But Nell was out the door before he’d finished speaking.
The showroom, selling every make of car imaginable, was on an industrial estate right by the station. They found Ian Fowler sitting behind a large glass desk in a room filled with shiny new BMWs, and the frosty reception they received told Nell he knew they were police.
‘DS Jackson, DC Hare. We’d like to have a few words about your wife, if that’s OK.’
‘No, that’s not OK. I’m at work and it’s not going to be a selling point having a couple of coppers here.’
Nell smiled and looked around the empty showroom. ‘Well, you’re very welcome to come down the station – you know where it is, after all.’
Ian looked thunderous. ‘If anyone comes in, we stop, got it?’
Nell didn’t reply, just took a seat.
‘Frankly, I’m surprised the police have the resources to bother so much about a couple of letters. But then,’ he clasped his hands together, the tips of his index fingers touching, ‘she’s one of your own, isn’t she? So I imagine you can find the money for that.’
‘We’re not here about the letters.’
Ian’s face grew hard. ‘I see. So what are you going to fit my wife up with now?’
‘Murder, actually.’ Nell got it, but his attitude was still annoying her. ‘What was your wife doing two nights ago, Mr Fowler?’
Ian glared at her before reeling off a description of that night that matched Joanne’s almost word for word. Working together, then, Nell thought.
‘Your wife said she often wakes at night.’
‘That often happens when you’ve had a bereavement, especially one whose subsequent police action denies the time to grieve.’
‘Do you wake when she does?’
‘No, not always,’ he replied. ‘I suppose I’ve got used to it.’
‘So if she left the house that night, you might not have noticed?’
‘I assume you mean “if she left the house to kill a man”? In which case, I think I would have noticed her returning covered in his blood, don’t you?’
‘We didn’t say the victim was a man, Mr Fowler. Nor did we mention blood.’
Ian waved his pencil dismissively. ‘Murder always involves blood. Unless you’re in an Agatha Christie novel where the butler uses poison, or whatnot. And I just reverted to default when I mentioned gender. But hey,’ he held his hands up, ‘arrest me for misogyny if you must.’
He was good, Nell had to give him that.
‘Do you know Connor O’Brian?’
Ian frowned. ‘No, why would I?’
‘He’s never bought a car from here?’
Ian stared at her. ‘I’d have to check my records.’
‘That would be very helpful, thank you.’
‘Seriously?’ His tone was scornful.
‘Seriously.’
‘For God’s sake. Fine. I’ll check my records. This is going to start to look like police harassment if you’re not careful, Sergeant.’
‘I’ll be sure to bear that in mind. Would you say you were a supportive husband, Mr Fowler?’
‘My wife spent years in jail for a crime she didn’t commit, and I fought every day to get her out so she could be allowed to grieve for her the death of our child. I’d say that was supportive, wouldn’t you?’
‘If something was bothering Joanne, you’d do what you could to help her, yes?’
‘Of course.’
Nell nodded. ‘Does your wife know anyone called Mary?’
Ian’s jaw tensed, a tiny move, but Nell clocked it.
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘A friend she met in prison maybe?’
‘My wife didn’t make friends in prison. They don’t take kindly to child killers in there.’
Nell thought he was probably right. ‘I suppose they all felt a little bad when they found out she was innocent.’
‘I bloody hope so. They made her life hell. She was in there with murderers, for God’s sake.’
‘Handy set of contacts to have, one might say, especially if they felt they owed your wife a favour.’
‘So you’ve gone from thinking I killed this O’Brian person to make her happy to saying she hired a hitwoman to do the job for her? I’d stop fishing if I were you and come back when you know what you’re talking about.’
‘Did you or your wife know Ms Graham prior to the death of your child?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Answer the question, please.’
‘No. I’d never seen Ms Graham in my life before the day my daughter …’ he paused, stumbling on the word, ‘… died.’
‘And your wife?’
