by Tania Carver
‘So that’s the kind of strength your God gives you, is it?’ asked Sperring.
‘That was a long time ago. I’m a changed man now. He saved me,’ said Adderley.
‘Didn’t save your wife, though,’ said Sperring.
Before Bracken could interject once more, Phil jumped in.
‘Which brings us to last month. October the sixteenth, in particular. The night your wife went missing. The last time anyone saw her alive.’ He checked the notes in front of him once more. ‘The detective in charge of Gemma’s case, DS Ellison, initially interviewed you. You said you had no idea where she might have gone. They tried to talk to her friends, but she didn’t have any. You wouldn’t let her have any. Apart from the other women at church, and Gemma hated going. Wouldn’t go. I’m sure she paid for that. So no one knew if she was going anywhere. And then she was gone.’
It looked like Adderley was fighting back tears.
Phil ignored him. ‘So. The night she disappeared. You initially said you were at Bible study. But you were actually with your new girlfriend. Why the lie?’
‘I…’
‘Did you think it would make you look suspicious? Is that it?’
‘Something… something like that…’
Bracken spoke. ‘My client was visiting his girlfriend, who has subsequently moved into the family home and is helping him to bring up his daughter.’
Phil looked straight at Adderley. ‘Couldn’t wait to get rid of one before you moved the other one in, eh? What does the Bible say about that?’
‘My client realises this isn’t a flattering portrait of him,’ Bracken continued, ‘but in light of subsequent events he thought it best to tell the truth.’
‘Better late than never,’ said Phil. ‘And where were you last night, Roy?’
Adderley looked up, his expression an angry, hurt sneer. ‘You should know.’
Sperring looked at Phil. Phil knew he was frowning.
‘Just answer the question, please.’
‘You were sitting outside my house. Watching. You should know.’
‘That could be construed as harassment, Inspector,’ said Bracken.
‘No, it couldn’t,’ said Phil. ‘Your client is a suspect in his wife’s murder. Having his house watched is proper procedure.’
‘But my client says you were drunk.’
‘His word against mine,’ said Phil, feeling anger rise within him.
‘Nevertheless —’ began Bracken, but Phil kept going.
‘So, Roy, you got in your car and drove away. Came back about three in the morning. Where’d you been till then?’
Adderley looked to his solicitor once more.
‘This would be inadmissible in court, Detective,’ said Bracken. ‘Whatever you’re trying to prove —’
‘There was another murder last night,’ said Phil. ‘Another woman, about Gemma’s age, build, type. She was killed about the same time as Roy here went out for a drive.’ He leaned forward. ‘So I’ll ask again. Where were you last night?’
Adderley stared round the room, looking for ways of escape. His mouth worked but no sound emerged.
‘Janine. That was her name. Janine Gillen. Know her?’
‘Inspector, I don’t think this is —’
‘You know how she died, Roy? Hit by a car. Repeatedly. How’s your car today?’
‘Inspector —’
‘We’ll need to take a look at it, of course. See what kind of state it’s in today.’
Adderley dropped his head to the table, began to cry.
Bracken stood up. ‘That’s quite enough, Detective Inspector Brennan. My client came here today of his own free will to assist the inquiry into his wife’s death. Instead, you’ve accused him of murdering not only her but another woman as well. Where’s your evidence?’ She stared at him. Silence.
‘Sorry,’ said Phil. ‘I thought it was a rhetorical question.’
‘I don’t appreciate your attempts at flippancy,’ she said.
‘I wasn’t trying to be flippant,’ said Phil. ‘You want evidence? We’ll get evidence.’
‘Should you do that,’ Bracken said, picking up her bag, ‘then we’ll be back. But please don’t harass my client again, or attempt an illegal seizure of his car. Or we will take matters further.’ She turned to the door. Adderley rose as if in a dream, not believing he could actually leave. He meekly followed her out.
