The Hopewell Clinic was in a nondescript house in Bedminster, situated among residential houses. There had been a shipbuilding yard there in the nineteenth century as the river Malago ran through – a tributary of the River Avon. Cross liked the fact that its two main streets, East and West Street, were also indications that it was probably an early Roman settlement. It, like neighbouring Southville, had suffered much damage during the war. Not quite as much damage, aesthetically, thought Cross, as the post-war planners had managed to wreak upon the area in the following decades. Inside the clinic it was very functional; not clinical, but slightly institutional. Cross wondered whether there was a balance to be reached in the way the interior came across to the residents. Not too forbidding and uncomfortable, with an element of encouragement for them to stay there for the duration. But not so comfortable that it detracted from the fact that they were there for a serious business – recovery.
There was a small receptionist’s desk. Its occupant disappeared into the front office to get the manager, who didn’t look at all happy that there were two police officers in her reception when she appeared. Her name was Billie Williams.
‘Simon can’t have any visitors at the moment,’ she started by saying.
‘I’m afraid we need to interview him as a matter of urgency,’ said Ottey.
‘Like I said, that’s just not possible at the moment,’ the manager insisted.
‘We can get a warrant if you’d prefer,’ said Ottey. ‘But once we’ve done that we would take him down to the station for questioning and keep him for at least twenty-four hours. Surely a conversation with him here, in familiar surroundings, would be preferable and better for his recovery?’
‘Can’t it wait? It’s not as if he’s going anywhere, and I’m more than happy to let you know when he’s due to leave.’
‘This is a murder enquiry. It can’t wait,’ said Cross.
‘Murder? Is he a suspect?’ she asked, slightly alarmed.
‘We can only tell you that we need to speak to him,’ Ottey said.
‘Did you know Felicity Wilson?’ asked Cross.
‘Yes. She was a patient here. Did her final recovery here…’ The words faded as if she was thinking that in the circumstances of Flick’s death, perhaps that wasn’t the most appropriate word.
‘“Final”? So she’d been with you a few times?’
‘Yes, the first couple weren’t successful. She called herself a frequent flyer and thought we should have a loyalty card scheme. She was funny, an easy patient.’
‘This is an enquiry into her death and we need to speak to Simon,’ said Cross. ‘I would argue that as her mother seems to think her death was in some way a catalyst for this particular spell in rehab for him, he might be more than glad to help.’
‘Let me speak to him,’ she replied, disappearing.
*
A few minutes later they were sitting with Simon in the meeting room. It was a little odd, as there was a horseshoe of chairs facing each other, which they sat in to talk. It was like being in an AA meeting, Ottey imagined – albeit a badly attended one.
Simon was nervy, dressed in navy tracksuit bottoms and a white T-shirt. He looked like he was in some sort of young offenders’ institutional clothing. He stared at the floor, constantly jogging his legs and up down quickly, while he twiddled a piece of paper between his fingers into a straw shape. He was difficult to read for Cross, as there were so many things going on in this young man’s life. Fragile from recent withdrawal; traumatised, presumably, by the death of his girlfriend. It transpired that he was troubled by the fact of now being a single father and worried that his current situation might mean his child would go into care.
‘How are you doing, Simon?’ Ottey asked.
‘Yeah, okay. They think I’m doing okay,’ he replied, staccato-like.
‘Good. I was thinking more in terms of Flick, though. How are you coping?’ she said.
‘Yeah. Okay. Sad. Really sad. But okay,’ he muttered.
‘What do you think about her dying like that?’ she asked.
‘Sad. Terrible.’
‘Were you surprised?’ she said.
‘Doesn’t make any sense. She wouldn’t see me because I was using. Took out a restraining order. Wouldn’t let me see my daughter and then she does that.’ He shook his head as if hearing it out loud somehow made it worse.
‘Does what?’ Ottey prodded gently.
‘Kills herself.’
‘You think she killed herself?’
‘Well, that’s what they’re saying.’