Ian’s eyes flashed with an anger so vicious Nell thought for a moment he was going to lunge across the desk and hit her. She felt Paul tense.
‘No. My wife had never met Ms Graham before.’
‘To your knowledge,’ Nell corrected.
‘Why would she not tell me if they’d met before? And more importantly, why do you seem so convinced they had?’
‘Well, I’ve always thought it a little odd your wife should become so fixated with the pathologist who gave evidence against her. I mean, even if Ms Graham was wrong and this resulted in your wife going to prison, well, people make mistakes.’ She shrugged, deliberately irritating him, wanting him to lose more control so he slipped up.
‘Why not just ask for an apology,’ she continued, ‘go through the proper routes for compensation? Then these accusations could stand up and be scrutinised, as could the actions of Ms Graham.’
Ian watched her, stony-faced. She hadn’t got him yet, so she went on.
‘I just wondered if maybe her grudge goes beyond the fact of her imprisonment.’
Ian remained silent.
‘Your wife was adopted, wasn’t she?’
No reply.
‘Does she know anything about her birth parents?’
‘No. And she has no desire to find them.’
That you know of, Nell silently added.
‘And besides, she has a very loving and supportive family right here. Me.’
‘I’m sure she does. But the urge to know where you come from is probably a hard one to fight. Might she have looked into her history without telling you?’
‘Joanne tells me everything.’
‘Really? Well maybe she didn’t want to upset her family. Maybe that’s when she met Mary?’
‘There is no Mary!’ Ian was shouting now. ‘Leave Mary out of it.’ He stood. ‘I’d like you to leave. Neither my wife nor I have had anything to do with O’Brian’s death and we haven’t written any letters to that woman. Maybe you should ask her about all this, seeing as she’s so good at writing false reports. She would probably find writing a couple of letters to herself a breeze.’
‘Why would she write the letters herself?’
‘Why would she write a false report accusing Joanne of killing our child?’
‘I’m sure Ms Graham wrote up what she believed to be true from the evidence she saw.’
Ian leaned across the desk and placed his hands close to Nell. She didn’t move.
‘The reason we won the appeal was because that report magically went missing. So they had to examine the evidence again and lo and behold, everything she’d written in the report was a lie.
‘Now I have nothing more to say on the matter and in future, should you wish to speak to me or my wife, we will require a lawyer.’
Thirty-two
Then
We sit holding hands, Aoife and I, while the first police officer speaks and the second looks on with bored indifference. Turns out the police did care about us after all and I don’t know if we are more scared of them or of Alf when he finds out.
‘Do you know Alf Waites?’ the officer asks. The interview room feels hot, claustrophobic. The smell of smoke seems ingrained in the wooden edges of the worn tables, and the stale stench of previous occupants permeates every pore.
We
nod.
‘How did you meet him?’
Aoife squeezes my hand. ‘He owns a café we go to, by the front.’
‘Do you spend a lot of time there?’ He smiles, trying to disguise the importance of the question.
‘Yes, after school mostly. Why do you want to know?’
‘Your social workers have raised a few concerns over the …’ he pauses, ‘… relationship you have with Mr Waites.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with it. He’s a friend. We are allowed friends, you know.’
‘Were you ever there alone with him after closing? Or say, at his flat?’
I freeze. How could the social workers know we go there? I try to think of anything we could have done to give the game away, but we always look clean, we don’t have bruises and we don’t skip much school. And anyway, why do they care – being at Alf’s means that we’re out most of the time, so surely that’s two less problem kids to deal with?
Our hands feel hot, sweat sticking them together. The policeman repeats his question. ‘Do you ever go to Mr Waites’s house?’
‘Sometimes.’ Aoife’s tone is guarded and rightly so, as I catch a flicker of interest in the second officer’s face. I give Aoife a look to warn her, but whether she doesn’t see or she doesn’t care, I don’t know.
‘Are you ever there alone with just Alf?’
‘Yes. What of it?’ Aoife replies.
