by Faith Martin
And told them.
When she’d finished, Steven rolled a pencil between his fingers restlessly. Jimmy was silent, cogitating. ‘I’m not saying you’re wrong,’ Steven began cautiously. ‘But it’s going to be tricky. Very tricky. We haven’t got a shred of proof, and aren’t likely to get one at this late stage.’
‘No,’ Hillary agreed grimly. ‘This is going to be a confession job, or the killer walks,’ she stated boldly.
They were silent for a moment or two, thinking about this, and then Steven checked his watch. ‘Do we move now or do we wait?’
‘There’s no point in waiting,’ Hillary said, after a moment’s thought.
‘I agree. Do you have a strategy for interview?’ he asked curiously. After all, she was right: if they didn’t get a confession, the case would stay officially unsolved, even if all concerned were sure that they knew who the guilty party was. Which meant the up-coming interview was make or break for them. Not to mention the difference between justice, or not, for Rowan and his family.
Hillary shrugged helplessly. ‘I play it by ear. What else can I do?’ she asked. She was taking it for granted that she would take the lead on this, and with good reason. Steven didn’t want the job – why would he, when she was known for her interview technique? Besides, it was her case, and woe betide anyone who tried to take it from her now!
Steven took a deep breath and nodded. ‘OK. Let’s do it,’ he said.
In the mysterious way of things, it was quickly all over the station house that Hillary Greene had a hot lead on her case. Seemingly by osmosis, the desk sergeant caught scent of it on the wind and told someone from the Fraud Squad, who was having a belated meal with his mate in admin in the café and, before the hour was out, everyone knew she was on the point of yet another stunning success.
Tom Warrington was just going off shift when he overheard two old-timers from Juvie grumbling about how Hillary Greene had managed to close yet another murder case.
‘I hear she’s pulling in the prime suspect now. Whoever it is, the bastard doesn’t stand a chance. I saw her interviewing a right scag once. She reduced him to pulp,’ one of them said to the other.
But Tom didn’t even pause to hear what the reply was. Suddenly, he was all but running for his car, barely able to keep the smile from his face. For so long now, he’d been denying himself the ultimate treat. But no more. Now, at last, it was here.
He knew just what he was going to do, and where he was going to do it.
His heart rate thumped. Before the day was out, he was going to hold Hillary Greene in his arms. And where it all went from there…. He felt his throat go deliciously dry. Well, that was up to Hillary.
Tom raced away to pick up his ski mask, gloves, and the large hunting knife he kept razor-sharp.
The first problem Hillary had to face was who to take into the interview room with her. Protocol said there had to be two, but it was tricky. Jimmy had gone to ask their suspect to come in for interview and, since he hadn’t phoned back, there didn’t seem to be any trouble about her being in any way uncooperative. Not that Hillary had expected that there would be.
Not yet, anyway.
But even if Jimmy brought her in without raising any undue alarm, she didn’t think he was the best choice to sit in whilst she tried to get a confession. The suspect might see the presence of an older man as some sort of reprimand for her past behaviour.
Normally, of course, Vivienne would be an ideal choice, giving them an all-female gathering. And Vivienne wouldn’t be seen as a particular threat or pose any sort of censure. The trouble was, Hillary didn’t trust Vivienne as far as she could throw her. The other girl was bound to let her feelings show, and they wouldn’t be kind ones either.
Sam Pickles was out of the question – not that Hillary didn’t think it would do him good to get the experience, nor was she worried about him not keeping quiet, or letting his reactions adversely affect what was going to be a very tricky interview indeed. It was just that, as a good-looking young man, he had far too much in common with the murder victim to be viable.
Which left Steven.
And Steven, as, technically, the only serving and actively instated police officer on the team, also made sense. He alone had the power to arrest, anyway.
As they stood in the viewing room, waiting for their suspect to arrive, she glanced across at him. She still found him something of an enigma.
He was her brand-new lover. And her boss. She had no illusions about his ambition, and applauded it. She was no idiot, and knew that, at first, he’d only accepted her into his team because Commander Donleavy was a fan of hers and had probably twisted his arm. But she was fairly sure that he’d come to respect her strengths, and had confidence in her abilities still.
