by Caz Frear
‘So how did she end up staying at the flat?’
‘She just came out and asked me. She might have lost her accent and that gorgeous black hair but she definitely hadn’t lost her front. She said she’d left her husband and she was running low on money and she didn’t know what to do to now. I felt like I couldn’t say no. But it was OK for a few days though, we chatted about old times, how mad it all was, and I was starting to think, not that she could stay with me permanently or anything, but just that we could be friends. Then all of a sudden she starts getting intense again.’
‘Intense?’ asks Renée.
‘Hassling me to put her in contact with Gina so she could ask her about Daniel. “Ask what?” I said. She says, “Gina might know where the parents are now, where he is.” She reckoned she wasn’t out to make trouble, she just wanted to know he was OK.’ Her face darkens. ‘Well, of course, I knew Gina would flip so I tried to put her off. I said I didn’t know where Gina lived and that we hardly spoke, I just direct debited the “rent” to her. But then she starts saying, “Can’t you pretend there’s a problem with the flat, the plumbing or something, and then maybe she’ll come here?” I was like, “Yeah right, Maryanne, like Gina’s going to turn up here with her toolbox.” I think she’d almost forgotten what they were like, how dangerous they could be. Anyway, we had an argument about it, I said she’d have to leave and so she piped down after that, said she’d drop it. And she did as well, until about a week later when she tells me she’s run into someone and found out where Gina lives. She was fucking elated.’
‘Who?’ says Parnell, elbows on the table, leaning in. ‘Who had she run into?’
My heart quickens and I move closer to the screen. This is it. This is the moment where my life could literally be pulverised. After all, how do I know she can be trusted? How do I know she meant what she said back at the house? It could all be a game. An elaborate ruse to undermine any case we try to bring against her favourite-landlady-cum-pimp.
Gina Hicks’ voice floods my head.
‘Saskia knows she’s on to a good thing . . .’
‘I don’t know who she’d run into,’ she says firmly, subject closed. ‘Just someone. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know.’ In that moment she looks straight at the camera, eyes lasering mine. ‘She didn’t have the exact number of the house but she went over there a few times, reckoned she saw Gina pulling into her road once but she ignored her. And so she kept going back, almost staking out the place, it was nuts. Anyway, after a few visits, I get this “what-the-fuck?” call from Gina, asking if Maryanne’s been in touch with me. So I say she has, and that she’s probably not going to let things go until she gets some sort of answer, so can she just meet her, fob her off with something? Eventually she says, “OK”, and we go to the house a few days later.’
‘We?’ says Parnell, sensing something concrete.
‘Too right. I was worried for Maryanne but I won’t lie, I was worried about my position with Gina too. I thought if I was there, I’d be able to . . .’ – she takes a moment to think of the word – ‘. . . mediate, keep things civil. I thought Gina would appreciate that. Guess I shouldn’t give up my day job, eh?’
‘What happened?’
‘It was Gina’s fault it all turned nasty. Maryanne was fairly calm to begin with, just asking questions, you know? But Gina was in a funny mood, I could see it the minute she let us in. She could have just said, “I don’t know where the parents are, sorry. But I know they were great people, they’d have given him a great life.” End of story – well hopefully, anyway. But she didn’t, she told her the truth.’
Parnell pulls in closer. ‘The truth?’
She drags her fingers down the side of her face. ‘There were no parents. They were just acting, people paid by Mackie to make the girls feel better about handing their babies over. The vast majority were sold on to traffickers, global set-ups, for seriously big money too so God knows what happened to them. Nothing good, I’d say. And Gina told this to Maryanne.’
‘Did you know this?’ asks Renée.
A small movement, pitiful. ‘Not at the time. I’d have never gone along with it if I’d known. I mean, I was greedy, I’ve admitted that, but I’m not a monster. I honestly thought those babies were going to safe homes.’
‘And why did Gina tell Maryanne this?’ says Parnell, confused. ‘Why not, as you say, just fob her off?’
