‘He was the father of her unborn child?’ exclaimed Carson, the relatively new father, in thinly disguised disgust. ‘So what happened, do you think? She demanded he leave his wife? He refused and she killed him? Classic woman scorned stuff?’ he went on without waiting for an answer, with a growing recognition that he might well have succeeded in cracking the case in that very moment.
‘It’s possible. A little Mills and Boon, perhaps,’ offered Ottey.
‘A little simplistic, perhaps, but possible,’ added Cross, doubtfully.
‘We should charge her. We have the murder weapon, found in her possession, blood traces in the holdall. I’ll get onto the CPS,’ said Carson enthusiastically. Then he saw an all too familiar look on Cross’s face. ‘What is it, George?’ he sighed.
‘I was just reflecting on the fact that you had the identical urgency for charging Oleg Dimitriev for the same crime, less than twenty-four hours ago,’ Cross replied.
‘I beg your pardon?’ came the indignant reply.
‘Am I wrong in that conclusion? As you know, I sometimes have difficulty in reading people’s attitudes,’ Cross informed him.
‘Why shouldn’t we charge?’ asked Carson.
‘I just think it would be wise to wait till we have the results of all the tests,’ Cross told him.
‘Fine. We’ll wait till they’re back, then we’ll charge. I think it’s an unnecessary delay but I’ll leave it to your better judgement,’ he replied and turned towards the door.
‘But there remains the question of the three cups,’ said Cross, stopping the DCI in his tracks.
‘The suspect said she got one out because she thought Torquil had returned,’ Carson said.
Cross and Ottey said nothing, giving him time to realise his mistake.
‘Except, of course, if she did kill him, there was no one to let in.’
‘Exactly. So why were there three cups out in the kitchen upstairs?’ asked Cross.
*
‘No comment,’ was Persephone’s response to that same question when put to her in the interview room.
‘Was there someone else there?’ Cross went on.
‘No comment.’
‘You were making coffee for Ed. Someone arrived, you got out a third cup. That’s what you’ve told us.’
She said nothing.
‘You said you thought it was Torquil. But that’s not true, is it?’ Cross went on.
‘No comment.’
‘We know Ed didn’t let anyone in, because the door release isn’t functional. No, someone had to go down the stairs to the ground floor and open the door. What’s your job at the bookshop, Persephone?’ Cross asked patiently.
‘I run the new books department,’ she replied.
‘And what duties does that entail?’ he asked.
‘I answer the phones,’ she replied.
‘You answer the phones. All the calls come through you and your receptionist’s phone on your desk,’ he went on.
‘I’m not a receptionist,’ she snapped.
‘No, you’re much more than that. I know. But you’re also responsible for answering the front door, are you not? On account of your proximity to it. Being located, as you are, on the ground floor, with everyone else on the floors above you. But that’s part of your job. To answer the door. Your door release isn’t currently working either, is it? Part of the same problem. So you open the door in person. What I’m trying to get at here is that Ed didn’t open the door, as a general rule. Because he knew someone else would. Namely you. And that’s what you did on the night of his death, did you not? You went up to make coffee when you heard the front door buzz, and you went down to open it. Isn’t that correct?’ Cross asked.
‘No comment.’
‘Who did you let in, Persephone?’
‘Who said I let anyone in? Just a minute ago you were saying I didn’t and had killed Ed. Make up your mind,’ she retorted.
Cross made out that he was admitting defeat as he organised his files and seemed to be about to leave. Then he looked back up at her.
‘Here’s another thing I don’t understand. Another thing maybe you can help me with. Why were you there so late that night?’ he asked.
‘No comment.’
‘What are your normal working hours?’
‘No comment.’
‘Well, I can answer that for you. I already know from Sam that you work a strict ten to six day. Stricter, it has to be said, in observance of your finishing time rather than your starting time, according to Sam,’ Cross said. She couldn’t help but sigh at the source of this information. ‘So why did you stay on so late that night?’
‘No comment.’
‘Were you helping Ed with something, perhaps? Helping him with some work? Not just simply providing him with some refreshment? Was that it?’ Cross asked.
‘No comment.’
‘But, then again, he was only there at that time because he was waiting for his father’s return from London,’ Cross mused. ‘So why was it?’
‘No comment.’
‘Was it because you knew someone was coming to meet Ed and you wanted to be there?’
‘No comment.’
‘Someone you’d arranged to come over. Someone Ed himself wasn’t expecting. Someone you’d called earlier in the day to tell them to come over later?’ asked Cross.
‘No comment.’