I’ve heard that tone so many times before I know it means the mist has come down, that whatever happens next is not going to be under her control.
‘What did you do when you were there after closing?’
Aoife takes her hand out of mine, leans across the table. ‘Fuck,’ she spits.
The lack of shock on the police officers’ faces should tell us something, but all I can think is, Aoife, don’t ruin it. Don’t take it away from us by telling. They’ll separate us and I’ll be alone again.
The police officer asks more questions but by now Aoife’s anger has made her mute and the fear in my belly has rendered me the same. What is Alf going to say? Will they arrest him? Will he send people to hurt us because we told? But then I have a thought – it wasn’t me who told. I was asked by Harriet and I didn’t say a word. I did what he asked; it was Aoife who didn’t, she is the one to blame.
And in that second, the seed of doubt which has been growing with the baby – the fear she will love me less, the baby more – turns into a gap, just a chink, but I know it can grow to divide us: me one side, Aoife the other, Alf in the middle. Which way will I jump – towards her, or him? And sitting here in the stuffy room with two leering policemen staring at us like specimens in a jar, panic tearing at my heart, I don’t think I know.
Thirty-three
Needing nicotine, Carla headed outside, but as she turned the corner by the entrance to HQ she saw Eve standing there. Deep in thought, she was leaning against the wall staring upwards, a cigarette held loosely by her side. Shit. She’d have to ditch the idea and come back later, but just as she was about to turn back, Eve looked over and raised a hand of acknowledgement.
‘Carla,’ she called over, ‘come and join me. Lung cancer is far more palatable when it has company.’
With no way to get out of it, Carla walked across and accepted the offer of a lighter.
‘That DCI of yours is a charmer, isn’t he?’ She stared down at Carla. ‘Don’t go falling for his smile, Carla Brown.’
‘I won’t. He’s OK really. Just a bit …’ She searched for the right word.
‘Arrogant,’ Eve decided for her.
‘Yeah. Well, he is ex-Met.’
Eve raised an eyebrow and blew smoke upwards. ‘Is he now. Well that explains it then.’ She gave Carla a smile before taking another drag. ‘I’m sorry if you found that awkward, in there.’ She nodded towards HQ. ‘Put you in a difficult position I would imagine.’
‘Because I’m friends with Gerry, you mean?’
Eve looked surprised. ‘And me, I presume?’
Carla wanted to crawl away and hide. God, the woman intimidated her. It would never have occurred to Carla that Eve would want a friend, let alone her.
‘Yes, sorry … it’s just, I mean …’
‘I know what you mean.’ Eve patted Carla’s arm, but it was more of a ‘stand down’ gesture than affection.
‘You’ve been Gerry’s pet project since day one. Loves a project, does my husband.’ She paused for a drag. ‘And I suppose I was just along for the ride.’ She smiled again.
God, Carla wanted this to be over. It was far easier to deal with standoffish Eve than this warmer version.
‘And it’s been nice for Gerry.’ She looked down at Carla. ‘I think he’s enjoyed helping someone other than me.’
‘How does he help you?’ She hadn’t meant to ask, but it would never have occurred to her Eve needed help.
‘Without him I wouldn’t be where I am now – in my profession, I mean. I was so determined to make it and at first he wasn’t convinced, but when he saw I wasn’t giving up, he threw everything into it, just like me.’ She stubbed out her cigarette and pulled out another. ‘Dirty double.’ She gave Carla a wink and flicked open the lighter. ‘It’s a big thing for a man to do that.’ She sounded thoughtful. ‘Whatever they say, men mostly want their wives to be less successful than them. It’s the mothering issue – they all expect you to keep their lives running smoothly while they do the “real” work. Otherwise they get jealous and that sort of resentment just keeps getting bigger.’
Carla laughed. ‘I can’t imagine Gerry being jealous, it doesn’t seem his style.’