Saskia looks around the room for an answer. Time doesn’t appear to have made sense of it. ‘Honestly? I don’t know. Gina was edgy from the minute we got there, which I understood to a point, but if she’d just played nicely, I reckon Maryanne would have trotted off eventually. Instead she tells us to go up to the first floor, to the utility room, for fuck’s sake, like she didn’t want us dirtying her good rooms. Then she says Maryanne’s got two minutes max before she wants her out of her fucking house. But Maryanne keeps going with all these bloody questions and Gina just sort of flips, says she hasn’t got a clue where Maryanne’s baby is, or anyone else’s for that matter. Tells her they were all sold off to traffickers within minutes of leaving the flat. Maryanne went for her, sort of pushed her out onto the landing, there was a struggle.’
Parnell’s head is slightly bowed. ‘Are you saying you saw Gina Hicks kill Maryanne?’
‘No.’
Renée’s pen stops in mid-air, Parnell’s eyebrows hit the strip lighting.
‘I saw them argue and Gina pushed her down the stairs, or maybe Maryanne fell down the stairs, I couldn’t say for sure from where I was standing.’ She puts her head in her hands, talks to the table. ‘Maryanne must have hit her head because there was blood, quite a bit. And I panicked, I legged it. I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought Gina would blame me for suggesting she see Maryanne and I just wanted out of there. But Maryanne was definitely moving when I left. I know I shouldn’t have run off and I’ve lived with it ever since, but she was alive, she was trying to sit up.’ Her voice gets smaller. ‘The papers said she was strangled though, cuts on her throat and stuff. I don’t know anything about that. I promise you, I don’t.’
Renée jots a few notes down while Parnell digests this, pushing his chair back from the table, giving himself more room to absorb the enormity of what they’ve just heard. If he’s waiting for Saskia to fill the silence though, he’s out of luck. She sits patiently waiting for his reaction, waiting for his judgement.
‘Two questions,’ he says eventually. ‘Firstly, you confirmed to us that you were having a relationship with Nate Hicks but your colleague, Naomi Berry, seemed surprised by this.’ He pulls out a piece of paper from Renée’s stack. ‘“Incredulous” is the word my officer wrote. So do you still stand by that claim?’
I don’t think Ben would have used the word ‘incredulous.’ He’s more of a ‘fucking gobsmacked’ kind of guy.
Saskia flaps a hand. ‘Oh God, that. No, I don’t stand by it. I wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole.’
‘So why did he say it?’ asks Parnell.
Completely deadpan. ‘Because he’s an idiot. But a loyal idiot, to Gina and Patrick Mackie. He says and does anything to make sure he stays in favour.’ She rubs her thumb and first two fingers together, symbolising money. ‘It pays him to.’
‘Would that include strangling Maryanne and dumping her body by Leamington Square Gardens?’
Saskia shrugs, doesn’t commit. ‘I don’t know. Maybe?’ A harsh laugh. ‘Do you wanna hear something funny? That affair bullshit, that was all his idea, independent of Gina. He didn’t know Gina was going to walk into your station and give you a load of crap about IVF forums and what-not. He thought by making up that story about us, he was deflecting the attention away from Gina and putting the spotlight on himself. He called me after you left their house that day to make sure I said the same thing if you asked. He was so fucking pleased with himself. What an absolute tool.’
But the question is, would he want to deflect attention onto himself if he killed
Maryanne? The answer’s ‘quite possibly’ – Nate Hicks’ life, his lifestyle, probably his whole self-esteem is built on staying in favour with his wife and her father, and while Gina played a great role, casting Nate as man of the house and her, the harassed middle-class mummy, it’s pretty obvious now who calls the shots in that relationship.
Renée pulls her up. ‘So you’re admitting you lied to us about Nate Hicks? That you obstructed our investigation?’
‘Yes.’ A long hiss like a snake.
Parnell scrapes his chair forward, closes in again. ‘You see, you’ve lied about a lot of things, Saskia. Mainly to protect Gina Hicks too, which brings me to my second question – why should we believe you now? Why are you telling us this now?’
