Snarl

by Celina Grace

  Angie’s face had settled back into blankness. She didn’t respond to Anderton’s question.

  “Now, it seems that after this dreadful event, your father actually had you taken into care. Why was that? Could you not cope with your sister’s death?”

  Angie looked at him with contempt. “My stepmother hated me. She was just looking for an excuse to get rid of me.”

  “Oh, is that why?” Anderton shuffled the papers before him into a little more order. He went on, the gentleness of his tone belying the devastation of his words. “It wasn’t because your father and your stepmother thought you were actually responsible for your sister’s death?”

  The solicitor made a sound of protest but Angie cut across him. “You can think that, if you like,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a shit. If you’ve got access to my notes, you’ll see there was no charge.”

  “No, that’s true, that’s true,” said Anderton. “There was no actual charge. Father pulled some strings, did he? Or was it that he knew, deep down, exactly what his daughter was, but just couldn’t face up to it?”

  Angie scoffed. She leaned back in her chair, looking away ostentatiously.

  “Well,” continued Anderton. “We’ve also had a look at your medical notes. Diagnosed with a personality disorder at sixteen, I see. In and out of various therapies, expelled from your boarding school…”

  He waited a moment.

  “What I find remarkable,” he said, in the same quiet tone, “is that you’ve managed to make such a name for yourself, despite such, well, difficult beginnings. Your art, your relationships… quite remarkable. And it helps that you’re beautiful, too. That must really help.”

  Kate kept her face neutral as he elaborated on this theme for some minutes. It was working, though. She could see Angie gradually thawing, becoming more animated. The more Anderton heaped praise upon her, the more she responded. Anderton had a lot of charm, when he wanted to use it – God knows, Kate knew about that – and he was laying it on thick, here.

  “So,” said Anderton eventually, smiling genially. “How did you and Alex Hargreaves meet?”

  Angie fell into his trap. “At a poker game,” she said. Then she smiled and laughed a little cruelly. “I thrashed him. Alex was obsessed with gambling - shame he wasn’t any good at it.”

  “He was an admirer of your work?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you were lovers?”

  Angie’s smile dimmed a little. “Occasionally.”

  “So, you wouldn’t say it was a serious relationship?”

  “No, not really.”

  “I see,” said Anderton. “Well, that’s strange. We’ve been going through his personal belongings and he seems to have all sorts of pictures of you, including several obviously taken at social events. If we asked Alex’s friends, do you think they might give us a different answer?”

  Angie shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “They might. It depends what he told them. He was always much more keen on the relationship than I was.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes,” Angie said. Her gaze slid from Anderton’s face to come to rest on Kate’s. “You know what men are like.”

  Angie smiled a slow smile directed at Kate, her eyelids falling slightly. For a moment Kate, incredibly, felt it – whatever had snagged Stuart, and Wade, and Alexander Hargreaves. She found herself smiling back, leaning forward, almost eagerly. Shocked at herself, she sat back sharply in her chair and snapped the smile from her face. Angie’s smile changed, from conspiratorial to triumphant. Kate thought of those Sirens from Greek mythology, who’d lured sailors to their deaths by their sweet singing. I need to stop my ears with wax, she thought.

  “Did you know that Alexander Hargreaves was embezzling funds from his company, MedGen?”

  Angie’s eyes widened. “No,” she said and Kate could have congratulated her on the feigned shock in her voice. For the first time since the arrest, Kate started to think that perhaps they might have bitten off more than they could chew.

  “You had no idea?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Did he ask you for help in any way?”

  Angie looked at him coolly. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “You didn’t introduce Alex Hargreaves to your other lover, Guy Wade? They didn’t arrange the killing of Jack Dorsey between them?”

  Angie was shaking her head, seemingly horrified. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Guy was – Guy was a brutal man. I was terrified for my life.”

  Anderton sat back and regarded her. She looked at him, her eyes big and dark. “So, tell me what really happened, Angie,” he said, softly.

