by Cara Hunter
She looks at him for a long moment, at the anxiety he’s completely failing to conceal, and she smiles. ‘Sure. You were only trying to do me a favour, right? Nothing actually happened.’
‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘Of course it didn’t.’
* * *
* * *
I’m in the room next to Interview Room Two, watching a video feed of Quinn questioning Pippa Walker. She seems unperturbed by the surroundings or the heat. Quinn, on the other hand, is visibly sweating into his Thomas Pink shirt.
‘Let’s go over it again,’ he says. ‘When I saw you at Mr Gardiner’s flat, you said you’d had a row and he’d caused the bruising you have on your wrist – that’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yeah. But I don’t think he meant it. Not like you mean, anyway.’
Quinn shifts in his seat. ‘It’s still assault, Miss Walker.’
She shrugs. ‘If you say so.’
‘And you’ve been in a relationship, you and Mr Gardiner?’
She sits back and crosses one leg over the other. ‘Yeah. Have been for a while.’
‘Since before Mrs Gardiner disappeared?’
The girl looks taken aback. ‘No. I mean, I think he fancied me, but nothing actually happened.’
She stares at Quinn, a tiny smile playing about her lips, and Quinn looks quickly away, fiddling unnecessarily with his papers.
‘Are you absolutely sure,’ he says, not looking at her, ‘there was nothing between the two of you before Hannah disappeared?’
She looks blank. ‘No. I just told you.’
He shuffles his papers again. ‘On the day Hannah disappeared, she phoned you first thing in the morning.’
‘Yeah, but I never got the message till later. Look, I told the police all this already.’
But Quinn isn’t letting go. ‘But when you did hear it, nothing struck you as odd?’
She shrugs again.
‘Hannah sounds annoyed – why was that?’
She rolls her eyes, as if she can’t believe he’s so dense. ‘I hadn’t turned up, had I? I was throwing up. So she was going to have to take Toby with her for that interview she was doing. She hated doing that. She thought it was “unprofessional”.’
‘Mr Gardiner couldn’t have taken him?’
‘On the bike? I don’t think so.’
‘And even later, after you knew Hannah had gone missing – nothing struck you as odd about the call?’
She frowns. ‘But all that happened later. She was OK that morning, wasn’t she?’
Quinn sits there for a moment, then gathers his papers and leaves the room. The girl reaches down and gets her mobile out of her bag.
The door bangs open and Quinn comes in, chucking his jacket over a chair.
I glance over at him. ‘What was all that about?’
He loosens his tie. ‘Can’t they just for once get the sodding temperature right in this place?’
‘Quinn, I asked you what’s going on. Between you and that girl.’
He puts his papers down. ‘Nothing, boss. There’s nothing going on, I swear. I just don’t think she’s telling us everything, that’s all. I think she’s hiding something.’
‘Actually, boss, I think he’s right.’
It’s Gislingham, at the door. ‘You both need to see this.’
He puts a photo down on the table in front of us.
‘I found it when I was looking for reasons why Hannah might have been in the Cowley Road. It’s her and Rob at the 2014 carnival.’
I stare at the picture. Hannah is smiling, holding the camera, Toby cradled against her. Rob is behind them, gazing into the middle distance, but with one arm close round her. It looks like love, but as I know only too well, pictures don’t need to be photoshopped to deceive. Control can so often look like cherishing.
‘There,’ says Gislingham, pointing. ‘At the back on the left.’
‘The girl with the blonde hair?’
‘It’s a bit difficult to be sure with the shadow across her face, but I think it’s her. I think that is Pippa Walker.’
Quinn whistles. ‘Shit, you could be right.’
‘And Rob Gardiner is staring straight at her.’
I look at the picture, and then at Gislingham. ‘When did she tell us she first met the Gardiners?’
‘I just checked her original statement,’ says Gislingham, quietly triumphant. ‘She said it was October 2014. Two months after this picture was taken.’
