16

Lizzie had picked up Julie and Fergal from one of Julie’s friends. Now she waited with them on metal chairs with blue fabric seats that seemed to belong in the waiting room of a GP’s surgery. No small talk could cover the anticipation and dread they all felt. Julie smelled of alcohol. Who could blame her?

Sarah arrived. Acknowledging Lizzie with a brief nod and quickly introducing herself to Julie and Fergal, she began to talk through the viewing procedure. Julie listened intently, as though she was being talked through a high-wire walk for which she had insufficiently prepared.

‘There will be a pane between you and Georgina. This is because we still haven’t completed all the forensic work.’

Julie nodded quickly for Sarah to move on: the forensic exigencies were probably too much to contemplate. ‘OK, OK.’

Fergal was holding Julie’s hand and looking at her steadfastly. Lizzie’s heart went out to him. Whatever greatness he had, he was summoning. For some reason, he was again wearing his high-vis jacket. Had he come from work? she wondered. Had he emptied bins this morning?

He must have read her mind because he said, ‘Sorry for my clothing.’

She shook her head. ‘No . . .’

‘I don’t get paid if I don’t go in.’

Sarah looked between them and Lizzie immediately felt rebuked. Sarah was resuming her explanation.

‘We’ll go through to the viewing room and she will be on the other side of the screen on a trolley. You can look for as long or as little as you want. We need just enough to be able to identify her.’

Julie had frozen. She had started looking beyond Sarah towards the door that led to the viewing room.

Lizzie said, ‘Is that all right, Julie? Are you going to be able to do this?’

‘Yes, yes. I want to do it.’

Sarah said, ‘Do you want her face to be covered when we go in or would you prefer her to be uncovered?’

Julie turned to Lizzie as if she were some sort of expert. ‘What do you think?’

Lizzie was at a loss. It felt like a perverse quiz and she was the ‘phone a friend’ who didn’t know the answer. She said, ‘Whatever you would find best.’

‘I don’t know.’

Somehow, they had got trapped by this matter. It was almost silly, except it wasn’t. Lizzie thought that if it were any officer but Sarah, they might even laugh about it afterwards. That dreadful moment when . . . But any laughter in any case was in another dimension right now.

Sarah said, ‘Would you like me to decide?’

Julie turned again to Lizzie, insistent. ‘What do you think?’

The decision had magnified itself inordinately: it felt like a supernova. Then Lizzie realized suddenly it was of no import at all. There was no right answer. Covered, uncovered: it would make no difference. Any decision was bad because Georgina would always be dead. This hiatus around the simplest choice was nothing but the product of loss. The only way she could help Julie would be to move things on.

She said, ‘I think I would rather she were uncovered.’

Julie sobbed. Then she gained control of herself and said, ‘Uncovered then.’

Sarah picked up the initiative. ‘OK, I’ll go and make sure every-thing’s ready. One last thing. Who do you want going in with you?’

‘Just Lizzie.’

Here, emphatically, was the real thing, the veil torn away. The fact of the body on the other side of the screen usurped all other experience. There was nothing besides this. Julie froze and momentarily Lizzie saw the impassive wax-like face of Georgina Teel into which no life could ever be breathed. Then Julie threw herself at the screen, so hard it shook. She seemed to move downwards against a force of friction that had pinned her, smearing the glass with her mouth and hands.

‘Georgie, Georgie, Georgie, Georgie.’

She was on her knees, clawing at her face and neck. A guttural voice came from her.

‘No, no, no, no, no.’

Lizzie bent down beside her, clasped Julie’s hands, held them tightly in her own. Then, when Julie’s hands went limp, Lizzie wrapped her arms round her and cradled her as she wailed.

Afterwards, Julie was diminished, small, still. Like a bird resigned to its cage.

Sarah had already prepared the statement. She read it out in the anteroom.

‘. . . I saw a woman lying on a trolley. She was my daughter, Georgina Teel.’

Sarah’s phone started ringing. She checked the screen. ‘I’m very sorry. It’s to do with the investigation. I’ll have to take it.’

She stepped out of the room. Julie sat looking straight ahead, entirely motionless and silent, as though she were suffering from some sort of severe sickness that was aggravated by movement.