Phil sat back, expelled a heavy whisky-soaked breath. Rubbed his eyes. ‘How… fucking… dare she…’
28
‘Thanks for coming,’ said Imani. ‘I appreciate that this is short notice, that you’ve got plenty of other things you should be doing. Your day job, for a start.’
Marina sat back, gym bag next to her work bag at her feet. Listening. ‘No problem. Luckily I’m not teaching any classes today. Just admin that I’m glad to get away from. What can I do for you?’
The Six Eight Kafé on Temple Row in the heart of the city. An independent coffee shop, all chalkboards and stripped blonde wood. The antithesis of Starbucks. Marina was sitting opposite Imani and Avi Patel. The police officers sipped various milky coffees. Marina had ordered fruit juice and water. Two manila folders lay on the table in front of them. Unopened.
‘Well,’ said Imani, ‘I’m sure you can guess.’
Phil was her first thought. Something had happened to him. Something bad in a next-of-kin-notified kind of way. The distress must have shown on her face.
‘It’s work,’ said Imani. ‘The job you did with the child last month? Carly Adderley? I don’t know if you’ve seen the news, but her mother’s body has been discovered.’
‘Yes,’ said Marina. ‘I’d heard. That poor kid.’ She remembered the little girl. Lost, abandoned. Literally.
‘Right,’ said Imani. ‘There’s more. DS Patel here is involved in the case of another dead young woman and there are similarities.’
‘You think it’s the same person?’
‘That’s what I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me.’
‘No pressure then,’ said Marina, a small smile in place.
Imani returned the smile, even smaller if anything.
‘Does Cotter know about this? About you asking me?’
‘Not yet. I put it to her and she thinks you should be brought in if you’re needed. I’m just sounding you out, getting your opinion. I think the two deaths are related.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I’ll give you the files to look at. In the meantime, what d’you think about the husband? Roy Adderley, was it?’
‘You mean do I think he did it?’
Imani nodded.
‘Gut feeling? I didn’t like him. Felt there was something off about him. Carly was returned to him once he was located but I always felt it was too soon. That there was something more the girl could have told us. That she needed more help.’
‘Couldn’t you do anything?’
‘I voiced my opinions,’ said Marina, trying to put distance and professionalism into her words. ‘I’m sure they were noted down somewhere.’
‘What did the CIO on the case say?’
‘Hugh Ellison?’ Marina suppressed a shudder. ‘Tried to push the husband but couldn’t get anywhere. To be honest, I don’t think he was the most incisive of interviewers. Eventually had to let it go.’
Imani nodded.
Marina leaned forward, her voice dropping involuntarily, face as blank as she could make it. ‘I take it Phil’s running this one?’
‘He is,’ said Imani.
‘And was this meeting his idea?’
‘Definitely not,’ said Imani. ‘He knows nothing about it. This is all coming from me.’
Marina smiled, relief apparent on her face. ‘So you’re running an investigation within an investigation?’
‘I’m just using my initiative, that’s all.’ Her features inscrutable. ‘Like any good copper would do. I don’t think there’s any money in the budget for this, not a
t this stage. But I’ll see what I can do.’
‘So this is just a favour?’
Imani looked apologetic. ‘At the moment, yes. Sorry. I know it’s unorthodox, but if I’m right and these two cases are connected, I think it’s safe to say you’ll be on the payroll. And I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it. You’re uniquely placed for this. You’re already involved in the investigation.’
Marina said nothing. Was Imani abusing their friendship for the sake of her investigation? Trying to look good at Marina’s expense? Did she think there was a genuine need for Marina’s services? Was she telling the truth? Or the worst option: was this about getting her and Phil back in close proximity again in the hope of a reconciliation?
‘What d’you say?’
Marina kept thinking. Weighing things up. Part of her felt disloyal to Phil to even be considering doing this. Especially when she thought of what had happened to him after their separation. How he had seemingly not heard her words, understood her concerns and fears; how badly he had taken it.
But there was another part of her mind whirring away inside her. The part that was thrilled to be engaged on a case, to be active in pursuing criminals, using her skills to stop them. She had always found it difficult to say no, whatever the circumstances.
