‘But that’s the point,’ I say. ‘They’re both risk takers. Morgan said so himself, in interview. He said anyone working in that field has to be prepared to take risks or they’ll never get anywhere.’
Ev frowns. ‘They’re both as bad as each other, is that what you’re saying?’
‘I’m saying these are both people who might be more prepared than most to play a high-stakes game.’
There’s a pause. They’re not sure where that gets us and, frankly, neither am I.
‘I don’t know why CID are even on this,’ mutters Quinn. ‘Never mind the whole bloody team.’
Classic Quinn, but for once I sympathize. I wouldn’t have the entire team on it either, given the choice, but we don’t have the excuse of a more pressing case, and – rather more pertinently – I’m anticipating that sooner or later the Chief Constable will be ‘taking an interest’ or ‘just checking in’ or whatever apparently-casual-only-clearly-not phrase his PA comes up with. As my first Inspector once put it, ‘It’s only a suggestion, but let’s not forget who’s making it.’
‘There’s something about Fisher,’ says Asante eventually. ‘I can’t put my finger on it but something’s definitely off. All that stuff about not being able to remember – it’s a bit too convenient, if you ask me.’
‘On the other hand,’ I say, ‘why hasn’t Morgan mentioned the rip to the dress? He’s been upfront about the fact that there was a physical altercation – why not mention that the dress got ripped in the process?’
Ev shrugs. ‘Perhaps he didn’t realize? Perhaps he just doesn’t remember?’
Quinn gives a dismissive snort and looks away. ‘Yeah, right. He can’t remember, she can’t remember. He said/she said. It’s all bollocks – the whole thing.’
I see Ev about to object and decide to step in.
‘OK, we’ve probably all had enough for one day. But DC Quinn’s right about one thing: the CPS will never run with this as it stands. If we get DNA from Morgan’s body, it could be a whole different ball game. But meanwhile, whether we like it or not, we can’t ignore who his mother is. Not least because I doubt she’s going to let us. Remember that debate about sexual violence in the Union a couple of months back? She’d be all over this, even if the victim in question wasn’t her son.’
Quinn sighs heavily. ‘Just what we need. Being crapped on from a great height by an up-themselves politico.’
‘Right,’ I say briskly. Because that sort of attitude isn’t going to get us – or Quinn – anywhere. ‘So let’s not give her the satisfaction. Forensics will be at least a couple of days, and that’s if we’re lucky. So in the meantime, we do our homework. We need to confirm Morgan’s story with his girlfriend and talk to Fisher’s colleagues, both here and anywhere she’s worked in the past. I want to know if there’s been even the slightest hint of anything like this before. And check whether any of those people were also guests at the Balliol dinner – let’s see if we can find out if there were any signs of damage when she left, either to her or that bloody dress.’
‘We’ll need to be careful though,’ says Asante cautiously. ‘This sort of allegation – it would wreck her career. And if it turns out she didn’t do it –’
‘Precisely. So discretion, please. I want to eavesdrop on the rumour mill, not start it.’
I stand up; Asante’s making a note, Ev is gathering her things, Quinn just looks narked.
‘I’ll get DC Baxter going on Fisher’s phone and I’ll also see if we can get Bryan Gow to have a look at Fisher’s interview footage. If Asante’s right and something really is off here, he’s our best chance of nailing it. As for the rest of it, DC Quinn, you’re stand-in DS. Over to you.’
Quinn looks up. ‘Yes, boss,’ he says.
He’s perked up already.
* * *
It’s dusk, that most deceptive time of the day. The memory of light still in the sky, but the earth dark below. No one’s noticed the man parked up by the side of the road, not even the usually nosey old chap who’s just gone by with his dog. But why would he? The man hasn’t moved for a while – hasn’t read a newspaper, turned on the radio, dug a packet of mints out of the glovebox. The vehicle is silent, and so is he. He does nothing. Nothing, that is, but watch.
A few moments later a door opposite opens and a woman comes quickly down the path to the trellis enclosure by the gate. She lifts the lid of one of the bins and drops a black plastic bag inside, before turning and looking up and down the street. She’s looking directly at him now and he slides a bit further down in the seat, even though he knows it’s too dark, and too far, to see his face.
When the man glances up again two women are coming towards him along the pavement. Yakking away, their toddlers bundled up in buggies. There’s an older kid too, a boy with red hair and big glasses, drifting along behind. The man frowns. Mothers are too distracted, too frazzled, to notice pretty much anything, let alone someone just sitting quietly in their vehicle, minding their own business. But kids are different. They don’t care. They just stare straight in.
The women are drawing level now, shreds of conversation drifting across.
‘I think you just have to tell them –’
‘But you know what that place is like –’
‘When I spoke to Pippa about it she said the same thing –’
The women pass, but the kid is still dawdling, and the man can now see why. He’s stopping at each car, looking at the make and noting something on a small red clipboard. The man’s eyes narrow. Just his bloody luck to stumble over the only kid on the planet who wants to be a sodding traffic warden when he grows up.
The boy is closer now, but still too far to read a number plate. Not in this light. He can see the woman, still at her gate, straining forward, trying to see.
The man curses under his breath, reaches for the ignition key and starts the engine.
* * *
When Niamh Kennedy pulls in opposite Monmouth House there are no lights in the tall facade on the other side of the road.
‘Beatriz must be in the kitchen,’ says Fisher, peering up at the windows. ‘Poor woman – I had no idea I would be so long.’
‘These things are always interminable,’ says Kennedy. ‘If you take my advice, you’ll have a large glass of wine, a hot bath, and go straight to bed.’
‘I will,’ says Fisher. ‘I just need to spend some time with Tobin first. Heaven only knows what he must be thinking.’
‘Kids are more resilient than you think. He’ll take his cue from you. As long as you talk to him calmly, he’ll be fine.’ She reaches across and squeezes Fisher’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, Marina. I know you feel overwhelmed right now, but you’re strong. If you were the sort of person who was going to be defeated by this you wouldn’t have got this far in the first place.’
Fisher gives a quick nod, then gets out of the car and strides across the road, not looking back. She holds her head high as she struggles to get the key in the door, but as soon as she hears the car pull away her shoulders slump and she half staggers across the threshold into the hallway.
She stands there a moment, adjusting to the gloom. There’s a pale shape hunched on the bottom step, which lurches towards her, the eyes huge and ghost-dark in the pale face.
‘Where have you been, Mummy? You promised you would look at my drawing. I’ve been waiting for hours. Where were you?’
* * *
8.15pm Saturday