‘And it’s Kate these days, as you very well know,’ said Kate.
‘Ach, you’ll always be Katie to me.’ Jane smiled at her.
Kate grinned. Jane, with her round face, ready smile, and comforting presence was the only one allowed to call her Katie. They had known each other since Kate found Harry Clements and Jane had performed the post-mortem in a gentle, considered manner. ‘Okay. Let’s presume you’ve umed and ahed enough. What do you reckon?’
Jane wrinkled her nose though more in concentration than at the smell that curled around them both. ‘It was a cold night but the heater had been left on. Rigor mortis had set in and is still in place. She died where she lies now – from blood loss in all probability – and maybe shock. I would say sometime between ten o’clock last night and seven this morning. Though until I’ve carried out a proper exam I won’t know for sure.’
Kate looked down at the shell that had been Jackie Wood. That was all it was – a shell. Any sense of life had fled. It was at times like these that Kate thought maybe human beings did have souls, otherwise what was it that left the body at the time of death? And what sort of person – deranged person – could do this to another human being? Leave them lying on the floor of a smelly toilet after stabbing them multiple times. It was so sordid. But then murder was sordid. She looked at Jane, trying to ignore the waves of nausea that swept over her.
‘Weapon?’ she asked.
Jane stared down at the body, pursing her lips. ‘Knife. I’ll know more after the post-mortem.’
‘Thanks Jane.’
Jane smiled briefly. ‘It never gets any better, does it? Seeing the body of someone who’s had the life snuffed out of them?’
‘No. It doesn’t.’
Twenty minutes later Kate walked through the doors of the Sole Bay police station, which was on a side street in the town. The smell of hops from the nearby brewery permeated the air; a warmer scent than the stench of death that had followed her back from Harbour’s End.
‘Good to see you Ma’am.’ The desk sergeant in the reception area stood a little straighter and looked as though he was about to salute. Kate smiled at him. ‘Sergeant, I gather you have a room set aside for me while you get the incident room set up?’
‘Incident room?’ The sergeant looked worried. ‘Incident room. Yes.’
‘And?’
‘The…er…incident room is in the yard, Ma’am. The Portakabin. It’s just being cleared now.’
‘Okay, I’ll take a look.’ She strode through the door on the other side of the desk into the cold. The makeshift building in the concrete yard looked as though it’d had several resting places before it had finally reached Sole Bay. Broken plastic chairs lay forlornly at the bottom of the steps. Bundles of newspapers tied up with string were strewn around, as if they had been thrown out of the building. A fact confirmed when a bundle sailed through an open window and landed at her feet. A couple of uniforms were coming out of its door carrying cardboard boxes in their arms. If she looked carefully, Kate was sure she could see mildew on the boxes. All in all, it didn’t look like a great prospect. Oh well. She went back inside.
‘Detective Inspector?’ Alex Devlin was sitting on one of the hard chairs in the reception area, her hands jammed between her legs, foot tapping.
Kate stopped. ‘Ms Devlin.’
‘I thought I would come and get it over with. The fingerprints and all that.’
‘Great. I’m afraid I’ll have to take you into one of the interview rooms – my incident room isn’t ready yet.’ She looked at the desk sergeant. ‘Can you ask DS Rogers to come through, please.’
‘Yes Ma’am. Interview room is on the left.’
A few minutes later Kate was watching Steve Rogers as he manoeuvred Alex Devlin’s fingers onto the ink pad, while apologising for not having the state of the art digital equipment used in more modern police stations. Next came the swab of the inside of her mouth; not that Kate thought either process would elicit any new information about what had happened in the caravan. The woman’s prints and DNA would be all over the place.
‘Interesting job you’ve got,’ said Kate. ‘How do you come up with what to write about?’
‘Sometimes it’s commissioned – my editor asks me to find out about so-and-so – other times I see an interesting story in a paper, hear something on the TV or radio, or read something online that piques my interest so I do a bit of research and pitch the idea to my editor.’ Alex held her fingers in front of her face as if to examine her black fingertips.