‘Right,’ says Quinn, and makes to go. But I hold him back. On the video feed, the girl is looking at herself in her make-up mirror.
‘I want a woman in there with you this time.’
‘What?’ he says. ‘Why?’
‘Get Ev to sit in with you. And if she’s not around, find Somer.’
He flashes a look at me, but he doesn’t say anything. As for Gislingham, he could play poker with that face.
‘Right, Quinn?’
‘Right, boss.’
* * *
* * *
‘But I need you here.’
‘Sorry,’ says Everett. The signal is breaking up; she’s clearly in the car. ‘I’ve got a whole list of antiques shops to see. Following up on those missing netsuke.’
Quinn can barely conceal his irritation. ‘But that’s a job for uniform, surely. It’s just a poxy burglary.’
‘Not my call, Sarge. Fawley said to –’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’
‘Why is it such a problem? Gislingham should be around, and Baxter –’
‘Look, forget it, OK?’
Only ‘OK’ is clearly the last thing it is, and Everett ends the call none the wiser. Quinn meanwhile has a bullet to bite. Somer’s not at her desk, but her sergeant suggests he try the canteen. Not without a smirk, though, which Quinn elects not to notice.
She’s in the corner, with a coffee and a book. A huge book – some Penguin Classics thing. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that she was once an English teacher. When he gets to the table she sees his shadow fall across the page and looks up. She manages a smile. A slightly artificial one, but a smile.
‘It’s about a young woman kept captive and raped,’ she says, indicating the book. ‘It was published in 1747, but some things never change, do they?’
Quinn sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s not making much eye contact. ‘I’m going to interview Pippa Walker again. Fawley wants you to sit in.’
‘Me? Why not –’
‘He wants a woman, and Everett’s not here.’
So it was Fawley’s idea, not yours. The thought is clear enough on her face.
‘So, are you free or what?’
She sits up and closes the book. ‘Of course. Whatever you need. Sergeant.’
He flashes a glance at her, on the alert for sarcasm. But her face is smooth of all disdain.
‘You want ten minutes to read the interview notes?’
‘Already done. I’ve tried to keep up, even if I am “only uniform”.’
She waits for him to make some barbed remark about using the investigation to further her career, but it doesn’t come. She gathers up her stuff and follows him along the corridor and down the stairs to Interview Two, where he stops outside the door. They can see the girl through the glass panel. She’s playing a game on her phone. She doesn’t look up when they take their seats and sighs heavily when Quinn asks her to put her phone away. She looks at Somer warily.
‘Who’s she?’
‘Constable Somer. She’ll be sitting in on the interview.’
Pippa sits back. ‘How much longer am I going to be stuck here?’ she says, in that sing-song upper-middle accent this town is thick with.
‘We just have a few more questions.’
‘But I’ve told you everything I know.’ She sits forward
again. ‘I’ve been really helpful, haven’t I? You said I was.’
‘You have,’ says Quinn, flushing a little. ‘But we have to be really clear what happened. So let’s go back to the beginning again.’
The girl rolls her eyes.
‘You met Hannah Gardiner in October 2014, at a stall in North Parade.’
She blinks. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
He pushes the photo of the Cowley Road carnival across the table. ‘At the time this picture was taken – August 2014 – you said you’d never met either Rob Gardiner or his wife.’
She looks at the picture, then sits back and shrugs. ‘There must’ve been hundreds of people there. Thousands.’
‘So it was just a coincidence.’
She flashes a smile at him. ‘Yeah. If you like.’
‘And the fact that he’s looking straight at you, that’s just a coincidence too?’
She puts her head on one side and starts to twirl an end of hair. ‘A lot of blokes look at me. You did.’
Quinn flushes, deeper this time. ‘So at the time of this picture you and Rob Gardiner definitely hadn’t met?’
‘No –’
‘You weren’t having an affair?’
She smiles again. ‘No, we weren’t having an “affair”.’ She slides a glance up at him. ‘Though as it happens, I do quite like older men . . .’