And he was obviously ready to start some sort of relationship with her. But what chance, realistically, did they have? Did he see this thing they had going as just a short-term affair? Or was he after something more? And if he was, how did she tackle that?
Sensing her scrutiny, he turned and looked at her, and again her heart picked up a pace. It made her exceedingly cross. OK, so he was physically gorgeous. And a fair few years younger than herself. Was that any reason to feel like a schoolgirl again?
Suddenly, she wondered if she was having a mid-life crisis. If she’d been a man, would she now have been thinking about buying a sports car and acquiring a twenty-something blonde bimbo with big boobs? Was Steven really her equivalent?
Or was she actually falling in love for only the second time in her life?
Given that the only other time she’d done so, she’d ended up married to Ronnie Greene, the thought did little to settle her already challenged nerves.
‘A penny for them,’ Steven said softly, his beautiful brown eyes watching her closely.
Not bloody likely, Hillary thought, and smiled one of her best smiles.
‘Just to get things sorted out before we go in, sir,’ she said, the last word firmly putting him in his place – which, right now, was her boss, ‘I’m lead interview, yes?’
‘Yes. You want me to sit in with you?’ he guessed. Like her, he’d been reviewing the options, and had come to the same conclusions. She liked it that they thought the same, and seemed to fit together so well. On the other hand, it made her feel as nervous as hell. If it had taken him only a month or so to get to know her professionally so well, how long would it take him to start understanding how the rest of her ticked? The thought brought her out in a cold sweat.
‘You think she’ll feel more comfortable with me than any of the others?’ he added, not understanding her prolonged silence.
Hillary quickly snapped out of it and got her mind back on the job. ‘Yes, I think so. Of us all, you represent the least embarrassing option, as it were,’ she agreed.
Steven nodded. ‘You want me sit there, above all be quiet, and look as non-judgemental as possible, I suppose?’
‘Right.’ Again, he’d read her mind.
‘OK. By the way, I’ve put back our meeting with Donleavy by an hour.’
‘That’s fine. I’m not thinking of prolonging this. If we don’t get a confession within an hour anyway, we won’t be getting one. And there’s no way we can stretch it out, otherwise any solicitor will have a field day,’ Hillary agreed.
Steven sighed. ‘You’re not looking forward to this,’ he said, a statement more than a question.
‘Not particularly,’ Hillary said grimly. ‘But it has to be done.’
Just then the door opened and Sam and Vivienne came in. Vivienne was looking excited, Hillary noticed. Sam looked far more subdued.
‘They’re here,’ Vivienne said cheerfully.
‘Right. You two, stay and watch,’ she said flatly.
‘Yes, pay attention and learn,’ Steven added, making Sam almost come to attention. Vivienne shot him a hot look. No doubt she liked it when he was coming over all authoritarian. Beside her, Hillary could almost feel Steven give a mental
roll of his eyes.
They left the two youngsters in the viewing room and walked into interview room three. They both sat down. A minute or two later, Jimmy Jessop opened the door and ushered in Wanda Landau.
Steven, seeing her for the first time, looked surprised. He knew the landlady was approaching seventy-four years old, but hardly looked it. She was dressed in a smart, mint-green linen suit, with narrow trousers and a jacket with a deep lapel, edged in emerald velvet. Underneath it, she wore a silky cream blouse, and a simple gold chain with a single pearl drop. Discreet pearl studs were in her ears, and her ash-blonde hair had been washed and immaculately set.
As she had when Hillary had first interviewed her, the woman barely looked sixty. Indeed, most would probably have guessed her age to be in the mid-fifties. Furthermore, Steven mused, as he pulled out a chair for the older woman to sit down, ten years ago she must have looked even better. She had the classic bone structure of a woman who’d always been beautiful.
Hillary set the tape recorder going, introduced herself and Steven and stated the time. Wanda, hearing the words ‘Superintendent Steven Crayle’ went slightly paler beneath the perfect make-up, but otherwise showed no other signs of alarm.