‘Don’t worry, it will come off. Is that how you met Mr Malone?’ She tried to sound as casual as she could, aware of Alex suddenly shifting on her chair.
‘Sort of,’ she said. ‘I can’t really say too much—’
‘Confidentiality and all that?’ Kate smiled. ‘That’s okay, I understand.’
‘It’s my next feature coming out soon. It’s a bit under wraps.’
Kate smiled. Under wraps. Of course, that’s where she’d seen Malone before, at Martlesham, disappearing into an office. Three or four years ago now and she hadn’t seen him since. Probably worked undercover. Right. Cocky git. She filed the knowledge away for future reference. ‘So, you were what? Wanting to write something about Jackie Wood?’
‘Yes.’ Alex licked her lips. ‘I know it must seem odd to you, wanting to write about the woman who killed my niece and nephew—’
‘She has been freed.’ Kate said, gently, not wanting to stop Alex from talking.
‘Yes, yes, I know. It’s just that I wanted to understand her, try and find out what life had been like for her inside, that sort of thing.’
‘And you thought she would talk to you rather than anyone else?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Her lawyer set it up.’
‘So today was going to be the second time you talked to her?’
‘Yes.’ She began to feel impatient. ‘Look, I’ve already told your detective this. I’ve told him all this. Do I have to go through it again?’
‘I just like to get it clear in my head, that’s all Ms Devlin. From what you’ve said, you obviously still think she was guilty?’
‘Yes.’
‘So were you hoping to find out where Millie was?’
‘It was an interview about Jackie Wood and her time inside. Her side of the story.’
She was a calm one, thought Kate. ‘And your sister?’
Alex visibly stiffened. ‘Sasha? What about her? She’s got nothing to do with Jackie Wood’s death.’
‘I didn’t say she had,’ said Kate patiently, watching as Alex’s eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at her. ‘I was only wondering what she thought about you talking to Jackie.’
‘She doesn’t know. Not yet. I was hoping—’
‘Yes?’
‘I was hoping she wouldn’t have to find out.’
‘She would have when the article was in the magazine.’ Kate pointed out.
‘I know, I know. But I wanted to be able to tell her when the time was right. Now I suppose—’
‘You’ll have to tell her sooner.’
Alex jumped up, pushing the chair back. ‘Do I have to stay any longer? Am I under suspicion, or what?’
‘No, you don’t have to stay any longer.’
‘But I am under suspicion?’
Kate sighed. ‘Everybody is until we can eliminate them.’
‘I just wanted to talk to Jackie. Find out about her. I didn’t want her dead. Stabbed like that with a bloody great kitchen knife. Now I want to go, please. I’ve done what you wanted. Given you a statement, fingerprints, DNA, and unless you’re going to arrest me I’d like to leave.’ Kate watched as Alex clenched and unclenched her hands.
Kate stayed sitting, looking up at her. ‘You can leave, Alex. I’m not keeping you here. I just wanted to talk to you, that’s all. Can I ask you to be discreet, please?’
‘Discreet?’
Alex stared at her. ‘I thought there weren’t any?’
‘Probably not. But we have to be sure.’ Kate thought it unlikely Alex would say anything – at least, not yet. This was her exclusive and she wanted to keep it that way.
‘Okay. But in return could I ask you not to release the name until I’ve told Sasha?’
Kate was surprised. She thought Alex would ask her not to tell the media about Jackie Wood until she had filed her copy. She nodded. ‘There’ll be a press conference at about six and I’ll have to do it then. There are various TV companies and newspapers sniffing around as we speak.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And I’m sorry you had to find the body like that. It can’t have been easy.’
‘No,’ Alex replied. ‘I shouldn’t think it ever is, is it?’
Kate watched as Alex left the room.
She drummed her fingers on the table. Why did she feel that conversation had all been a bit of an elaborate dance? And the kitchen knife. How did Alex Devlin know the weapon was a kitchen knife?
