eighteen

“What am I going to do?”

“Drink this.” I handed Monica a cup of sweetened tea. Her shoulders and knees trembled. She complained that she was cold. Either she was in shock or eligible for a best actress award.

“What did the police say exactly?”

She snatched at her tea, helpless. The lines on her face seemed more prominent than they had the day before.

“They said that the judge’s death was suspicious and that they needed to ask me more questions.”

“What did they say about you leaving?”

Heat spread over her neck flushing it deep red. She hung her head. I thought it a guilty gesture. “Apparently, I should have stayed where they could find me.”

“They think you ran?”

“It would seem so.”

“Did you?”

Her head shot up. “No.”

“Okay, let’s take it from the beginning.”

The nervous tic above her eye returned. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Yes.” No damn question about it. “You said you found the judge dead in bed.”

“That’s right.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where was Mrs. Hawkes?”

“They slept in separate rooms, had done for years. The judge snores.”

“Did he leave a suicide note?”

My mother’s features crumpled once more. “No. It was another indicator of something more suspicious, according to that ghastly woman, Niven.”

“Not everyone leaves suicide notes,” I pointed out reasonably.

“I tried to tell her that the first time.”

Now I was confused. “You’ve talked to Niven before?”

“Yes.”

I realised I’d made a classic mistake. I hadn’t asked for a detailed account of events. “Talk me through what happened from when you found the judge.”

“I called an ambulance.”

“You didn’t rip off the bag?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I was too afraid and I knew he was dead.”

“How did you know? You checked?”

“I felt his pulse. There wasn’t one.”

“Then what?”

“The ambulance arrived.”

“Quickly?”

“I think so.”

“So what did you do in the meantime?”

“I woke Mrs. Hawkes and told her what happened.”

“What was her reaction?”

“The obvious one.”

“She was distressed?”

“Very. She relies on him for everything. I helped her to his room. Mrs. Hawkes is virtually blind, macular degeneration.”

Alarm flashed through me. Something didn’t stack. “Monica, I have to ask you this, but why did you take off like that?”

Her eyes widened with indignation. “I already told you.”

“You said Mrs. Hawkes is partially sighted. Why would you leave her, particularly at this difficult time? Doesn’t she need looking after?”

Her cheeks flushed the same colour as her neck. “As soon as the family heard, they arrived en masse: two daughters, two sons-in-law, as well as the Hawkes’s son. More than enough to look after her,” she said, obviously narked. “I was told I could take time off.”

But not beat it. “And you talked to the police before you left?”

She let out an irritable sigh and spoke slowly, with precision, as if I were difficult or stupid, or both. Instantly reminded of my father in one of his spiky moods, I did my best to kill the memory. “Police officers were called to the scene. When they arrived they asked me questions.”

“Okay,” I said, striving to keep an open mind. “Let’s take it back a step, the ambulance arrived.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t contact the police?”

She shook her head. “The ambulance men did. They told us it was standard procedure with sudden deaths. Even terminally ill patients who die at home are scrutinised by the police.”

“How many police officers arrived?”

“Two in uniform, a man and a woman. I forget their names,” she frowned. “They were both very nice. They took notes.”

“You gave an account?”

“Yes.”

“And they were satisfied?”

Her face clouded. “They had concerns.”

“No suicide note and the fact it was a judge who’d died.”

She looked at me as if astounded to have bred a daughter who could follow such a garbled narrative and have an informed opinion. I didn’t enlighten her that my smattering of knowledge was based solely on my own recent run-in with the police. As for the judge, I bet there were a few from his past who wished him dead. I put it to Monica.

“He’s been retired for ten years. Is it likely?”

“No statute of limitation on revenge. He had no personal enemies?”

Perched on the edge of the seat, leaning forward, all bones and angles, Monica stared entranced, as if I were a soothsayer. “Of course not.”

“Did you mention the judge’s cancer diagnosis to the police?”

“I did and Mrs. Hawkes backed it up. We all assumed that it was the reason for him taking his own life. He was an immensely proud and capable man. Dying bit by bit was an intolerable prospect for him.”

“But the police didn’t rate it as a reason?”

She let out another bewildered sigh. “I don’t know what they thought. They told us they were calling it in to CID. The male officer seemed to be on the phone for ages. When he came back he said two detectives were on their way.”

“And that’s when you first encountered Niven and Holst?”

“Yes.”

“You spoke to them?”

“Yes.”

“You gave a witness statement?”

She frowned. Her eyes fluttered with confusion. “I think so.”

“Did you sign anything?”

“I, I don’t remember.” Deathly pale, she pressed a hand to her chest and turned her wide-eyed gaze on me. It was easy to understand her confusion and dismay.

“It’s all right,” I said, trying to soothe her while wondering about the veracity of her story. Was this why she’d come to me? If so, what had I stumbled into?

“When are you expected at the police station?”

“Friday morning, ten thirty. They muttered something about me giving a video statement.”

“I’ll cancel my appointments.”

“No,” she burst out. “I don’t expect you to,” she said, more measured. “It’s my mess to clear up.”

The knot of anxiety returned. A bad choice of words, perhaps, or had she given something away?

“I can catch a train to Birmingham,” she said, bullish.

“It will take you at least forty minutes and then you’ll have to cab it. Monica, I’ll drive you there. I insist. Niven is not someone to meddle with.” Ambitious, a woman who never took prisoners, I genuinely feared for anyone, let alone my own mother, becoming entangled in her battle lines. Niven had been born with a stick in her hand for the sole purpose of shaking it at people.

“How do you know each other?” Monica said.

I flicked a tight smile. “Long story.”