But she must be wondering why she’d been brought into HQ. And now was being interviewed by a very senior police officer.
She sat on her chair with her legs crossed, her handbag on the table in front of her and her hands clasped together neatly in her lap.
This, Hillary thought again, is not going to be easy. She had to try and think of Wanda as a delicate nut that needed cracking, which meant she needed to find just the right pressure points and give some very gentle taps. Setting about her with a crude hammer was definitely not what was called for here.
‘Mrs Landau, thank you for coming in,’ she began with a gentle smile. Wanda glanced at her, somewhat surprised to find that it was Hillary who spoke first. Of course, women of her generation would automatically think that the power lay with the man in the room.
A woman of her generation. Yes, Hillary thought. She had to appreciate just who she was dealing with here. A fairly well-heeled, former farmer’s daughter. She’d had a good education, been a wife and a mother, and was a woman who was used to a steady order and a ‘rightness’ about how things were done.
‘That’s perfectly all right, Mrs Greene,’ Wanda replied politely.
Hillary smiled. ‘As you know, this is about Rowan’s case.’
Wanda nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Since I spoke to you last, we’ve been talking to everyone who knew Rowan: the other students in the house at the time, outside friends and, of course, his poor family.’
Hillary, who was watching her closely, saw the skin around her eyes contract just slightly at the mention of the word ‘family’.
Of course. It would. Her own family had been the major source of disappointment, pain and joy in her life. It was the first little pressure point she needed.
She sighed. ‘I’m afraid Mrs Thompson hasn’t coped well,’ she said regretfully. ‘Her husband seemed much stronger, of course, but then men often are, aren’t they?’ she continued gently, almost chattily. ‘They tend to keep a stiff upper lip, and hold it all in.’
‘It’s different for mothers,’ Wanda said, then cleared her throat. Her voice had sounded tight and artificial to her ears, and she shot Hillary a quick, casual smile. But there was fear in her eyes, and Hillary felt her own nerves stretch tighter. As Steven had guessed, she wasn’t looking forward to this.
‘May I pour you a glass of water, Mrs Landau?’ she said and, without waiting for an answer, poured a glass for the old lady and set it in front of her.
Wanda smiled her thanks but made no move to touch it. Hillary suspected she wasn’t confident that her hands wouldn’t be shaking.
‘Yes, I’ve noticed that it’s always the mothers who suffer the most,’ Hillary said. ‘As you can imagine, after serving thirty years with the police, I’ve seen my share of horrors. And it’s not only the mothers of the victims who have to pay, either. People tend not to think about it, but the mothers of the guilty parties go through hell as well.’
Wanda blinked. ‘You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘But in Mrs Thompson’s case – well, as you yourself know, there’s nothing worse than losing a child. In fact,’ Hillary carried on, still in that soft, gently chatting voice, ‘you and Mrs Thompson have a lot in common. You both lost teenage children. Although in your case, I understand you simply don’t know where your daughter is?’
‘No. That’s right,’ Wanda said. ‘Sometimes I think she’s alive somewhere, maybe living a decent and good life with a man. That she managed to straighten herself out, maybe even married and started another family. Other times, I’m sure she’s dead.’
She paused, and then shifted slightly in her seat.
‘Of course, Mrs Thompson at least knows what happened to her son,’ Hillary carried on softly. Then, just when Wanda was nodding, put in deftly, ‘although that’s small comfort to her when she has no idea why he was killed. And to her, the thought that her son’s murderer escaped punishment has eaten away at her all these years.’
Hillary wanted to give time for that to sink in and do its work, so she reached for a glass and poured herself some water. Beside her, Steven sat quietly. His presence grounded her, made her feel less like someone hounding an old woman than someone with a nasty job to do which needed doing. His silent support felt good. Very good.
She’d been self-dependent and self-reliant for so long that the warm glow his support gave her worried her as much as it made her feel better.
She frowned, dragging her thoughts firmly away from Steven Crayle. But she had the feeling that that was going to get harder and harder the longer they were together.
