by Denise Mina
Bannerman was keeping her away from Harris, isolating him. And he was bringing it up in front of the boss so that she couldn’t object, because any complaint would make her part of the rebellion. Without fanfare or warning the war had begun.
“Fine,” she said, blinking to cut him off. “I’m not going into the interviews, sir.”
Bannerman nodded. “I’ve already explained that you know the suspect.”
“No, um,” Morrow held the edge of the door tight, “Murray’s not actually a suspect.”
Bannerman nodded a concession. “Point taken: the suspects’ mother. Although,” he looked at McKechnie, “she may be a suspect. We’ll have to see when we get up there.”
“And the boys are in the back?”
“Yeah, we’ve sent their shoes off and brought in all the antiques she had kicking around the house.” He explained to McKechnie, “One of our new recruits spotted them on a routine visit.”
He was talking as if they’d found the British Museum up there. Morrow hadn’t seen a lot of antiques in the house. “What was there exactly?”
Bannerman pushed a sheaf of color photos printed on copy paper over his desk towards her. She stepped in and fingered through them.
The ink had smeared a little. That the items were pictured next to a ruler and had an exhibit number next to them made them seem stolen.
The first item was a silver eggcup. It had been found on top of the cupboard in the kitchen, covered in a greasy dust. She could still see the tiny hairs stuck in it at the upper rim.
The next one was an art deco watch with a rectangular face and diamonds on the surround.
“Found that in a sock under her bed,” Bannerman told McKechnie, helping Morrow to the next picture, the site of the discovery. The dust was thick under the bed. Random lost items were scattered around the navy blue carpet, a pair of tights rolled into twin doughnuts, an empty light bulb box, a celebrity magazine. The orange sock was lying by the skirting board.
Then there was a bowl with enameling on the outside. It had been found on the ironing board and was photographed next to a brown burn mark on a vivid flowery pattern. Kay’d been using it as an ashtray. A cursory search of the internet suggested it was worth thousands.
“There’s not that much,” said Morrow, sounding sour.
The men didn’t say anything but she knew what they were thinking about her. It didn’t bother her. She never felt she had their good regard in the first place and she’d be out of here soon. Her hand strayed to her belly for reassurance but she caught herself and dropped it to her side.
Politely, Bannerman changed the subject, looking at McKechnie. “Right?”
McKechnie smiled at his protégé. “Whenever you are.”
They stood up, coming past her at the door; McKechnie happy because a high-profile case was about to be wound up, Bannerman because he was doing the winding. Morrow followed them out at a distance.
* * *
A single row of chairs was set out in the remote viewing room, four in all. McKechnie took the middle seat.
“Sir, this is DC Tamsin Leonard. She spotted the ashtray that led to the search.”
Morrow was furious with Leonard. She was wrong to be: Leonard had spotted the bowl, she hadn’t put it there, but she felt angry at her. Overcompensating, she gave Leonard credit when it was usual not to, introducing her to a boss three grades above her, saying her full name.
They sat down, Morrow next to McKechnie, Leonard on his other side.
Routher came in from checking the camera in the interview room and switched on the boxy television, tuning it to camera one.
A fuzz of snow evaporated and the tall narrow room was pictured. The camera was angled towards the door and the two empty facing seats, Bannerman and Gobby seen from behind so their faces were hidden. They busied themselves taking off their jackets, putting the cassette tapes on the table. As Gobby poured three plastic cups of water out, Bannerman turned back and smiled at the camera. It was too flippant for McKechnie—he shifted reproachfully in his seat.
Everyone waited. The room looked suffocatingly small, high walls, a narrow table and two big men sitting on one side, facing the door, waiting and willing the next interviewee to fail.
The door opened slowly and McCarthy’s face appeared. He looked concerned, didn’t speak, seemed to be checking that the chair was there. Kay shuffled in and sat down on the lonely side of the table, clenching her hands on the surface in front of her. She met McCarthy’s look of concern briefly, blinking to let him know she was all right. Morrow wondered if they knew each other.
Kay looked at Bannerman and Gobby in turn. “Hello,” she said formally.
Gobby’s head bobbed. Bannerman reciprocated her civil tone but it sounded facetious. “Good evening, Ms. Murray.” He held the tapes up. “We’re going to put these tapes in the cassette recorder to record the interview.”
Behind Morrow, McCarthy came into the viewing room and pulled a seat out from the wall, watching the TV screen. Morrow looked at him and he raised his eyebrows, asking if it was all right for him to stay. She nodded a yes. He looked back at the screen, frowning, concerned, and Morrow was touched: McCarthy didn’t know Kay. He just liked her.
In the interview room Kay looked around as Bannerman and Gobby undid the cassette wrappers, putting the tapes into the players. Thinking herself unobserved, she seemed to look up, searching for a window, another door, a way out. Her eyes flicked up to the camera. In the second before she saw the red light and realized the camera was on, she looked frantic and cornered.
Bannerman sat back, told the tape who was there, what the day was, where they were. He told Kay that they were filming and might be watched remotely by officers in another part of the station. She looked straight at the camera, eyes hateful, as if she could see her accusers through it.