14
Alex sat in her office and stared out of the window. The bare trees and neglected pots still wouldn’t sprout any foliage or flowers, no matter how many times she glared at them. Even if she narrowed her eyes, they didn’t look any prettier. It had taken her a while to stop shaking, but a large slug of brandy helped. She reasoned she needed it. She was finding it hard not to see Jackie Wood, lying at that awkward angle in the tiny bathroom with her dead eyes and the bloom of red over her clothes.
How was she going to find out where Millie was buried now?
The sky hung leaden again; threatening more rain and making the afternoon seem even shorter. Malone had gone back to wherever he went back to, saying he had things to do and would see her later. Thankfully, there was no sign of Gus, until she heard the door slam.
She went downstairs and braced herself.
‘Hey, Mum,’ he said, coming into the house and shrugging off his coat, leaving it on the floor; his mate Jack trailing behind him and munching an apple. ‘Have you heard?’
Alex walked into the kitchen. ‘What?’ she asked, before she could stop herself, knowing what he was about to say.
‘Her. The murderer. Jackie Wood. Someone’s killed her.’ His eyes were shining.
‘Stabbed to death,’ said Jack, almost, she felt, with relish. ‘Lots and lots of stab wounds. I heard. Blood everywhere. Drowning in blood.’
What was it with these boys that death meant so little to them?
Alex opened up the fridge. ‘Have you eaten? I’ve got ham, tomatoes, a bit of salad? I can make you a sandwich.’
‘Muuum? Did you hear what I said?’
‘I did, darling. Now, food?’ She reached in and brought out a packet of ham, waving it in front of their faces.
She felt rather than saw the two boys look at one another.
‘Okay,’ she said, shutting the fridge and sitting down, peering at the packet of ham which looked as though it had a blue-ish tinge, ‘I do know about it. I found her body.’
Alex swore their mouths dropped open. ‘Really? You’re not shitting me?’
‘No, Gus, I am not “shitting you”, as you so delicately put it. I went to do my next bit of the interview, and there she was, on the floor, dead.’ She shivered at the memory. Perhaps she was wrong to feed their violent fantasies, but she did think they needed to hear what actually happened, from her. She could just imagine what gruesome spin active young minds could put on it. ‘It was not exciting or thrilling; it was rather depressing and horrible to see someone dead like that. There was a lot of blood. It’s the first dead body I have ever seen, and I don’t want to see another one. Not like that, anyway.’ She hoped her flat, even tone would discourage any macabre interest.
‘Did you call the police?’ asked Gus.
‘I did. They arrived with forensic vans and tape and people put white suits on and they put a cordon around the caravan.’
‘Wow.’ Gus saw her face. ‘Sorry. I know it wouldn’t have been nice for you.’
‘No it wasn’t, sweetheart.’ And she wanted to put her arms around her son and hold him close to protect him from the evil in the world; to protect him from the knowledge that his mum wasn’t perfect, that she had secrets she couldn’t share. She felt overwhelmed by the love she felt for Gus right at that moment, and wanted nothing more than to shut out the world, keep them both safe. But she knew she couldn’t do that. She’d learned the hard way that the world always came knocking on the door.
Jack took another bite out of his apple. ‘Where was she?’
‘What do you mean? In the caravan, I told you.’
‘No, I mean, whereabouts in the caravan?’
‘In the bathroom. Why?’
‘Just wondered, that’s all.’ He grimaced. ‘They’re pretty small, aren’t they, those caravan bathrooms?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘So she was sort of squashed in there?’ He swallowed his piece of apple, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
Alex shook her head. ‘Jack, I don’t think we need to go into all the grim details, do we? A woman has lost her life in the most horrid way and we shouldn’t relish it.’
The crunching of the apple as Jack bit into it again sounded loud. ‘No. Sorry, Alex.’
‘Okay,’ she said.
‘But she’s definitely dead, isn’t she?’ Gus suddenly looked anxious.