‘I’m sorry to say it, but both my sergeant and I came away with the feeling that Mrs Thompson was very fragile indeed,’ she forced herself to continue carefully. ‘She had the air of a secret drinker about her, do you know what I mean? Nothing of it showed, and yet her husband, for all his bluff and hearty manner, was obviously worried about her. I could sense the desperate effort it was costing her to keep up a good show in front of us. And that made me feel so much worse – by being there, and raking it all up for her again.’
Hillary sighed heavily. ‘But that’s what happens with cold cases, I’m afraid. People try and forget and put the past behind them, and then we come along and open up old wounds.’
‘It does seem cruel,’ Wanda said, with a distinct tremor in her voice now.
Hillary nodded. Time for the next gentle tap at the next sensitive pressure point. ‘Yes. But so necessary, don’t you think? People shouldn’t get away with something as awful as murder, should they?’ Hillary mused. ‘Just think – poor Rowan would have been nearly thirty by now. He would have matured, and maybe lost a lot of that reckless cruelty the young can have. He might even have married, and be a young father himself. But all that’s gone now. Mrs Thompson won’t get to nurse any grandchildren.’
She paused, then sighed again. ‘Speaking of grandchildren, how is your grandson? Ferris, right?’
‘Yes, he’s fine,’ Wanda said shortly.
‘Just taking his A-levels then?’ Hillary went on gently.
‘Yes.’
‘So he’s – what, eighteen?’
‘Yes. Just.’ Wanda shifted slightly in her seat again.
Hillary nodded. ‘Not a young boy any more, then, but a grown man. That’s the age they leave you to go off to university, or get a job, or find a girl of their own and move out and on, isn’t it?’
Wanda said nothing.
‘Rowan wasn’t much older, in fact, when he died,’ Hillary said. And wondered. Had she done enough groundwork? Was it time to move in? The thing was, Wanda was an intelligent woman. Pretty soon, she’d begin to realize what Hillary was doing and then the advantage would be lost.
No, it was now or never. She could
n’t keep playing on her vulnerabilities for ever.
‘The trouble with this particular case, Mrs Landau, is that I can’t really find anybody who wanted Rowan dead. I mean,’ she carried on, still in her most soothing, non-threatening voice, ‘he led Darla a bit of a merry dance, but young women don’t go about stabbing their unfaithful boyfriends very often, do they?’
‘Darla was a sweet girl,’ Wanda said stiffly.
‘I thought so too,’ Hillary said. ‘Which is why I ruled her out straight away,’ she lied. ‘And although Marcie was a bit mad at him for trying to come between her and a close friend of hers, it was hardly a motive for her to stab him, was it? So it was hardly likely to be Marcie. And Dwayne was his friend. Now, Barry Hargreaves, of course, was a little different.’
Was it her imagination, or had the older woman tensed up just then? She liked to think so. It was an encouraging sign. If Wanda didn’t want the innocent to suffer, it spoke of a tender conscience. And that’s what Hillary was relying on.
‘He had two twin girls. Fifteen years old at the time, you see. Did you ever meet them, by the way?’ she asked casually.
Wanda managed a smile. ‘Yes. Lovely girls. A bit of a handful for him, I thought. But he adored them.’
‘Of course he did. So when we learned that Rowan, naughty lad that he was, had seduced them, well,’ Hillary shrugged, ‘you can see why we’ve been pressing him very hard.’
‘I’m sure Barry wouldn’t have done it,’ Wanda said. ‘He had a heart of gold.’
‘Yes. Funny, but I had the same impression,’ Hillary lied. ‘And when I talked to his two girls, who admitted to dallying with Rowan and with no hard feelings or any bad consequences, I realized I was on the wrong track yet again. Especially since they both swore that Barry never knew about it. So, you see, I simply couldn’t see who would want to kill him. It was not as if anybody had anything really important to lose,’ Hillary said.
Then she let the silence extend, waiting patiently until Wanda looked up from her studious perusal of her clasped hands, and said softly, ‘Except for you, Wanda.’