Morrow blinked at the screen to swipe the brutal glance away.
“So,” Bannerman began. They could see from behind that he was smiling. “You understand why we’re here, don’t you, Kay?”
Kay didn’t smile back. “Because you found things in my house that you don’t think I should have?”
“No.” He broke eye contact. “No, because of Sarah Erroll’s death. That’s why we’re here, because Sarah Erroll was murdered in her house, you had access to that house and her accounts and,” he paused for emphasis, “because you have things in your house that don’t seem to belong to you.”
“Like what?”
“Hmm.” He looked at a sheet of his scribbled notes, opened his folder, flashed a photocopied image of the eggcup at the camera. He decided not to do that bit right now. He shut the folder and looked up. “Let’s start at the beginning.”
McKechnie murmured “oh no” under his breath and Morrow sympathized: Bannerman was going to drag it out. Two hours, by her estimation. That’s how long it took for a suspect to break under prolonged questioning. Two hours of personal details and bus timetables and getting phone numbers slightly wrong before the ennui became unbearable and they gladly put their hands up. It was already five to eleven.
“How did you come to be working for Mrs. Erroll?”
Kay blinked, paused and said, “No,” very firmly. “Let’s not start at the beginning. Let’s get down to the main—”
“No.” Bannerman knew McKechnie was watching. “We’ll start at the beginning—”
“No, we won’t.” She was firm. “And I’ll tell you why: because I’ve got four kids, two of them are down the stairs and they’re terrified, and the other two are sitting in a neighbor’s house and they’ve all got school in the morning.”
“I think this is a bit more important…” His voice was loud.
“Right? See, I don’t.” But hers was louder.
Morrow leaned forward, elbow on knee, her hand pressed over her mouth to cover a smile.
“Because,” continued Kay, “I know what went on. I was there. I know my boys and I know there’s nothing to this.” She might have
won the point if she’d pressed it home but, suddenly, her courage failed her. A bubble of panic seemed to rise through her chest, pushing her back in the chair, twisting her voice to a weak whine. “And I know you’re going to find that out. And you’re going to let my boys go home. And get some sleep.” She was crying, her face contorted. She slapped a hand over her eyes, shook, her mouth contorted wide.
“There’s no need to be afraid.” Bannerman sounded annoyed.
Kay kept her eyes covered and caught her breath. “The fuck are you talking about?”
It wasn’t the floor wipe McKechnie had been expecting. He had stopped looking at the screen and was checking the crease on his trousers.
Mouth bubbling, eyes wet, she dropped her hand. “There’s every fucking reason to be afraid.”
“What have you done, Kay? You can tell us.”
“No! I’m not.” She stopped to wipe her nose on the back of her hand. “I’m not scared because I’ve done anything. I’m scared because I don’t trust you. Any of ye. And I know I’ve done nothing and my boys have done nothing and I don’t trust ye to find that out.”
It was a bad start. Bannerman hadn’t expected Kay to be so articulate. He sat back heavily, watched her give a shuddering sniff. When she had calmed down he said quietly, “Let’s start at the beginning.”
Kay sniffed again, terror subsiding and anger setting in.
“How did you get the job with Mrs. Erroll?”
Kay licked her lips and looked around the table top. She looked at the camera, she looked at Gobby and then at Bannerman. “OK,” she conceded, “here ye are: I worked at Mrs. Thalaine’s and the Campbells’ doing cleaning. I met a cleaner called Jane Manus, young lassie, another cleaner, on the train station platform one night and she said Sarah Erroll was advertising for carers for her mother—”
“Who is Jane Manus?”
“—ten quid an hour. So I missed my train and went up the house and knocked and Sarah answered and I said to her, I heard you’re advertising, I don’t have any qualific—”
“Who is Jane Manus?”
“—qualifications or experience. But I’m a grafter and I like old folk. Gave me a tryout. I worked for nothing for three days. Half shifts. And me and Mrs. Erroll got on well and she gave us the job.”
Morrow glanced beyond McKechnie to Leonard and saw a tiny smile on her face as she took Kay’s side.
“Miss Murray, you don’t understand what happens here.” Bannerman held a stilling hand out to her. “I ask the questions and you answer the questions because this is a matter of us collating information. We know what we need to ask—”
“You need my whole work history?”
“We need context.”
Morrow had seen him do this before: he was using words he assumed Kay wouldn’t understand. The split second it took someone to work out the meaning gave him the advantage, made them lose their conversational footing. But he hadn’t the measure of Kay at all. She was sharp and thought fast.
“You can get context from someone else. I’ve got responsibilities. I need this to be quick,” she said.
“Well,” he chuckled unpleasantly, “I think it’s fair to say that our needs take precedence here. We’re conducting a murder inquiry—”
“And I’m helping you with that. I’m happy to help.”
“You don’t seem happy.”
At that Kay looked at him with eloquent disgust. “And who would be happy? My sons are downstairs waiting to be asked about this. Fifteen and sixteen. They shouldn’t even know these things go on. And don’t you dare show them any mucky photos of dead people. I’ve spoken to you guys four times already, this is my fourth time talking to you—”
“Third time.” He checked his notes. “We’ve only spoken to you three times. DC Harris and DC Leonard came out to your house, you met Morrow and Wilder in the avenue and now this.”