‘She looked it to me.’
‘That must have been awful for you, Mum.’ His face twisted. ‘But I’m glad she’s dead, I really, really am.’
‘What do dead people look like?’ This from Jack.
Alex ignored him, and reached out her hand to Gus. ‘I know you are.’
He nodded and squeezed her hand.
‘And I had to give a statement and go to the police station and all that sort of stuff.’
‘Cool.’
She sighed.‘No, Jack. It wasn’t “cool”. It was tiring and a bit frightening.’ For a moment all she wanted to do was to close her eyes. She was more than tired. Exhausted. But she pulled herself together, all brisk efficiency again. ‘Food?’
Teenagers, they were always hungry, so she made them a ham and salad sandwich and left them to it, going back upstairs to her office.
She had to regroup.
What had she succeeded in doing, besides getting herself into deep shit? How long would it be before the press got hold of the story? And Sasha? What was she to do about her sister? She hadn’t told her she was going to see Jackie Wood, that was one problem. But the other was that she now wasn’t entirely convinced Sasha hadn’t had anything to do with her murder. What if Sasha had killed her? What if she confessed to her, then what should she do?
This was ridiculous. Her exhaustion was getting to her, making her get everything all out of proportion. If she looked at it logically, Sasha wouldn’t even know where to find Jackie Wood, or have the strength to stab her in such a vicious way. Surely she could rule Sasha out of the equation. Couldn’t she?
She examined the tips of her fingers, which still bore traces of the ink used to take her fingerprints, then ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth as if she could feel where they had taken the DNA sample. At the time she’d felt that if she were as cooperative as possible then DI Todd might leave her alone. She tried to answer the policewoman’s questions about Jackie Wood and the article calmly, but Alex knew she had become uptight and defensive. What had she said? What the fuck had she said? She rubbed her eyes with her fists. She’d kept quiet about Malone, tried to say as little as possible about Sasha, then she had gone on about being under suspicion. There was no doubt she was bloody well under suspicion. She knew as well as anybody that the first people the police look at are the family of the murder victim – well that one was out, wasn’t it? – and the next per
son is the one who found the body. That was her.
Taking a tissue, Alex rubbed the remainder of the ink off her fingers. She was absolutely sure she hadn’t said anything that would lead the Detective Inspector to Malone, or Sasha – wasn’t she?
She had to stop staring out of the window and go and see Sasha, do some work, something. Oh God. She dropped her head into her hands. The interview she had now with Jackie Wood was dynamite. Not what she wanted at all. Not as Alex Devlin, sister of Sasha and aunty to Millie and Harry. Maybe as Alex Devlin, journalist. But she couldn’t do that, despite being the only bloody journalist who knew that the woman in the caravan who had been murdered was Jackie Wood. The only bloody journalist who’d known she’d been holed up in the caravan anyway. The police couldn’t – and wouldn’t, as DI Todd made clear – keep it under wraps forever. When she and Malone had left the caravan site, the local news organizations were already turning up. As soon as the body was officially identified, everybody would be descending on Sole Bay.
The journalist in her wanted to be the first to break the story. The sister in her wanted to protect Sasha from all the publicity that would surely follow. More opening of old wounds. More old pictures flashed on the TV screen. A happy Millie and Harry, dirty faces, grinning. Opening Christmas presents. Building a sandcastle. Sasha laughing. All that. More fending off calls. So, to be journalist or human? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She also had to make sure nothing about her and Martin Jessop came out. Even after all these years it would be a hell of a story, especially when news programmes had to be filled 24/7.
She drummed her fingers on the desk, trying to think everything through logically, but it wasn’t working. She opened the desk and took out the key with its fob that Malone had handed to her.
Think.
Her phone suddenly sang out its grungy tune, startling her. She answered without looking, thinking it would be Gus or Malone.
‘Alex Devlin?’ The voice was young, polite, and vaguely familiar.
‘Yes,’ she answered.
The Bad Things Page 11