A tension grips her whole body and I feel myself stiffen. Sympathy pains. ‘Because I know I’m a loose end to them. Gina might have been happy sending that little runt round with a threatening message, but Patrick Mackie?’ There’s a tremor around her mouth but she leaves the rest unsaid.
Parnell tries to throw a crumb of comfort. ‘I’ve seen him, Saskia, he weighs less than Renée here. He’s not the man you remember, trust me.’
She taps her chest. ‘Doesn’t matter if his body’s broken, it’s what’s in his heart – and there’s nothing there, trust me, just a black void.’ Parnell opens his mouth but Saskia’s not finished. ‘But I’m also telling you because a very long time ago, Maryanne was my friend, and she didn’t deserve to die. She didn’t deserve me running out on her. I didn’t help her that day but maybe I can help her now.’
Parnell lets out a pained sigh. ‘We still don’t know who killed her though, Saskia. What you’ve given us isn’t quite enough. Ridiculous as it sounds, Gina Hicks could claim Maryanne walked out of her house and straight into the path of a violent stranger. It’s called reasonable doubt and it’s the good friend of the guilty.’
‘Then do your job better.’ Her voices pulses with anger. Anger at herself. At Parnell. At the sheer misfortune of landing the receptionist job that led to this miserable mess. ‘Find out what happened to Maryanne or we’ll both have failed her, won’t we?’ Her eyes well up again. ‘And take it from me, Detective Parnell, it’s a not a nice feeling.’
As I slip out of the observation room and into the lift before Parnell catches me, I consider Saskia’s words and can’t help but agree.
Failing those who’ve put their trust in you is not a nice feeling at all.
28
‘I’ll be honest, it’s not looking good, Gina.’
Silence.
Parnell, king of the understatement, sits across from a rigid Gina Hicks the next morning. Renée simmers gently beside him, ready to jump in with a barbed word or a subtle knife twist as per the interview plan. Felix Whiteley looks like every other extortionate brief I’ve locked horns with, bloated in speech and bloated in stature, with an air of cool arrogance masking a hawk-eyed hyper-vigilance.
I’m back in the observation room, this time with Seth and Ben. Flowers sticks his head in occasionally, asks if there’s ‘anything juicy’ to report.
The short answer’s no. Nothing juicy at all, unless you count Whiteley’s fruit smoothie. Smoothies, in fact – plural. One for him and one for Gina. That’s what £650 an hour gets you – a radioactive-looking Fibre-Blast and a hairbrush by the looks of Gina’s mane. Her smoothie sits untouched though. According to the custody sergeant, nothing more than a few sips of water have passed her lips since he took her through the charge-room process seventeen hours ago.
Same goes for me almost. Just a couple of pints of water and a few tots of rum. The thought of anything solid makes me heave.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Parnell had said when he’d found me hunched over my desk this morning, researching concert venues in Vienna. ‘Seriously, you look worse than yesterday. Do you know what would do you the world of good, Kinsella? A dose of home comforts. Chicken soup, a bottle of Lucozade and a few days’ rest.’
Home.
Comfort.
Two words I’d never put in the same sentence. An oxymoron, Seth would say.
‘Honestly, it’s not looking good Gina,’ repeats Parnell. ‘And it’s looking worse every minute we sit here. I’m losing my patience and you’re losing any chance of getting out of prison before pension age.’
It’s been an hour already. The gist of Saskia’s statement has been outlined to Gina but ‘no comment’ is the order of the day. ‘No comment’ peppered with the odd, ‘My client declines to answer’ from Felix Whiteley, just to mix things up a little. Keep everyone on their toes.
Same from Nate Hicks a little earlier – Seth and Flowers had toiled through that one.
‘Come on, Gina, you must realise that “no comment” makes you look guilty?’ says Parnell.
Whiteley objects. ‘It makes her look nothing of the sort. My client is acting on robust legal advice, nothing more.’ His voice doesn’t quite suit his body – it’s twee, almost girlish.
Parnell sighs, crosses his arms. ‘Mr Whiteley, I’m no legal expert, but as I understand it, the point of “no comment” is to prevent yourself from saying anything that might incriminate you. But this clearly incriminates your client.’ Parnell hands him a photo – a high-resolution crime-scene snap. ‘As you can see, luminol has been sprayed and blood detected close to the bottom of your client’s stairs. The swirling pattern suggests an attempt has been made to clean up this blood.’