Kay sat back and sucked her cheeks in, glanced at the camera.
“Are you prone to exaggeration, Kay?”
She said nothing and Bannerman felt he’d found a weakness. “Did you exaggerate how rich Sarah was when you spoke about her to your boys? You must miss the money she was paying you?” He left a pause. “Did you know there was money in the house?”
“No.”
“That’s not true, is it, Kay? You certainly knew where some of the money was. You paid the other women wages in cash. You’ve filled out the accounts book, we compared your handwriting.”
“Sarah left the money out for me. I wrote it into the accounts book and she left what we needed out.”
“She left out the exact amount?”
“Yes, in wages packets. I didn’t even touch that money.”
“Maybe you got the boys to come up to your work, you showed them the money and they went up there for it and they panicked and Sarah got hurt.”
“My boys have never been to my work.”
“Well, let’s see. How much were you making when you worked for Sarah?”
“Tenner an hour.”
“How many hours did you work a week?”
“Eight hours a day, five days a week.”
“So, about forty. That’s about four hundred quid before tax? That’s a lot. Was it a lot to you?”
Sad, Kay looked at the camera.
“Ms. Murray, was it a lot to you?”
He was asking if she was poor. She looked at her hands. “Yes,” she said quietly.
Kay seemed tamed after that. She answered the questions monosyllabically, rarely looking up, making no more appeals for decency or understanding. She missed the money badly but managed. She didn’t get any money from the kids’ fathers. Yes, there was more than one father. Yes, they were all born about a year apart. She didn’t react beyond a lip curl when he muttered that she must move on fast, and went on to ask her about their behavior and school attendance.
Morrow could have written a note and sent Routher into the interview room with it, telling Bannerman that she had been at Kay’s house and that, adding all those times together, she was telling the truth: it was four times. But she didn’t. Sending a note in would tell Bannerman one thing only: Morrow was on Kay’s side. If he knew that he’d question her even more vigorously, not to spite Morrow, just because he’d think Kay was winning the audience vote in the viewing room.
Kay described Joy Erroll’s death in a monotone: the old lady was getting ready for a bath, Kay was alone and she had gone to get the hoist, leaving her sitting in her dressing gown in the bathroom. When she came back Joy had fallen off the chair. Kay put her in the recovery position but Joy’d had a bad stroke and was already dead when the ambulance got there.
Bannerman asked what she did then, but Kay was still back in the bathroom on the floor, holding her friend’s limp hand.
He had to tap the table to snap her out of it. He asked about the money under the table.
“Under the table?”
“The kitchen table, we found seven hundred thousand pounds on a shelf under the kitchen table.”
Kay did a bad thing then. She didn’t exclaim or seem surprised, but rolled her head in realization. “Seven hundred…?”
“Thousand pounds.”
“That much?”
Bannerman, seen from behind, brought his shoulder blades together. “Yes,” he said. Morrow knew he thought he was on to something. An innocent person would drop their jaw, ask more about the table.
“Did you know that was there?”
“No.”
He shuffled through the photographs, took them from the back of his notes, set them on the table in front of her. He pointed to the first one.
“We found this watch in a sock under your bed. Where did you get it?”
She picked it up and looked at it. “Sarah gave it to me when her mum died.”
“How did that come about?”
“After the funeral she took me up to her room and showed me a box of jewelry—”
“What did it look like?”
�
�Green silk, was old. A bit tatty.” She looked up at him, seeing if she should add more. “Hexagonal shape?”
“And what did she say?”
“Take one thing.”
“Was the watch the most expensive thing there?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know much about that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?”
“Art deco jewelry.”
“But you knew it was art deco?”
“Sarah said it was.”
“Why did you choose this one?”
She looked very sad. “The shape.”
“But you didn’t wear it?”
“No.”
“Why did you keep it in a sock under your bed?”
“Case we were burgled.”
“This”—he put the picture of the enamel bowl in front of her and she sighed at it—“where did you get that?”
“Mrs. Erroll wanted me to have it. She gave it to me because she knew I liked it.”
“But Mrs. Erroll was confused—”
“And when Sarah came back I asked her if I could take it and she asked her mum and then said yes.”
“And this? The silver eggcup?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that. I don’t know where that came from.”
“It was on top of your kitchen cupboard. You didn’t put it there?”
Kay slumped, defeated. “I don’t know what to say. I need a fag.”
Bannerman wound it up, told the tape they were stopping for a comfort break and McCarthy hurried into the room to take Kay out for a smoke.
McKechnie couldn’t resist putting his oar in: “Morrow, get the eggcup tested for the boys’ prints. Conceivably she didn’t know it was there and the boys brought it back afterwards and hid it.”
“No,” said Leonard, “it was covered in oily dust. It left a mark on the top of the cupboard where it was sitting. It had been there for months.”
McKechnie looked and saw her for the first time. He expected her to wither under his gaze but she didn’t. She met his eye until he got up and walked out of the room.
Morrow sat back and smiled. It was pleasant to watch someone else fucking up.