She looked at the manila folders on the table in front of her. And suddenly couldn’t wait to open them, see what was inside. Phil or no Phil. Money or no money.
‘Okay then,’ she said, reaching for them.
‘Thank you,’ said Imani. ‘Just look them over, let me know what you think. Similarities, differences. Your hypothesis. I’d be very grateful.’
‘Fine.’ Marina put the folders in her work bag. ‘When d’you need this by?’
‘Soon as.’
‘Okay. Well, like I said, it’s a light work day today. I’ll get straight on to it.’
‘Thanks.’ Imani stood up. Taking his cue, Patel did likewise. ‘I really do appreciate it. You know where to find me when you’ve finished.’
They said their goodbyes and left the café. Marina sat and watched them go, the files burning a metaphorical hole in her bag, her mind. She would get straight on to them.
After she’d had a session at the gym.
29
Sperring turned to face Phil. Both were still in their seats in the interview room. ‘So all that about a CI was bollocks, was it?’
‘Yeah.’ Phil sat forward, controlling the temper inside him. Trying to shake away the near-constant rage he felt. ‘After what he did yesterday, the way he ran, his lying, I knew there must be something iffy about him. So I sat outside his house to see if he moved.’
Sperring just looked at Phil, shook his head.
Phil stopped rubbing his eyes, turned to him. The anger was still there. ‘What? Like you’ve never done that.’
Sperring started to answer, but Phil stood up, began walking round the room. His body containing too much energy to remain seated. ‘How many times have we had words about you taking off on your own, mavericking about? Doing stuff that’s borderline illegal to get information? And now you’re taking the moral high ground for what? Because I sat outside his house last night?’
‘The difference is, boss,’ said Sperring, staying where he was, ‘I do it with scumbags who know the score, play the game. I don’t do it with suspects who go crying to their solicitors. You knew he was getting his brief in here; why d’you go antagonising him?’
Phil walked round to the other side of the table, placed his fists on it, stood where Adderley had sat, faced his junior officer. ‘He was out last night at the same time Janine Gillen was being murdered. In his car. We have to get a warrant, see that car.’
‘You heard what his brief said. You’ve made it impossible now. Might even give him enough time to get rid of it.’
‘So there’s our proof of guilt. We’ll have him then.’
‘Yeah,’ said Sperring, ‘because that’s how it works. We always arrest someone with no evidence.’
Phil just stared at him.
Sperring shook his head. ‘You think it’s him then? Definitely?’
Phil turned away from the table, resumed pacing. ‘Course it’s him. Who else would it be?’ He held up his fingers, counting off. ‘Means, motive, opportunity. He’s got the lot.’
‘And how does he know this Janine Gillen?’
‘For us to find out, isn’t it?’
‘So he was out last night,’ said Sperring. ‘Right. It’s still a bloody big jump for him to be Janine Gillen’s killer as well. You’re usually spot on, boss, but I reckon you’re off on this one.’
‘But look at him,’ said Phil. ‘He gets down on his knees and prays after he beats up his wife. He’s got previous. He’s got a temper on him.’ He shook his head, as if confirming the truth of his words to himself. Gesturing as he walked. ‘The bloke’s a nutter. A dangerous, violent nutter. We have to stop him from doing it again.’
Sperring didn’t reply. Phil, feeling suddenly weary as the withdrawal of adrenalin hit, sat down in Adderley’s seat, facing his colleague. Sighed.
‘Listen, boss,’ said Sperring, his voice not unkind.
Phil looked up. He wasn’t used to hearing sympathy or concern from Sperring. Usually the opposite.
‘I think…’ Sperring stopped, unsure how to proceed. ‘Why don’t you take a bit of time off?’
‘I don’t need time off. I just need to get this bastard off the streets.’
‘I don’t mean a lot of time, just…’ He sighed. ‘Look, all I’ll say is don’t mix the personal and professional. Don’t bring your home life to work.’
