Кара Хантер: In the Dark

MG: That’s quite unnecessary, Sergeant – my client is being exceptionally helpful.

VN: I’m not bullshitting you. I’m telling the truth.

AF: OK, so what was the plan? Because you did have a plan, didn’t you - you and Tricia? Hannah didn’t stumble into that house by chance.

VN: Tricia had sex with Rob one night when his wife was away and she started saying that he’d be with her if his wife was out of the way but he was too decent to dump her. Stuff like that. I didn’t know what to do – I was worried what would happen –

AF: What do you mean?

VN: I know what she’s like. If she wants something, she gets it. It doesn’t matter who she hurts.

AF: You were concerned enough to try to warn Hannah?

VN: [ nods ]

But I was terrified what Tricia would do if she found out. To me, I mean.

GQ: Hang on a minute – that call Hannah got the day before she died – the one from the mobile. That was from you , wasn’t it?

VN: [ nods ]

I didn’t say who I was. I didn’t tell her my name.

AF: So – what? What did you say?

VN: I didn’t say anything about Rob. I just said that Pippa wasn’t really called Pippa. I told her that she’d been living in Clifton Street – that there’d be people there who knew her real name, and she should check up on her. I was hoping she’d find out what Tricia did to that girl at school and they’d fire her.

AF: So that’s why Hannah went to the Cowley Road that afternoon. To find ‘Pippa’.

VN: [ nods ]

But I don’t think she found anyone to talk to. She can’t have.

AF: So what happened the following day? What was your plan?

VN: I told you, there wasn’t any plan. I didn’t know anything about it. I was upstairs and I heard a noise and came down. And then – and then –

***

‘ Jesus Christ, Tricia, what have you done?’

Tricia is standing by the conservatory window. There’s a hammer in her hand, and at her feet, a young woman lying face down on the floor. Blood is thickening her dark hair and she’s making a terrible raw gasping sound. Her hands are moving – clawing at the air – and she’s trying to get up.

Vicky moves a step closer. ‘Oh my God – that’s Hannah –’

‘I know that, you stupid cow – who else would it be?’

‘But what’s she doing here – what the hell happened?’

Tricia looks at her sister witheringly. ‘I told you , you idiot. Remember?’

‘You told me you wanted to get together with Rob – not that you were going to kill her.’

‘Well, you know what blokes are like. They always say they’ll leave their wives and they never do. This way, she’s out of the picture. End of.’

She turns to the shelf behind her and picks up a pair of plastic gloves. There’s a second pair of gloves, a roll of duct tape, a canister of industrial bleach, a dark wig. None of it was there yesterday.

‘Jesus, Tricia, you planned all this?’

‘Of course I fucking planned it. We won’t get away with it otherwise.’

‘What do you mean – we ? I’ve got nothing to do with this – you can’t make me –’

‘Oh yes I can. Because if you don’t help me I’ll tell everyone about your nasty little scheme. That brat you’re carrying – how you scammed that poor defenceless old tosser – you’ll get three or four years at least.’

Tears come to Vicky’s eyes. ‘But that was all your idea –’

‘Yeah,’ she says, sardonic. ‘But they don’t know that, do they? So just stop fucking snivelling and help me.’

The woman on the floor groans suddenly and tries to raise her hand. Tricia bends down quickly and yanks her head up hard by the hair. There’s blood coming from her mouth and she’s staring – staring straight at Vicky.

‘Right,’ says Tricia, dropping her hold. ‘She’s seen you now, so you don’t have a choice. So just fucking grow some, will you?’

‘What do you want me to do?’ says Vicky, her voice catching in her throat. Hannah is moaning softly. Calling her son’s name.

Tricia reaches for the second pair of gloves and throws them across. ‘Go out to the car and get the blanket out of the back. And bring the kid in with you.’

‘He’s out there? On his own? What if he starts screaming? What if the old man hears?’

Tricia laughs. ‘The old bastard’s dead to the world. As per fucking usual. I put more sleeping pills in his lager. I’ll give the kid one too just in case.’

‘You can’t do that – he’s only little –’

‘Oh, stop bloody fussing, will you – I do it all the time. It’s the only way I can keep him quiet.’

‘But –’

Tricia stares at her. ‘So are you going or what?’

***

AF: And you gave Tricia an alibi as well, didn’t you? You rang Rob Gardiner and left a message saying she was ill. And later, when the police called you to confirm it, you gave your name as Nicki Veale.

VN: [ bites her lip ]

Tricia was really angry about that. She said I should have chosen something different – something that didn’t sound so much like my real name. That it was the only thing I’d had to do on my own and I couldn’t even get that right.

AF: But that’s the point, isn’t it, Vicky? Tricia is a much better liar than you are. So what happens when she tells us her version of how Hannah died and it’s much more convincing than yours – what then?

VN: I’m the one telling the truth. I didn’t have any reason to kill her, did I?

MG: That’s quite right, Inspector. My client didn’t have any reason to kill Mrs Gardiner. Unlike her sister.

AF: I’m not so sure, Mr Godden. Tricia is very resourceful. I’m sure she’ll come up with a very plausible story. I can hear it now: she’ll say Hannah came snooping around that day – that she’d seen something out of the window of her flat and when she came to investigate she found a young woman, seven or eight months pregnant, living in a house supposedly occupied only by an old man. Hannah was a journalist: as soon as Vicky went public with the cellar story Hannah would have recognized her. I’d say that’s more than enough motive for Vicky to kill her.

VN: But that’s not what happened –

AF: But how do we know that? You can’t possibly prove it. And all your sister’s barrister has to do is create reasonable doubt –

[ interruption – custody sergeant requests urgent discussion with DI Fawley ]

GQ: Interview suspended at 9.42 p.m.

***

‘What the hell is it, Woods?’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’

I follow him down to the custody suite, Quinn at my heels. The cell door is still open and there’s blood on the bedding and in the toilet bowl.

I turn to Woods. ‘So?’

He gestures to the bed. Among the tangled blankets there’s a small blister pack, just large enough for two pills. It’s empty.

‘Before you ask, she did not have those with her when we booked her in,’ says Woods, red in the face.

‘You definitely searched her?’

‘Of course I did. Anyone with medication, it’s the doc that administers it. I know the drill. I’ve been doing this bloody job long enough.’

And I believe him. But you’d be staggered at how devious people can be. At the things they’ve managed to smuggle in here, over the years. Two little pills would have been child’s play by comparison.