofa all night. By the time he woke, Gina was already up and dressed. When he came into the kitchen, she was waiting for him, hands on hips.
‘Get us a cup of tea, babe.’
For answer, she held out her hand, wriggling her ring finger at him.
He grinned. ‘Very nice.’
‘What happened to my diamond?’
‘It’s a beauty,’ he replied, but he didn’t sound quite so enthusiastic now.
‘What happened to my diamond?’ she repeated, her voice rising in anger.
Lenny blinked at her, his mouth hanging open. ‘What you yelling at me like that for, woman? Jesus, I only just woke up. Get us a cup of tea for fuck’s sake. My head’s killing me.’
Gina waved her hand in front of his face. ‘I know this ain’t the same as what you give me. I know it. This ain’t the same as what you give me. I got eyes. I ain’t no idiot. I can see when something’s different and this ain’t the same. It ain’t got the real colours like what you see in a real diamond. You think I’m an idiot. I seen it when you first give it me, and it was all shiny and it had colours in the diamond what you could see with your eye. And now they ain’t there so I know it ain’t the same.’
Murder Ring (A DI Geraldine Steel Mystery) Page 23