‘I expect you were surprised we tracked her down. She’s moved twice in the last couple of years. Not to mention getting married.’
A shrug. ‘I told you. She only cares about her new bloke. She doesn’t care about me. Not any more.’
‘Having spoken to her myself, I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree with you.’
Definitely a reaction now, but not one she wants me to see.
‘I did explain to her that you’re the girl who’s been all over the newspapers for the last week, but I’m afraid it didn’t make much difference. She seems to think you only have yourself to blame.’
Vicky puts her chin on her knees. ‘I told you.’ But there’s a tremor in her voice now that wasn’t there before.
‘I also told her she has a new grandson, but I’m afraid that didn’t get me very far either. Do you want to know what she actually said?’
Silence.
‘She said, “If she thinks I’m being dumped with looking after it she’s got another think coming.”’
She still has her arms wrapped round her knees. But her knuckles are white.
‘To be fair, she does have a baby of her own to look after now.’ Vicky glances up. ‘Didn’t I say? It’s a girl. Megan. A sister for you. Or half-sister, to be strictly accurate.’
I sit down on the end of the bed and open the file I’ve been holding.
‘But you already have one of those, don’t you? Tricia Janine Walker, to be precise. Born 8th January 1995. Her birth certificate is in her father’s name, but your mother and Howard Walker never actually married, did they? And then within three years they’d split up and your mother married Arnold Neale. And had you.’
I let the silence lengthen. Thicken. And when I speak again I can hear my voice echo against the cold damp walls.
‘Why didn’t you tell us about Tricia, Vicky? Why didn’t you tell us you had a sister living in Oxford all this time?’
She shrugs but says nothing.
‘She could have come to see you in the hospital – you could have stayed with her instead of going to Vine Lodge.’
‘I didn’t know she was here,’ she says eventually.
‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you, Vicky. I think you knew exactly where she was. She was in Rob Gardiner’s flat. A flat you can actually see from William Harper’s house.’
I dip my head, trying to make her look at me. ‘Is that where she first saw him? From the top floor in Frampton Road? Because you were both there, weren’t you? At least at the beginning.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘You can’t prove that.’
‘We can, actually. Because Tricia stole one of Dr Harper’s ornaments. She’s wearing it in a photo of the Cowley Road carnival in August 2014, so we know she must have been inside that house by then. We didn’t find her fingerprints anywhere, because the two of you have clearly spent a hell of a lot of time cleaning up, but Tricia just couldn’t resist that netsuke, could she? Was it just by chance she chose that one or did she know how much it’s worth? Did she know she could get over twenty thousand pounds for it?’
Vicky flashes me a look.
‘I think she did know, Vicky. Because she’s clever, isn’t she? Much cleverer than she lets on. Cleverer than you, for a start. She uses sex to get what she wants from men who are too stupid to see they’re being played. Cash, security, attention, control – the sex is just a means to an end. And if sex doesn’t work, she’s not unduly concerned. Because she has plenty of other options. I know. I’ve watched her in action, and I have to admit, she’s good. She fooled Rob Gardiner and she fooled my sergeant. She even fooled me. But she fooled you and Hannah most of all.’
Women beware women.
Just like Alex said.
‘You planned it together, didn’t you? Moving into that house, having the child, getting Harper’s money. She was in on the whole scam right from the start. And it was all going so well, until one day she sees Rob Gardiner and he becomes the only thing that matters. Too bad you were already pregnant with Harper’s child. Too bad that, unlike her, you were trapped in that house. How was it all supposed to pan out, Vicky? With you dossing in the cellar for a few days to make it look real, then staggering up the steps when you knew Derek Ross was in the house? How were you going to explain your escape – make up some story about the old man losing it? Say he’d left the door unlocked by mistake?’
Vicky sits up suddenly and leans back against the cell wall. ‘I’m not stupid, even though you seem to think I am. All of that you just said – it’s a load of crap. I’m not falling for that.’
I smile. ‘Funnily enough, your sister uses exactly the same phrase. If there’s one thing police work has taught me it’s that blood really is thicker than water.’
There’s a tap at the door and Woods puts his head round. ‘Just checking everything’s OK, sir.’
I look at the girl, but she says nothing.
‘We’re fine, Sergeant. Perhaps Vicky would like some tea though?’
She nods, and Woods shuts the door. We can hear him bang open the observation flap of another cell a few doors down, and then voices. His. A girl’s. Then his keys jingling all the way back down the corridor.
Vicky has stiffened. She recognized that voice. There’s a strange expression on her face that in any other circumstances I’d call fear.
‘Oh, didn’t I say? Tricia is here. Just along the corridor. She’s facing a criminal charge.’
Vicky’s face has closed in again. She wants to ask me what the charge is but she won’t give me the satisfaction. But that doesn’t bother me. I’m going to tell her anyway.
‘Three days ago she gave us a statement. About the death of Hannah Gardiner. She told us Rob Gardiner killed his wife during a furious row after Hannah found him and your sister in bed together.’
And there it is – in her eyes, that tiny quiver of doubt and surprise that I only see because I know what I’m looking for. That’s not what she was expecting me to say; that’s not what the two of them had agreed.
‘But then you told us William Harper did it. That he’d killed another girl, then buried her in the garden, and boasted to you about what he’d done.’
She shrugs. Whatever.
‘And that was Tricia’s original plan, wasn’t it? She wanted to make sure that when Hannah’s body was found, the police would immediately assume Harper must have killed her. It was his house, who else was it likely to be? If you were lucky, we might not even bother looking for another suspect. And you know, it almost worked. So why, I asked myself, would Tricia suddenly put all that careful preparation at risk by telling us something completely different? Something she must have known we’d prove was a lie?’
She glances at me again. She can’t work out if this is truth or trap.
I move a little closer. ‘A couple of nights ago, my wife reminded me about a play we saw years ago. It was much more her thing than mine – she’s always dragging me to stuff I’d never go to otherwise.’
She looks at me. Wary at where this is going.
‘That type of play, it’s called a revenge tragedy. And I think that’s why Tricia changed her story. Revenge. She tried to frame Rob for killing his wife because he’d thrown her out when she told him she was going to have a baby –’
Vicky starts, then quickly drops her gaze. But not quickly enough to fool me: she didn’t know her sister was pregnant.
‘She just couldn’t forgive Rob for dumping her, could she? She wanted her own back. Even if that meant getting him charged with murder. Even if that meant putting your whole scheme at risk. She betrayed you, Vicky. Just like she did when she left you at the mercy of a nasty piece of work like Donald Walsh.’