Whiteley surveys the photo. Gina stares straight ahead.
‘I’d say it’s rather early to confirm exactly whose blood that is, Detective Inspector. I doubt your forensics team have even started recovering the blood yet, much less testing it for DNA?’
‘Correct. But we all know it will turn out to be Maryanne Doyle’s, and therefore combined with Saskia French’s statement, we’ll have irrefutable evidence against your client.’
Whiteley offers Parnell a thin-lipped smile. To the likes of a £650 per hour lawyer, ‘irrefutable’ is a challenge laid down. Gloves off, game on.
Parnell appeals to Gina instead. ‘Are you listening? Irrefutable. So there’s very little point to this “no comment” palaver. The best thing you can do is just talk to us.’
It isn’t actually, it’s the worst. Every word she says makes our life easier, not hers. Whiteley’s primed his client to perfection.
She lowers her head. ‘No comment.’
Parnell dips down, he’s not letting her get out of eye-contact that easily. ‘Look, we know Maryanne was definitely injured inside your house – science and an eyewitness confirm it – but who strangled her, Gina? Who slashed her throat. Was it you, hmm? My money says no. I don’t think you’ve got in you.’
‘No comment.’
‘Did Maryanne fall? If Maryanne fell then that wasn’t your fault, and if you tell us who killed her, that will work in your favour.’
‘No comment.’
Renée sharpens her knife. ‘Shall we talk about the baby-trafficking then? That’s not going to go down well in prison, trust me. Tell us what happened to Maryanne and we might be able to help you.’
Whiteley’s nearly on his feet. ‘My client does not wish to answer any questions with regards to . . .’
‘Where are the twins?’ Gina cuts in, surprising us all. ‘And Amber?’
Renée looks to Parnell. ‘My God, we have a comment!’
‘Actually, it’s a question,’ says Whiteley. I’m not sure if he’s being a smart-arse or there’s some important legal distinction.
Parnell nods. ‘And unlike your client, we’re happy to answer her questions.’ To Gina, ‘I understand your children are in the care of Nate’s mother at the moment.’
Contradictory emotions flood her face – resentment and relief doing battle.
‘Of course we’ve contacted Social Services to make sure a more long-term plan is formalised,’ says Renée, almost gleefully, just to get a reaction.
Gina pushes her chair back abruptly, starts pacin
g the few steps between the table and the wall.
‘Where’s Leo?’ asks Parnell, tightening the screw.
She opens her mouth but Whiteley stops her with an ‘I-got-this’ gesture. ‘I believe my client has already informed you that her son is Austria.’
‘But she seems unwilling to give us an exact address and we need to speak with him, now more than ever in light of Saskia French’s claim that he threatened her. It would certainly be to his advantage to contact us voluntarily.’
She sits down again, legs crossed tightly, right foot twitching. ‘Can I ask why you’re so quick to take Saskia French’s word for everything? Or should I say, Sarah Finch.’ Whiteley tries to silence her again with a pudgy hand on a bony forearm but she shakes him off quickly. ‘Have you actually checked Sarah Finch’s record? She’s not exactly known for telling the truth.’
We have, as it goes. The three counts of shoplifting we can live with. A caution for giving a false statement to the police back in 1997 could prove sticky.
‘Few people are, actually. Makes our job a nightmare.’ Parnell turns to Renée. ‘What’s that quote again? The one Kinsella says all the time, the funny one.’ He pretends to think but I know he knows it. ‘Oh yeah, that’s it – “Only three things tell the truth – small children, drunk people and leggings.” He chuckles to himself. ‘Good, isn’t it? It leaves out science, though. Science almost always tells the truth.’
I need Gina Hicks to tell the truth. As bad as things look for her, they don’t look too rosy for me if Parnell and Renée can’t crack her open.
Because if Gina doesn’t come clean, it means a trial.
And a trial means police testimony.