‘Is that what you think happened?’
‘I don’t know. What else could it be? But it doesn’t make any sense.’
‘You keep saying that.’ Cross spoke for the first time.
Simon looked at him as if he’d forgotten he was in the room. ‘She was clean,’ he remonstrated. ‘She was happy. The only thing that made her unhappy was me; let’s face it. And now I’m in here trying to get straight and it’s all too late.’
‘Why did she take out a restraining order?’ asked Cross.
‘Why d’you think? She didn’t want me around. Didn’t want to see me. Didn’t want me to see Daisy,’ he said, as if pointing out the obvious to someone who wasn’t paying attention.
‘But why a restraining order? Why did she have to go to court?’ Cross insisted.
‘I was always stoned. Messed up. I wouldn’t listen,’ Simon said.
‘Did you see her the day she died?’ asked Cross.
‘No,’ he replied quietly.
‘But you were there. You slept in the shop doorway opposite the night before.’
‘No. I mean yes, I was, but no, I didn’t.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Ottey jumped in. ‘Because here’s what I think happened. You went in to see her and you persuaded her to shoot up with you. It was a tragic accident.’
‘What? No! Why would she take drugs with me? Why would I want her to do that?’ he asked.
‘Because you couldn’t stop,’ said Ottey.
‘But she had. She’d done it. Do you have any idea how difficult that is? Look at me. I’m not stupid. I know how I look. Like a mess. Like I’m barely keeping it together in here. Why would I want to take that away from her? I loved her.’
‘Okay, let me ask you another question. Were you in possession of any drugs the day she died? Truth now,’ Ottey said.
‘Of course I was.’
‘What, exactly?’ she asked.
‘Bit of grass and smack – heroin,’ he replied. ‘Did I give her any? No. Anyway, I didn’t have enough to kill her.’
‘Heroin?’ asked Ottey.
‘Yeah. Why did you say “shoot up”?’
‘Sorry, I meant inject,’ she replied.
‘Oh right, but that wasn’t our thing. We always smoked or chased. Never did needles.’ He suddenly shook, as if he was shaking off a shiver that had enveloped him.
‘Really? Never?’ asked Cross.
‘Swear to God,’ he said, pulling up his sleeves to show his arms and make his point. ‘None of this makes any sense. Ask Billie, the lady who let you in. She worked with Flick for months. Her doing this doesn’t make any sense,’ he repeated.
Ottey now looked at Cross. He knew what this meant. She wanted to move this on and tell Simon that this was a murder enquiry. He nodded. Bombshells like this were generally handled with more finesse by Ottey than by him; he was still prone to making the odd mistake now and then. It also gave him the opportunity to observe Simon’s reaction.
‘Simon, there is no easy way of saying this, but we no longer think Flick killed herself,’ she said quietly.
‘That would make more sense,’ he said, nodding his head gently in agreement. Then he looked up quickly. ‘Wait a minute, if she didn’t…’
‘This is now a murder enquiry,’ said Cross bluntly.
Ottey looked at him. She hadn’t finished. Seriously. Why did he always do this? Why didn’t he ever learn?
This really upset the young man. He grasped his head tightly with both hands and started swaying in his chair. Then he got up and began pacing around the room. He suddenly stopped and turned to face them.
‘Is that why you’re here? You think I did it? Do you think I did it?’ he asked.
In situations like this detectives never give anything away, in part because at this stage they don’t actually know what they think. But even if they had concluded that Simon was a suspect, they would still say nothing, so that he didn’t put up his guard. Things changed in an interview when someone thought the police suspected them. It was often better not to let them think or know that, so they were a little more free with what they said.
‘Why would I do that?’ Simon continued. ‘I wanted her back. I wanted us to be a family, the three of us. Why would I do that? How would I do that? Was she attacked?’
‘Why would you think she might’ve been attacked?’ asked Cross.
‘Because she would never have allowed someone to… How did it happen?’
‘That, we don’t know,’ said Ottey.