Phil stood up once more, anger rising with him. ‘You’re lecturing me? You’re fucking lecturing me?’
‘Somebody has to,’ said Sperring, raising his own voice now. ‘You’re heading for a breakdown the way you’re going. Not only that, but you’re going to make a mistake on this job and then the shit’s really going to be spread. We’ll all be for it.’ He stood as well. ‘Get a grip. Get yourself sorted. Not later, now.’
Phil stared at him, about to argue. He saw that Sperring was ready to argue too.
‘I don’t want a fight,’ said Sperring. ‘Not with you. Not about this. But if that’s what I have to do to make you see sense, then I will.’
‘You’re going to take me on, are you? Really?’
Sperring stood his ground. ‘If I have to, yeah.’
Phil stared at him until he could hold his gaze no more. He wanted to charge at Sperring, pummel the anger out of his system. But he didn’t. Instead he just sighed. His head dropped. The adrenalin withdrawal was flatlining in his system now, leaving him wearier than he had ever felt. He closed his eyes. As he did so, an image of Marina appeared before him. He smiled at her, his heart breaking all over again.
‘Boss?’
Phil opened his eyes. ‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘What?’ Sperring, wondering which way Phil’s mood was going to go, was still ready to fight.
‘Maybe I…’ Another sigh. ‘Could you hold the fort for a while?’
‘Course.’
‘Follow up whatever you can on —’
‘I said of course. Do what you’ve got to do.’
Phil nodded, looking at Sperring once more. He opened his mouth to speak but the first-choice words couldn’t make themselves heard. ‘I’ll be back later,’ he said.
Sperring nodded, understood.
Phil left the room.
30
He sat in the toilet cubicle even though he didn’t need the toilet. Head in hands, eyes closed tightly. Rocking slightly, backwards and forwards. Hands pressed into his face. Blocking out the world around him, refocusing, repositioning his mind. Thinking. Thinking. But it was no good. No matter what he did, what he said, what he thought, he could only think about the previous night.
He was trying to say the right thing, do the right thing. But he couldn’t. And he could tell it was wrong from the way it w
as received. He found himself distracted. Making mistakes. And if he kept on like that, it would be noticed. Normally that wouldn’t bother him. He’d just shrug it off. A bad day. Everybody had them. But not him. Not today. Too much suspicion.
He still couldn’t stop his mind from drifting back to the night before. He relived it over and over again. The conversation in the car. Janine’s unease. Unease that blossomed into panic.
Panic. That was the word. The one he kept coming back to. The whole night summed up in that one word. Panic.
The chase. Then the eventual capture. Over and over again in his mind. He hadn’t stopped to think while he had been driving; just acted on impulse. She couldn’t be allowed to get away. Not with what she’d seen. That had been his overriding impulse. And then when her body lay there, mangled under the wheels of his car, he had tried to salvage something.
He still didn’t know whether he’d been right to do that. In a sense it didn’t matter. Not any more. Because he done what he had done. And now he had to deal with the consequences of that.
He kept telling himself what he had thought earlier. No DNA. Nothing on file to make a match even if he had left any. He had got away with it.
And yet…
That niggling voice in the back of his mind. Trying to trip him up, pull him down. Put obstacles in the way of his more rational thoughts. Guilt? Was that it? No. He had no guilt about his actions. None whatsoever. It was therapy. And it had been working, before this. But it had to go on. Had to. Because it mattered. It was the only way he could be well again. In his mind. Free of everything – everyone – that had been holding him back. Stopping him becoming the person he should be. His therapist had given him the clue.
‘You’ve got to find a way to put all this behind you,’ he had said. Sitting in his armchair, dressed casually and relaxed, legs crossed as usual. Calm and knowledgeable. Sun streaming in through the windows behind him. Like a different, better world being glimpsed outside. ‘Something that works for you. Take all the individual hurts and upsets, the scars and the tragedies, and box them away. They won’t be gone for ever. You’ll know they’re there, but you won’t be tempted to reopen them. Just acknowledge their existence and move on.’