Eve frowned. ‘No. I don’t think he has ever displayed that emotion.’ She sighed. ‘I really wish he hadn’t shown you the letters. There was no need and all it’s done is further aggravate Ms Fowler – unnecessarily,’ she added.
‘But surely that was the obvious conclusion to draw? That Joanne wrote the letters?’
‘Maybe, but obvious doesn’t always equate with right, now does it?’
Carla had to concede. ‘What did you hope we would conclude?’
‘I’m not sure I know. And really it was Gerry who first suggested the idea I tell you. He doesn’t like keeping secrets, least of all from you.’ She stubbed her cigarette out as Gerry rounded the corner in his car.
‘Here’s my ride,’ Eve said as Gerry pulled to a stop and rolled down the window, giving Carla a wave.
Eve looked down at Carla and smiled. ‘See you soon, no doubt.’
Carla nodded. ‘See you soon,’ and she waved as Gerry drove Eve away.
Bremer was waiting for her, arms folded, when she got back to the office.
‘I saw you having a nice friendly chat with Eve. Get anything out of her?’
‘No, she just chatted about Gerry really.’
‘He’s an odd one, that bloke. What is he – nearing retirement and still only a PS?’
A little harsh. Not everyone wanted to climb up the ranks, and besides, being a sergeant wasn’t exactly a failure. ‘I get the impression they put Eve’s career first.’
Bremer’s look made it obvious what he thought about that. ‘He doesn’t strike me as the sort to do anything without her say-so.’
Carla was irritated now. Bremer didn’t even know Gerry, so who was he to make judgements about his marriage? ‘He gave me the letters without her say-so.’
‘But did he? We only have his word for that.’
‘I can’t see that it matters who decided to. We got them, that’s all that counts.’
‘Is it? I’m not too sure. Eve’s got something to do with this case and if Gerry does whatever he’s told, that could make things difficult.’
‘In what way? Gerry’s not even on the case.’
‘Yes, but you are.’
Carla was too furious to reply. Bremer unfolded his arms and spoke carefully.
‘I don’t mean you would say anything deliberately, but I know he’s an important person in your life and that could make
things awkward.’
Yeah, like when you drag me into an interview with his wife, she wanted to say.
‘I just wouldn’t want your friendship with Gerry to compromise the investigation,’ he finished.
‘My friendship with Gerry will not compromise anything.’ She knew her voice was shaking and she hoped he knew it was from anger.
‘Good. Thank you.’
Carla went to her desk and sat down. Her whole body was shaking with anger – he’d made her get far more involved in this case than she had in any other and now he had the cheek to question her ability to do her job? She was about to go to his office and tell him she wasn’t going to do anything more than sit at her desk and do the work she usually did, when Nell stormed into the room, a bemused-looking Paul following seconds later.
‘I’m telling you, he’s lucky I didn’t punch him.’ Nell threw her bag under her desk as Paul mouthed ‘Ian Fowler’ to Carla.
‘And did you hear what he said at the end?’ She placed her hands on the desk and leaned back against it. ‘He said, “There is no Mary! Leave Mary out of it.” She looked expectantly at Paul and when he didn’t answer, continued.
‘How does he know there isn’t a Mary? If he knows as little about this case as he’s saying, then how does he know Mary doesn’t exist? And –’ she was animated now, hands gesturing as she spoke, ‘– if he doesn’t think there is a Mary, then why do we need to leave her out of it?’
She had a point. Why would Ian Fowler tell them to leave Mary out of the investigation if she didn’t exist? Which begged another equally obvious question. ‘Why is he so keen for us not to pursue Mary in this investigation?’
Nell pointed at Carla. ‘Exactly. The only reason he wouldn’t want us investigating Mary is if it would harm Joanne. Which means they know who she is – a real person not just a pseudonym for Joanne – and why she is connected to Connor and Eve. Hell,’ she raised her hands in the air, ‘Mary is the link we’ve been looking for all along.’
When I Lost You Page 15