‘This is so messed up. Someone killed her? Who would want to kill her? Why?’ he said.
‘All pertinent questions,’ said Cross.
‘Do you know anyone who would want to kill her?’ Ottey asked.
‘No, of course not,’ he protested.
‘Did she owe anyone money? Her dealer perhaps?’ asked Ottey.
‘No, man, she was clean. Our dealer from back then is in the nick.’
He suddenly looked really pained, as if a thought had crossed his mind with searing ferocity.
‘If I’d got clean, if I’d stayed clean, none of this would’ve happened. She’d still be here,’ he said.
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Ottey.
‘Because I would’ve been there, wouldn’t I? Whoever did it wouldn’t have been able to. I’d have stopped them.’ He stood up and started hitting the sides of his head with the base of his hands, really hard, with resounding, sickening thuds. ‘You idiot, you fucking idiot!’ he kept repeating.
The door opened and Billie, the manager, walked in quickly, with no drama and not so much as a look in the direction of the two detectives. She grabbed Simon’s hands.
‘Stop this now, Simon. Please stop this,’ she said firmly.
She managed to pull his hands down to his sides. Cross expected her to ask them to leave but instead, when she had calmed Simon and sat him back down, she turned and left the room. Cross and Ottey sat there for a while in silence.
‘Sandra said someone had done this but I didn’t believe her. It just didn’t seem possible. I thought she was just upset. How did she take it when you told her?’ Simon asked.
Cross thought this was interesting. That in his emotional turmoil this boy – because he was a boy really – could think about someone else’s feelings.
‘She was upset, obviously,’ said Ottey.
‘None of this makes any sense,’ Simon said again.
‘So you keep saying,’ said Cross. ‘And at the moment none of it does. But it will. We will find out what happened here, however senseless.’
‘Do you know Brian?’ asked Ottey.
‘Of course I do.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I couldn’t get to her without going through him. He’s a pain in the arse. I swear he used to sit behind the curtains in his window, waiting for me to turn up so he could come out of his flat and tell me to piss off.’
‘So you didn’t get along?’ Ottey asked.
‘Anyone would think he was her boyfriend, not me. He was so, what’s the word… possessive.’
‘But you weren’t her boyfriend anymore, were you?’ Cross pointed out.
‘That’s true, but he didn’t help. Kept telling her she needed to get me out of her life for good. But that was never going to happen.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Daisy.’
‘So Flick didn’t want you out of your life?’ Ottey asked.
‘No, she wanted me to get clean so I could be a proper father.’
‘Then you and Flick could get back together,’ Cross suggested.
‘No chance.’ He ruminated over this for a few seconds when something suddenly occurred to him. ‘You don’t think it could be him, do you? Have you spoken to Brian?’
‘Not yet.’
‘He’s a nurse at the Infirmary, you know? Intensive care. You don’t think…’ He thought for a moment before he continued. ‘She trusted him. You don’t think he could’ve done it, do you? But why would he?’ he said, answering his own question. He seemed to get energised by this line of thinking. ‘Maybe he was trying to help, you know? She was so stressed by this tribunal thing.’
‘And you,’ Cross pointed out.
‘And me,’ he agreed quietly. ‘But maybe he tried to help and killed her by mistake.’
*
Ottey started the car and reversed. ‘What did you think? Of him?’
‘I think he’s an emotional and physical mess at present,’ said Cross.
‘Do you think he might have done it?’ she asked, knowing full well he wouldn’t answer such a question. But she couldn’t help it. It was almost as if she just wanted to hear herself ask it out loud. ‘He was very distraught. If it was an act, it was very convincing.’
‘He’s an addict,’ Cross replied. ‘They’re always convincing, in my experience. It comes with practice. We need to find this Brian.’
‘I thought we weren’t allowed to state the obvious.’
Cross didn’t reply, which made Ottey feel a little mean. But he wasn’t offended in the least. He was already going back over their interview with Simon, word by word.