Ellie kept looking at her hands in her lap.
Macdonald stared at her. ‘Mrs McKenna says you made accusations about her husband, Police Sergeant Jack McKenna. Is that true?’
Ellie lifted her head and looked at the certificates on the wall.
‘Mrs Napier?’
Ellie shook her head, sniffed. ‘No, I never said anything about her husband.’
‘Do you know PS McKenna?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know Mrs McKenna?’
‘No.’
‘Then why go to her house?’ Macdonald flicked a page back in her notebook. ‘She says you’ve visited twice in the last two days, is that correct?’
‘Yes,’ Ellie said.
‘Why?’
‘I wanted to offer sympathy.’
‘Sympathy?’
Ellie rubbed at her palm with her thumb. ‘I know what it’s like to have trouble in the family.’
Macdonald cocked her head to the side. ‘Your son Logan.’
Ellie nodded.
‘But this is very different,’ Macdonald continued. ‘This was a violent assault, attempted murder. What’s it got to do with you?’
‘Nothing,’ Ellie said. ‘I just felt . . . I get confused. I’m on medication, you see. Since Logan.’
Wood leaned forward, he’d had enough. ‘Alison said you made accusations about her husband. A good cop.’
Ellie shook her head.
‘She also said you’d been in touch with her son, Sam. Is that true?’
Ellie shook her head again. ‘I made that up.’
‘Why would you do something like that?’
Ellie felt tears well up in her eyes. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know,’ Wood said. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘Have you been in touch with Sam McKenna?’ Macdonald said, voice softer.
‘No.’ Ellie sniffled as she spoke. ‘I made it all up.’
‘Why?’
‘I saw in the news that he was missing,’ Ellie said, tears down her cheeks now. ‘I imagined what it must be like for him, alone out there somewhere, not wanting to go home.’
‘What do you know about the attack on Jack McKenna?’ Wood said.
Macdonald shot him a look.
‘Nothing,’ Ellie said.
‘Were you anywhere near Inchcolm Terrace two days ago?’
Ellie shook her head. She wondered about CCTV, Neighbourhood Watch, if there was evidence. She had been all over that place, if they could just find out. It was only a matter of time, surely, but the fact they were asking meant they didn’t have anything yet.
‘Can you account for your activities that day?’
Ellie thought. Closed her eyes, opened them, stared out the window at the weeds. ‘I went for a walk.’
‘A walk?’ Wood’s voice sounded like he’d just been personally insulted.
Ellie nodded.
‘Whereabouts?’
‘I don’t know exactly,’ Ellie said.
‘Do you go on walks often?’
‘All the time. It’s what I do now, walk for miles, go running, swimming. It’s how I cope without Logan. I walk all over the Ferry, beyond as well, out to Hopetoun House or Dalmeny, even to Crammond.’
‘You walk to Crammond?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Did you walk to Crammond on Monday?’
‘No.’
‘Then where?’
‘I don’t remember,’ Ellie said. ‘I go all over the place, I can’t remember specifics.’
‘Did anyone see you on this mysterious walk?’
‘Plenty of people,’ Ellie said. ‘But no one I know, I don’t think.’
‘Very handy.’
Macdonald butted in. ‘Look, I understand you’re dealing with a lot. But you can’t turn up at strangers’ doors, making accusations and getting them upset.’
‘I didn’t make any accusations.’
‘Mrs McKenna insists that you did,’ Wood snarled.
Ellie thought about how the police had found her. She’d given Alison a false name, but it wasn’t exactly hard. She’d mentioned Logan jumping off the bridge, that was in the local paper, she would’ve been named in that. Easy to find the address. What must they have thought when they realised she lived fifty yards along the road from the station? Nice easy job for the officers.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ellie said. ‘I shouldn’t have gone to see her. But I was confused, that’s all. I don’t know why I did it.’ Tears were really flowing now. Was she putting it on for them, or really crying? She wasn’t sure any more. It didn’t make any difference.
‘It’s OK,’ Macdonald said.
Ellie heard Wood snort derisively. She didn’t blame him. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at her cheeks, her nose. Sniffed loudly.
‘Can I go?’ she said.
Wood was shaking his head, but Macdonald had a soft look on her face.
Ellie thought about fingerprints. They were all over the house, but then she’d been there to talk to Alison, surely that was her cover. If anyone saw her the day Jack was stabbed, that was different. And if the police checked her phone records they would know about her and Sam. The phone was in her pocket now, hot against her thigh. She imagined it buzzing with a message from him.
‘You can go for now,’ Macdonald said. ‘But we might well be back in touch, depending on our enquiries.’
Wood leaned forward, trying his best to be intimidating. ‘And we’ll definitely be in touch if you go near the McKennas again. Got it?’
Ellie nodded. ‘I understand.’
She got up, her legs weak, and headed for the door, wondering where Sam was and when she could see him next.
27
Ellie was on Rose Lane trying to get herself together when a car pulled up ahead of her. She recognised it straight away, the silver BMW from the driveway in Inchcolm Terrace. She stared at the brake lights as the passenger-side window buzzed down, then she stepped forward and bent over to look in.
Jack McKenna.
‘Can we talk?’
Ellie looked behind her. The police station was round the corner, he must’ve been waiting for her to come out.
‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ she said.
‘Please.’
He was leaning forward, clutching his side. She could see under his Hugo Boss T-shirt where it was thick with bandages. How was he out of hospital so soon?
Ellie felt her house key in her pocket, thought of Ben waiting at home for an explanation. She thought of Sam in the boat, Libby at school hoping beyond hope this man wouldn’t get out of hospital any time soon. Yet here he was, wheezing and grimacing in pain.
Ellie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
Jack nodded at the passenger door. ‘It’s for the best, for Sam and Libby. For everyone.’
His skin was pale, dark rings under his eyes. His black hair was greying at the temples like Ben’s, but closer cut, neatly shaved round the back and sides. He looked smaller than when she’d seen him in hospital, smaller than when she’d found him on his kitchen floor.
In her pocket she pushed the house key between her fingers and made a fist, a makeshift knuckleduster. She pulled the door open and got in. She looked in his eyes for a moment, but couldn’t see anything there. She imagined sticking the knuckleduster in his face, blood spurting out. He smelt of hospitals, antiseptic and bleach, and she could smell his sweat underneath.
She pulled the door closed and put her seatbelt on.
He put the car into gear and drove to the car park at the end of the road, did a three-point turn and headed back. He turned right at the junction and for a moment she thought he was going to take Shore Road to the marina, but instead he turned along Hopetoun Road heading out of town.
He was clearly in pain, his movements slow and tentative. She couldn’t imagine him overpowering her, one quick punch to his bandaged side would double him over.