Perhaps this is why Fawley wanted a woman in on this, thinks Somer. Because I’m not falling for this winsome bullshit.
She pulls Quinn’s file towards her and takes out a sheet of paper. ‘You stated just now that you’d told us everything. Well, you certainly didn’t tell us you were pregnant. Who’s the father – because it isn’t Rob Gardiner, is it?’
Pippa glares at her. ‘Who told you that? It’s none of your business.’
‘You didn’t know he couldn’t have children?’
Pippa makes a face at her but says nothing.
‘And those marks on your wrist – that’s what happened when he found out? He hit you like he used to hit his wife?’
Pippa pulls down her sleeves. ‘I’m not talking about that again.’ But her tone has changed. The bravado has gone.
‘Are you aware,’ says Somer coolly, ‘that you could end up in court if you lie to the police?’
Pippa’s eyes widen and she looks at Quinn. ‘What’s she talking about?’
‘Well –’ begins Quinn, but Somer cuts across him.
‘We are currently investigating Robert Gardiner as a possible suspect in his wife’s death. That will mean going over every inch of his life with a fine-tooth comb. His phone records, his texts. Where he was and when. And who he was with. Do you understand?’
Pippa nods; her cheeks are red.
‘And if we find out that you’ve been lying to us, you could find yourself facing a criminal charge.’
Quinn is staring at her, but Somer doesn’t care. He might know she’s pushing it, but the girl doesn’t.
Pippa has gone pale. She turns to Quinn. ‘You said I should think about bringing charges against him. You never said anything about arresting me.’
‘Do you really want to have your baby in prison?’ continues Somer. ‘In fact, do you really want to have your baby at all, because I reckon Social Services will take the view that it’ll be better off adopted by someone else. Perverting the course of justice carries a custodial sentence, did you know that?’
‘No,’ says Pippa, really frightened now. ‘Please – don’t send me to prison.’
‘In that case,’ says Somer, sitting back and folding her arms, ‘you’d better start talking, hadn’t you? And this time, we’d like the truth.’
For God’s sake, don’t say anything, Somer begs Quinn silently. Force her to confront it – force her to decide.
‘OK,’ says Pippa at last. ‘I’ll tell you. But only if I get protection. From him. From what he’ll do to me when he finds out.’
An hour later, when they come out of the room, Quinn turns to Somer. ‘Fuck, you can be a cold bitch when you want to be.’
Somer raises an eyebrow. ‘All that matters is getting a result. Putting the right bastard behind bars. Isn’t that what you said?’
She turns to go but he calls her back. ‘It was meant as a compliment. I’m sorry if it didn’t sound like one.’
She looks at him; his usual swagger seems curiously deflated. In fact, he was pretty much silent the whole time they were taking the statement. ‘Frankly, I’m not bothered either way,’ she says. But as she walks off, she allows herself a small private smile.
* * *
* * *
STATEMENT OF PIPPA WALKER
7 May 2017
DATE OF BIRTH: 3 February 1995
ADDRESS: Flat 3, 98 Belford Street, Oxford
This statement, consisting of two pages each signed by me, is true to the best of my knowledge and belief, and I make it knowing that, if it is tendered in evidence, I shall be liable to prosecution if I have wilfully stated in it anything which I know to be false or do not believe to be true.
I started working for the Gardiners in October 2014. I never met them before that. That picture at the carnival really is just a coincidence.
I saw a lot of Rob. His wife was out a lot so we ended up spending a lot of time together. It was pretty obvious he fancied me so it was only a matter of time, really. He told me he wasn’t happy with his wife and he wanted to leave her and be with me instead. He said he would tell her but he kept putting it off.