Now Lizzie’s phone started to ring too, the ringtone music loud and angry – ‘Cleanin’ Out My Closet’. Could it have happened at a worse moment? She fumbled quickly to kill the call before the lyrics got any worse.

‘Sorry about that.’

Julie shook her head. ‘No. It doesn’t matter.’ She looked dazed still, hardly taking anything in. ‘Eminem, is it?’

Lizzie put her phone back in her bag, hoping Julie hadn’t seen the caller ID. ‘Yeah, it is.’

She’d known immediately who it was because she’d assigned the tune to her mother as a kind of joke. Clearly her sister had spoken with her and now she needed to do the full-blown panic-down-the-phone at Lizzie.

‘Take the call if you need to.’

‘No, it’s fine. I should have switched it off.’

Sarah came back in. ‘Lizzie, I’ve got to go. Can you finish here without me?’

Lizzie nodded. ‘Yes, of course. Not a problem. Just the statement, yes?’

‘Yes. One of my team’s on her way over. Elaine Lucas. Can you wait for her?’ Sarah took a step towards Julie. ‘That was a colleague on the phone – we’re arranging for you and Fergal to be moved into emergency accommodation.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘We think Brannon’s still a threat to you. The officer’s name is Elaine. She’s on her way over to discuss it with you. I’m really sorry, I have to go.’

‘It’s fine. Please go. I want you to find Skye. That’s all that matters now.’

The door shut behind Sarah. After a moment, Lizzie and Julie exchanged looks. Then a little smile broke out on Julie’s face. ‘You two don’t get on very well?’

Lizzie blushed, embarrassed that Julie had noticed something. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Dunno. You seem awkward together. She barely spoke to you.’

Lizzie’s voicemail pinged – a message from her mother to call, no doubt. She said, ‘Well, Detective Inspector Collins and I don’t usually work together. But she is a very good detective, you can be sure of that.’ And that was certainly true. Lizzie collected herself, put the statement on Julie’s lap and gave her a pen. ‘Could you sign here, please?’ Julie signed. ‘And here.’ She signed again. ‘Thank you.’

Julie spoke barely audibly. ‘Thanks for doing this.’

‘I wish I could do more.’

‘You tried to arrest him.’

‘That’s just my job.’

There was a tap at the door and a fat woman in a floral-print dress, bare legs and flat boat shoes came in. She looked nothing like Lizzie’s idea of a murder detective. Lizzie smiled but the woman seemed to barely notice her. She went straight over to Julie and offered her hand.

‘Hi, I’m Elaine. I’m a detective but mainly I’m a mother. I am so sorry for your loss.’

Julie promptly burst into tears. Elaine hugged her, patting her back with her fat hands and stroking her hair as if she were a child. In spite of the gap in age and circumstances, the two women looked as though they had known each other for years.

Elaine took charge of moving Julie and Fergal to the hotel. It was a good thing: Lizzie was beginning to feel exhausted. A film of sweat had broken out across her top lip. Her arm was aching. She popped another painkiller. She was fine. She just needed to go off duty and lie down.

She sat in the mortuary car park in her police car and called her mum. She had to do it. Delaying the call wouldn’t help. But as soon as her mum picked up, she felt even worse.

‘Lizzie, I’m coming up.’

‘No, Mum, thanks, really . . .’

‘I can’t bear to think of it. You’ve been stabbed, Lizzie! Stabbed! You’ve got to leave that bloody job.’

Lizzie held the phone away from her ear. If she’d waited until she got back to the office, she could have got someone to interrupt the call, pretend she was needed.

‘Mum. It sounds much worse than it was.’

‘Who’s looking after you?’

‘I don’t need looking after.’

‘Are you still seeing that man – the one who came to your dad’s funeral?’

‘I really can’t talk now . . .’

‘I can hear I’m annoying you. I know I annoy you. But I’m your mother. You have to understand. I love you. I really hate to think of you being in danger.’

‘I’m not in any danger.’

‘You don’t seem to have any life . . .’

‘Please. I’m fine. I wish I hadn’t told you now. I’ll come up and see you, I promise.’

She closed the call and rested her head on the steering wheel. She texted Kieran.

A bit under the weather. Any chance you could pick me up from the nick?