Nell hadn’t slept well. Bremer’s mention of her attack had given her subconscious free rein, and a morning call from him telling her to bring Joanne in for writing a few dodgy letters had done nothing to improve her mood. By the time they reached the interview room, her scars were itching, her head was pounding and as the room had no windows or air conditioning, she was sweating before she’d even finished the caution.
Joanne sat with her hands clasped between her legs, the shock of being brought to the station still evident.
‘I just don’t understand why I’m here. I told your DCI I didn’t write any letters.’
‘Where were you the night before last, Ms Fowler?’
‘I was with my husband all night. Why?’
‘And he’ll confirm this?’
‘Of course!’
‘And what did you have for dinner?’ Nell asked.
‘Dinner? I can’t remember. Probably pasta. It’s all I can really cook.’ She gave Paul a Princess Diana flutter of the lashes, which he returned with a smile. Nell looked at him in disgust. Jesus, men were so gullible, even six-foot, built-like-a-brick-shithouse cop ones.
‘So you had this pasta, the one thing you can cook, and then went to bed after watching two television programmes?’
Joanne nodded.
‘Who fell asleep first?’
‘I don’t know. Me, I think.’
‘And did you wake before morning?’
‘I always wake during the night. I go downstairs and have a drink of water, then go back to bed. It’s sort of a routine.’
‘Does your husband notice when you wake and go downstairs?’
‘No, never. He sleeps like the dead.’ She froze, but whether that was due to the poor turn of phrase or because she’d given the game away, Nell couldn’t tell.
‘I didn’t creep out and murder anyone, if that’s what you’re getting at.’ She was irritated now and that was good; irritated people weren’t in control; irritated people made mistakes.
‘Did you know a Mr O’Brian?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t come across him when you left a note for Kelly-Anne?’
Joanne looked confused. ‘What note? I didn’t write a note.’ She looked at Paul. ‘And I didn’t write any letters.’
‘The note said,’ Nell went on, causing Joanne to look back across at her, ‘that Ms Graham was going to say Kelly-Anne killed her baby and she wasn’t to believe it. Its tone,’ she continued, despite Joanne opening her mouth to speak, ‘was identical to the tone of the letters Ms Graham received from you.’
Joanne sighed again and leaned back in her chair. ‘I’ve said it enough times now – I didn’t write those letters.’
‘But you know there are letters, plural? When DCI Bremer spoke with you we only had knowledge of one.’
‘I know because you just told me.’
‘Who is Mary?’
Joanne stared at her. ‘What?’
‘The letters were signed by “Mary” and the note by “M”. So who is Mary?’
Joanne’s expression turned from confusion to fear in a matter of seconds.
‘I don’t know anybody called Mary.’ Her voice wobbled as she spoke and she clutched her cardigan tightly around herself.
My God – was Mary a pseudonym? Nell glanced to Paul and could see he saw it too. She decided to go in hard.
‘Ms Fowler, why are you sending letters to bereaved parents and using a pseudonym to do so? Isn’t that a bit insensitive, in light of your own bereavement?’
Joanne looked as though she could launch across the table and grab Nell by the throat, which was exactly the reaction she’d wanted.
‘The fact I know how it feels to have a baby die is exactly the reason I wouldn’t write such a note. I am not here to bring additional pain to another mother.’
‘What are you here for then? To get revenge on Ms Graham?’
‘I’m here because you dragged me in here. I can assure you I’ve seen a lifetime’s worth of interview rooms, and I don’t welcome the fact I’m now back in one because of your stupid assumption I’m someone called Mary.’
‘Are you Mary?’
Joanne looked confused. ‘What?’
‘You said I think you are Mary. But I merely said I thought you were using the name Mary to distance yourself from the threats made against Ms Graham. The two are very different.’
Joanne contemplated her for a moment before replying. ‘My name is, and has always been, Joanne.’
‘And your surname before you were married?’
‘Rathbone.’
‘And where did you grow up?’
‘Portsmouth.’
Nell nodded. ‘Nice. By the sea.’
Joanne shrugged. ‘It was OK.’
‘Were you close to your parents?’
‘What has this got to do with anything?’
‘Just answer the question, please.’
‘Not really. I was adopted because they thought they couldn’t have kids, but when they had two of their own they forgot about me.’
It was a frank admission and took Nell by surprise.
‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘I doubt you are, Sergeant.’
‘Can you tell me your parents’ names and those of your siblings?’
‘None of them are called Mary, if that’s what you’re looking for.’
Nell smiled. ‘Just the names please,’ then noted them as Joanne spoke.
‘Thank you. Do you happen to know what name you were given at birth?’
Joanne stared at her, horrified, and even Paul shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat.
‘Well?’
‘I haven’t seen my birth certificate.’
Nell doubted that was true. ‘What about your husband?’
‘What about him?’
‘Does he share your obsession with Ms Graham?’
‘He blames her as much as I do, if not more, if that’s what you mean.’
‘He was very supportive of you during that time. Must have been hard on him.’
Joanne nodded. ‘He had to cope with losing our baby and losing me. It was a difficult time.’
‘So in a way he probably resents Ms Graham even more than you do?’
Joanne remained silent.
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s a car salesman.’
‘Has he ever sold a car to O’Brian?’ Nell joked.
Joanne glared at her.
‘He must feel guilty you had to go through that when he didn’t.’
‘Maybe, I don’t know. He never doubted me for a moment. He knew I would never kill our child, not after we tried so hard to have one.’ Tears threatened to fall. Nell let them ferment for a moment.
‘I’d feel guilty if it was me. I think the hate would grow and grow until maybe I lost it one day and bashed someone’s head in.’
Joanne opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Folding her arms across her chest, she stared accusingly at Nell, who didn’t care. There was something not right, but try as she might, Nell just couldn’t picture Joanne having it in her to kill O’Brian. Too delicate. So there was only one other person who hated Eve as much as Joanne did and that was her husband. Had he done it to frame Eve? Down the line, were they going to find some evidence he had planted to make them think it was Eve? Good revenge that – make her go to prison for a crime she didn’t commit, just like his wife.
‘Did you ever wonder whether it was your husband who killed your child?’ Nell knew she was going a bit far – Paul’s look told her as much – but she had a train of thought now and it wasn’t going to stop. ‘If it wasn’t you, could it have been him? Did you ever consider that possibility? And maybe the guilt of that is what’s really eating him up?’
‘No, because neither of us killed our baby. She went to sleep and never woke up, and Eve Graham lied to make me guilty.’
Nell wanted to ask why? Why the hell would a respected and career-driven woman like Eve frame a grieving mother for murder? But she knew she’d lost Joanne now. All further questions would be met with a stony silence. Nell had been in enough interviews to know when she’d fucked up and in her considered opinion, she’d done so royally in this one.
‘Thank you, Mrs Fowler. Interview is terminated, you are free to go.’ And ignoring the looks of surprise from Paul and Joanne, Nell got up and left the room.