  The silence stretched on and on. Kate could even hear the faint ticking of the clock up on the wall, an ancient model which hadn’t yet been replaced by a digital one. From outside, came the sounds of normal life; car engines, bird song, slamming doors.

  “Well,” said Anderton eventually, seeing Angie wasn’t going to speak. “Here’s what I think happened. Perhaps you’ll correct me if I’m wrong.”

  Silence. Angie’s face had changed again, from a beautiful stony mask, to the hurt expression of a young vulnerable girl. Oh, she was good – Kate would give her that.

  “You and Alex Hargreaves were lovers. You were also the lover of Guy Wade, a violent and revengeful animal rights militant. How did you meet him, by the way?” Anderton waited a second for Angie to answer and then went on, clearly knowing she wouldn’t. “You made a piece of art for him, Angie, didn’t you? The multi-media piece, with the footage of all the animal cruelty? What made you decide to go even further? Was it his idea, or yours, to film the death of Jack Dorsey?”

  Angie’s face had stilled again. Kate could see a distant spark in the depths of her dark eyes, as if her thoughts were there, ticking over, the only outward sign of her search looking for a plausible explanation. When she spoke, it sounded as though it was something she’d been preparing for some time. No doubt, she had.

  “Guy threatened me,” she said. Her voice quavered a little and Kate inwardly cursed, knowing the effect that would have on a jury. “He was obsessed with animal cruelty. He said if I didn’t help him, he’d kill me. You have to believe me.”

  “So what did he ask you to do? Did he plant the bomb that killed Michael Frank?”

  Angie nodded, her head down.

  “Did you help him with that?”

  “No.”

  Kate spoke up, unable to help herself. “Did you film it?”

  Angie looked at her and for a moment, Kate saw the snake, down there in the darkness, stirring. “No.”

  “Really?” said Kate sceptically. “So I guess when we wade through all the footage on your computer, Angie, we won’t find anything like that? I wonder.”

  Angie’s mouth tightened a little and Kate felt a little spark of triumph. She was pretty sure that once they’d searched through all the evidence, they would find exactly that.

  Anderton gave her a glance and she sat back, letting him take up the reins.

  “You’re a pretty persuasive person, Angie, from all I’ve heard. Men become quite obsessed with you, don’t they? Did you suggest to Alex Hargreaves that you could introduce him to someone who could do his dirty work for him?” Angie said nothing, staring at him blankly. “Did you suggest to Guy Wade that you could give him access to one of his targets?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Angie, coldly.

  “No? How did Guy Wade know the alarm codes to Jack Dorsey’s home? How did he know where Jack Dorsey’s home was? How did he know to locate and wipe the CCTV onsite?”

  Angie shrugged.

  “He knew, Angie, because you told him. Hargreaves told you, and you passed the information on to Wade. You were there at the scene, holding the camera, Angie. And, in fact, I think you were the way in. Darryl Timms opened the door to you because you were no threat, were you, Angie? Is that right? He saw a frightened, tiny
young girl on the doorstep and opened the door to you. That’s why he was facing away from the door when he was killed, because he was leading you into the house. That’s when your lover, Guy Wade, came up behind him and killed him.”

  Angie crossed her arms across herself. “I was being threatened,” she said, as if Anderton was unbelievably dense. “Guy told me he’d kill me if I didn’t do what he said. He forced me. He forced me to film it.”

  “Well,” said Anderton. “As he’s dead, we can’t really ask him, can we? How did he die, Angie?”

  She stared back at him. “He shot himself in the head.”

  “Did he? You didn’t shoot him yourself?”

  “There’s no evidence of that,” interjected the solicitor, sharply.

  “Exactly,” said Angie. She flashed Anderton a tight smile. “I was being held hostage, in case you’d forgotten.”

  “When the officers who were first on the scene found you, you were sitting calmly at your editing suite, working on the footage of Jack Dorsey’s murder. Does that sound like someone who was in terror for their life?”

