‘What did you do with the stuff?’ the DCI enquired.
‘I dumped it, in the first place I could think of… er… down by the Dean Bridge in amongst the bushes there. And some of it I put in the river. I threw the knife into the Water of Leith, the jewellery case, the wallet too.’
‘Giving your husband an overdose of his own drugs…’ Alice said slowly, ‘poisoning him with his own medication? Didn’t it occur to you beforehand that you’d be found out? Even if you hadn’t finished him off with a knife?’
‘I had thought about it beforehand, yes. But I don’t agree. I reckoned I’d be all right. You saw the condition that he was in. There was nothing left of him, he was knocking on death’s door. People would just think he’d died of the disease.’
‘Then why did you do it?’ Elaine Bell shot back at her. ‘If he was knocking on death’s door anyway, you didn’t need to do it. You wouldn’t have had long to wait, would you?’
Heather Brodie looked defiantly at the DCI and said in a hard, determined voice, ‘You couldn’t begin to understand, could you? You have no idea, no idea… I did it because I had had enough. Enough. He was supposed to die by last July, then by this June, but he just hung on – clung on like a desperate rat, drooling and dribbling, hissing and muttering, having “accidents”, spitting… He’d hit me twice, lashed out at me like a madman, caught me once in the eye and the other time on the jaw. He wasn’t human any more.’ She hesitated briefly, letting the meaning of her words sink in. ‘He’d become a beast, a miserable, vicious beast… an animal in nappies.’
‘And the insurance policy?’ the DCI asked, looking down at her notes.
‘What?’
‘Well, you wouldn’t get any money, would you, if he died after February 2010.’
‘Yes,’ she hesitated, ‘that’s right, I wouldn’t. But where did you find the policy?’ She smiled politely at Elaine Bell, as if expecting an answer from her.
‘In your desk,’ Alice replied.
‘It’s his, it was his desk, actually.’
‘And now,’ Alice continued, ‘why are you telling us all of this now? Why did you come here today to confess to your husband’s murder, why not yesterday or the day before – or tomorrow for that matter?’
‘Because,’ Heather Brodie said, meeting her gaze steadily, ‘things have altered, haven’t they? You’ve all changed tack, and now you’re after Colin, my Colin. You think he’s involved – supplied the drugs, or whatever. My “accomplice”. Well, he didn’t. I told you, he didn’t need to. I’d been thinking about how I would do it, if things got too bad, for weeks, if not for months.’
‘Your toy-boy,’ Eric Manson butted in, rolling his eyes heavenwards.
‘How do you know we’re after Colin?’ Alice asked.
‘Because someone at his work, a friend, told me that you’d collected him.’
‘You’re coming here today, confessing to us today… because you want to spare Doctor Paxton any more questioning?’ Alice enquired, scepticism apparent in her voice.
‘No, of course not. It’s because I don’t want him involved, I’ve told you. Because he’s not involved. He had nothing whatsoever to do with it. He’s not the one who killed my husband, I am. He had no idea I was going to do it. Probably wouldn’t believe it if you told him.’
Once they were outside the interview room, Elaine Bell folded her arms again and turned to her Inspector, saying in a low voice, ‘So, what do you think, Eric? Think she did it? Seems pretty believable to me.’
He nodded, his brow corrugated in thought. ‘Aye… she knew about the overdose, the type of drugs used, about where all the “stolen” stuff was. Not a word of any of that has been in the papers. The only way she could know about it would be if she’s the one – the one who did it, eh? How else?’
‘Alice?’ the DCI said, keen to get a further opinion. The Sergeant shrugged her shoulders. ‘Yes, maybe. Maybe she did it, but I’m not sure… I’m just not sure.’
‘Not sure about what, exactly?’ Eric Manson retorted. ‘She’s just told us that she did it. So why don’t you believe her? What’s not to believe?’
‘Her confession… I’m not completely convinced that it’s true, it doesn’t ring quite true. The gesture, the throat-slitting one – she used her right hand, did you see?’
‘So?’ the Detective Inspector snapped.
‘So… you, Ma’am, when you were reading out your notes, told us that the Professor said in the P.M. that the killer was likely to be left-handed… It’s on the board too.’
‘Aha, that’s right,’ Elaine Bell confirmed. ‘That’s what he said, the killer’s likely to be left-handed. Not is left-handed, only likely to be.’
‘Anyway, maybe she’s ambidextrous, dear – it’s not that uncommon, is it?’ Eric Manson said. ‘You haven’t explained how she knows what she knows. How could she know about the Nortriptyline and the Ora… Ora… the other stuff? We didn’t tell her. How did she know where the computer was found, about the knife, the jewellery-case being in the river? None of that was in the papers. And McConnachie confirmed that the knife was likely to be the one that was used, and she identified it as her own too. How the hell do you explain away all of that, then?’
‘I can’t… unless, maybe, Paxton told her? If he was the one who did it, then he’d know all the details. He could have told her.’
‘Yes,’ Eric Manson answered belligerently, ‘but why the fuck should we think he did it? He’s not the one confessing to it. And, as you said, his DNA’s easy enough to explain away. One of his neighbours already confirmed that she saw him coming up the stairs after he’d seen the woman off that night. Other than his lying through his teeth and his having access to the drugs, we’ve got nothing on him, really, no real reason to suspect him. He didn’t even try to suggest that Brodie could have taken the stuff himself. If he had known what went on he would have been clear about that, like she was, he would surely have told us categorically that the man could have taken the stuff himself.’
‘True,’ Alice conceded, ‘but… I don’t know what it is, something doesn’t feel right…’ her voice tailed off. ‘Anyway, I thought Livingstone said it was him who threw the wallet in the river.’
‘Did you see that smile – the smile she gave me?’ Elaine Bell asked, recreating it in her own mind and shuddering theatrically as she spoke. Then she added, ‘Alice, you wait here. I’m going to speak to the Super, he’s here at the moment… and Eric, you come too, I want you to tell him what you think too.’
So saying, she disappeared down the corridor, bustling towards her office with her subordinate tagging along obediently behind her. As they disappeared from view, the interview-room door opened and, mobile in hand, Heather Brodie emerged, looking to the left and right, an anxious expression on her face.
‘Could I make a phone call?’ she asked meekly, catching the Sergeant’s eye.
‘To your lawyer or someone? Who d’you want to call?’ Alice asked, surprised by the request.
‘I’d like to call my son, my son, Harry. I need to call him. Now that I’ve spoken to you, got everything out of the way, I need to talk to him. He’ll organise things for me, including a lawyer, he’ll tell Ella for me, Pippa too. Is that all right? I’d rather they heard it from me.’
Looking at the woman, pale as death, it seemed rude, unkind to deny her this one thing. Without more thought Alice nodded her agreement, and then, before the first key had been pressed, she asked, ‘Are you left-handed or right-handed?’