What happened on June 23rd 2015 was that Hannah found us in bed. She’d told Rob that she’d be in late but she actually turned up just after six. She completely lost it – started shouting at him, swearing, tearing up my clothes. Rob said Toby was in the next room and could hear it all but she took no notice. She dragged Rob out of the bed and started hitting him – he tried to push her off but she was crazy, screaming abuse at me, saying I was a slut and a whore and she never should have trusted me. He told me to get my stuff and go – that it would be OK and he would deal with it. So I did. The last I saw they were in the kitchen. I kept thinking Rob would call me, only he didn’t, and when I texted him I didn’t get an answer. So about midnight I went back over there. As soon as he opened the door I could tell at once something bad had happened. He looked really weird, and he didn’t want to let me in.
He said it was all OK and they’d sorted it out and I should go home. When I woke up the following morning I was really sick, like I said before. That’s why I never got that voicemail from Hannah till the evening, and by then it was on TV that she was missing. It didn’t make any sense, that she’d still have wanted me to babysit Toby that day after all those things she said to me the night before. But I knew it was her on the message – it was definitely her voice, though it sounded a bit funny. Tinny. Not like when she usually called me.
My flatmate said I should go to the police but I was really scared – I didn’t see how Rob could have killed her and what if they thought I had? What if he told them it was me? My DNA would be in the flat and he was a scientist - he’d be cleverer than the police and could easily fake something. That’s why I never told the police we were having an affair. I was scared they’d think I’d done it. That it would give me a motive. And who were people going to believe if it came down to him or me? And in any case, I loved him. He could make me do anything he wanted. I know he never meant to hurt me. And he was always really sorry afterwards.
Pippa Walker
This statement was taken by me at St Aldate’s Police Station commencing 5.15 p.m. and concluding 6.06 p.m. Also present was Police Constable Erica Somer. At its conclusion I read it over to Pippa Walker who read and signed it in my presence.
DS Gareth Quinn
* * *
* * *
In the incident room, Quinn gets
a round of applause, but he’s a very long way from the parading general I’d expect him to be right now. In fact, he even has the (unaccustomed) grace to insist that the real breakthrough was Somer’s. Though he looks so uncomfortable admitting it I wonder why he bothers saying it at all.
After a moment or two I cut short the congratulations. ‘OK, everyone – let’s keep this in perspective. Pippa’s statement is a big step forward, but it’s not enough – not on its own. It doesn’t prove Gardiner killed his wife though it does prove he’s been lying to us, and it does give him a motive. Neither of which we had before. But it still leaves us with a timeline that doesn’t add up. If Hannah Gardiner died the night of June 23rd, how did she make a phone call at 6.50 the following morning?’
Baxter raises a hand. ‘Actually, I have an idea about that. Leave it with me.’
‘OK.’ I look round the room. We’ve been on this six days straight. Everyone’s flat-lining. ‘Let’s pick it up again in the morning. Rob Gardiner isn’t going anywhere. All of you go home and get some sleep. That includes you, Gislingham. You look all in.’
Gislingham rubs the back of his neck. ‘Yeah, well, babies. You know what it’s like.’
* * *
*
An hour later I pull into my drive and sit there a moment looking at the house. The windows are open upstairs and the curtains are catching in the breeze. The sun is lowering and irradiating the house across the street against a brilliant blue sky. They call it the Golden Hour in Oxford. That brief slice of time where the sinking sun glows the stone like it’s lit from the inside.
I turn off the engine and remember. How it used to be. Before. Alex cooking. A glass of cold white wine. Jake playing on the floor at her feet or, later, kicking a ball about in the garden. Peace. Stillness. A golden hour.
The first thing I hear when I open the door is wailing. There’s no food on. The kitchen looks like a war zone.
‘Is everything OK?’ I call as I dump my bag in the hall.
‘Yes, it’s fine. He just doesn’t want his bath, that’s all.’
When I push open the bathroom door I can see what she means. The boy is lying on his back screaming and there’s water all over the floor, and a good deal on Alex too. She looks up, her face flushed. ‘Sorry, I just seem to have lost the knack of this, that’s all. He’s been so good so far, he really has. But I had to put that toy of his in the washing machine and he’s been impossible ever since.’