  “I told you, I wasn’t in my right mind, I was terrified. I can’t account for every single thing I was doing. “

  Anderton sat back in his chair. “Forensics can tell us a lot, Angie. I wonder what we’ll find on the gun that killed Guy Wade? Your fingerprints overlaying his, perhaps?”

  There was a beat of silence. Then Angie raised her head a little, turning her face so it could be clearly seen by the recording camera. Her mouth quivered.

  “I moved the gun after he was dead,” she said, almost choking the words out. “I was so frightened he wasn’t dead and he was going to get up and kill me.”

  With half his head missing? Kate held down a cough of disbelief. The trouble was, Angie’s performance was all too convincing. She was aware of a slowly creeping unease, a discordant note, something that they’d missed.

  It didn’t take long to surface. The grey-haired solicitor stirred himself, pulling himself upright.

  “Am I to understand, Chief Inspector, that my client is being held on suspicion of murder? I see nothing you’ve put forward in this interview to show that my client can be held responsible for any of the terrible crimes you seem to be accusing her of. There is simply no justification for holding her on this charge.”

  “I can hold her on plenty more,” snapped Anderton. He pushed his chair back from the table. Both Angie and the solicitor regarded him; the solicitor with a cynical smile and Angie with the same hurt, vulnerable look she’d worn before. Kate’s palm itched to slap her.

  “A short break,” said Anderton. “I’ll leave you to confer with Miss Sangello. Or should that be Miss King?”

  He, Kate and Olbeck huddled in the corridor, far enough away so their whispered conversation couldn’t be overheard.

  “Fuck,” said Anderton. “I was hoping he wouldn’t pick up on that.”

  “You’re joking, right?” said Kate. “We can’t hold her on a murder charge?”

  “Look, I’m doing my best, here. But we’ve got no evidence that she had anything to do with the car bomb – yes, there might be footage, but all she needs to say was what she’s been saying about the Dorsey case. She did it under duress. We actually have the murder of Jack Dorsey on tape – it’s irrefutably Wade.”

  Kate’s chest felt tight. “What about Wade? Surely we can prove that she handled the gun. The angle, the fingerprints…”

  Anderton half smiled. “Well, you see how quickly she threw out an excuse for having her prints on the gun. We can pin our hopes on forensics, but…” He shrugged.

  Olbeck put both hands up to his temples as if he had a sudden headache. “You’re not telling me this – this sociopath – is going to just walk away?”

  Both Anderton and Kate gave him an old-fashioned look.

  “How many years have you been a detective, Mark?” said Anderton. “For Christ’s sake, she’s not getting off scot free. She’s an accessory to murder, for one thing. Concealing a crime. There’s plenty there to be going on with—”

  “But not what she’s truly guilty of,” Kate said, quietly.

  The three of them stared at each other for a moment.

  “Look, let’s not go giving up yet,” said Anderton. “We’ve got hundreds of pieces of evidence to go through. There’ll be something there that can help. And even if there isn’t…” he trailed off for a second. “Something will come up. You’ll see.”

  They walked back into the interview room together. Anderton conferred with the solicitor, letting him know with a kind of quiet intensity that they would be detaining Angie for further questioning, murder charge or not. The solicitor nodded a crisp assent and briefly murmured in Angie’s ear. Kate watched her face closely but the stony mask had slipped back down again.

  Kate waited until Anderton had left the room. Olbeck was preparing to leave. She flashed him a quick glance and then walked over to the table. Angie looked at her sullenly.

  “Oh, and by the way,” said Kate, quietly. “You’re not an artist.”

  Angie said nothing for a moment. Then, frowning, she opened her mouth to reply.

  “Yes, I—”

  “You’re not, you know,” Kate went on, cutting her off. “Artists create. That’s what they do. You don’t create, you destroy. You’re not an artist.”

  Angie’s face contracted. Now, as Angie’s pupils shrank down to tiny, glittering pinpoints of fury, Kate was reminded of another figure from Greek mythology. Medusa. If looks could kill… but Kate knew she’d got through. The barb had struck home. That’s for Stuart, you bitch – and Mary, and Madeline, and Harriet, and Jack, and the children. Take that. The solicitor was looking at her with a look she couldn’t decipher, his mouth slightly twisted. Inside her, she felt a delicious leap of self-righteous glee.

  Kate stepped back. “Yes,” she said, infusing her tone with just a hint of pity. “You’re not an artist. You might want to mull that thought over, in prison. You’ll have a nice long time to really think it through.”

  Behind her, Olbeck stifled a laugh. Kate kept her face in the same rueful, pitying smile and she didn’t clench her fist in triumph until they were both safely out of the room.

  “Nice one,” said Olbeck, as they reached the corridor. “I’m only surprised you didn’t cough ‘whole life term’ under your breath as you left the room.”

  “I would have done, if I’d thought about it.”

  They both looked at each other and collapsed, bellowing slightly hysterical laughter. Kate knew Angie would be able to hear them from inside the room. Good.

  They walked back to the office, half-supporting one another, still wheezing. Theo looked up in surprise as they staggered through the door.

  “What’s up with you two?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Kate said, wiping her eyes. “Just a bit of a delayed reaction, I think.”

  “Right,” Theo said, in a mystified tone. “Anyway, I’ve got some good news. Madeline Dorsey’s regained consciousness.”

  Kate and Olbeck looked at each other, sobering up completely.

  “That’s brilliant,” said Olbeck. He sat down at a nearby desk, running his hands through his hair. “That’s great. Do they think she’ll recover?”

  “As far as I could tell. They were being cautious, but I gather that’s the gist.”

  “Fantastic,” Kate said. She pinched her nose and heaved a deep sigh. “What did Anderton say? Something will turn up.”

  “Well—” Olbeck began.

  “Come on, this could be it! Hopefully all the additional evidence we’ll need.”

  Olbeck looked sombre. “Come on, Kate. You know as well as I do that she might not be able to remember a thing. Traumatic amnesia and all that.”

  “Yeah,” said Theo. “We might very well end up with nothing.”

  “Oh, I know.” Kate reached out and shook them both gently, one hand on each. “But let’s hope for the best, eh?”

  The two me
n smiled reluctantly.

  Kate went back to her desk to collect her bag and coat. She was so tired that even moving felt like wading through slowly setting concrete. She dropped her head on her desk and sighed.

  Olbeck paused on his way past. “Are you all right, really?”

  Kate nodded, head still down. Then, with an effort, she lifted it.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “You know what? I was just thinking I might have a pop at the Inspector’s exams.”

  “Why not? You’ll breeze through them, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure I will,” said Kate. “After all, if you can pass them…”

  Olbeck snorted and Kate grinned tiredly.

  On the steps of the station, Kate felt her phone vibrate. Another message from Andrew, to add to the multiple calls that she’d let go to voicemail. Standing there in the sunshine, too exhausted for her usual denial to kick in, Kate faced the fact. She didn’t love him. Surely the first person you’d normally want to see after a traumatic experience would be your boyfriend? She didn’t want to see him; all she wanted to do was go home, on her own. Olbeck passed her with a pat on the shoulder – she could see Jeff in the car down on the road, waiting to collect him. That was what a relationship should be. You know it, Kate. You know what you have to do.

  She sighed a little.

  “You all right?” asked Theo, passing her.

  “I’m fine.” When were people going to stop asking her that?

  “Need a lift home?”

  She smiled at him. He was a good lad, really. “Yes. Please. Thanks, Theo.”

  As she got into his car, she sent Andrew a text. I’ll call you later and tell you everything. Don’t worry. She didn’t put a kiss on the end of it.

  THE END

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