Marquis brought flowers. A huge bouquet. Michael tried not to laugh, but the lad noticed the expression on his face and went beet-red.
‘My mum said to bring them,’ he muttered. ‘I should have brought chocolate. Sorry.’ He placed them on the floor, and put a manila folder, which had been tucked under his arm, on the bedside table.
‘They’re very nice, Stephen. Thank you. I’ll get a vase in a minute.’ Michael put down his book.
‘How long do you have to stay home?’
‘Few more days, they say. It’s all a bit of a fuss over nothing. The stab wound looked worse than it was. Apparently a layer of subcutaneous fat prevented the glass from entering my abdominal cavity. Which is to say it’s lucky I like the odd bag of chips. It’s the concussion the doctors are worried about. They say I need to rest. I’m not going to argue. Anyway, enough about me. What’s the latest?’
‘Well, I know you hate anonymous tips, but seems they might be the key to putting Tanya Le Page away for a long time. It’s like the floodgates have opened. The Crimestoppers line is ringing off the hook. Nobody wants to give a name, but they’ve all got plenty to say. Looks like her dad started the operation. When he retired, she took over.’
‘So Fallaize was right about that much, eh? A family affair. We got the father in custody?’
Marquis shook his head. ‘Him and the wife took off. House looked like it had been ransacked—drawers open, clothes all over the place. They took their boat—it’s one of those bloody great yachts.’
‘What sort of a bloke leaves his daughter to take the rap like that, eh?’
‘Sort that lets her take over his international drug-smuggling business, I suppose. We’ll find him. We’ve requested all of his financial information, frozen his accounts—he can’t run for ever.’
‘What about Luke Carré?’
‘The lads from search and rescue said he was just sitting there when they found him, waiting for the boat to sink. They never recovered the diving gear. Presume he chucked it overboard.’
‘How did we miss the fact that he had a boat, eh? Assumed he didn’t have enough time to get to Sark on the ferry, but on his own boat, he could have done it.’
‘I did check actually—same time as I confirmed his alibi.’
‘Well, why didn’t you say anything?’
‘Because he doesn’t have a boat.’
‘It wasn’t his?’
‘It belongs to a woman called Helen Groves. Luke boarded with her when he came over to Guernsey for sixth form. He says she let him use it sometimes. We’ve been trying to get in touch with her, but we’ve not had any joy. She’s not reported it stolen. We’ll have to charge Luke with something by the end of tomorrow or he’s free to go. He’s obviously lying, but with nobody placing him at the scene, no forensic evidence, we’ve got nothing on him.’
‘You’ve explained it will help his case? If he talks to us now rather than waiting for us to figure out what the hell is going on? What does his advocate say?’
‘The States have appointed him one, but he refuses to speak to her. This might help, though. It just came back from the lab. Confirms our suspicions as to why we’ve not been able to trace the mysterious Rachel Carré.’ He handed Michael the folder. ‘The results from the DNA testing on the bones. Familial match to Luke Carré.’
‘It’s her?’
‘What nightmares do we unleash on our children, eh? We’ve got Tanya Le Page groomed to take over a drug-running business by her father, and Luke Carré . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t even want to think about what that child might have seen. What that must do to a person.’
‘You think he saw Reg kill his mother? The discovery of the bones triggered him into action all these years later?’
‘Let’s see if we can find out. Give us a hand, will you—bring me my shoes?’ Michael shifted his legs over the side of his bed.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m coming with you.’
‘You’re on sick leave—are you allowed?’
Michael gave him a look.
Marquis went to fetch his shoes.
Les Nicolles Prison was in a pocket of green in an otherwise industrial area of the parish of St Sampson’s, halfway between town and the bridge. The building was painted the same shade of buttermilk as the States’ houses on the island, and was similar in design to a housing estate, except for the six-foot wall topped with six further feet of barbed wire that surrounded the complex.
Michael was doing his best to ignore his aching head and the bone-numbing tiredness that had settled on him five minutes after getting into Marquis’s car. He was shaking, too, just a little, feeling cold despite the fact that the interview room they now sat in was obviously stiflingly hot. Marquis had little beads of sweat on his top lip.
‘You all right, sir?’ Marquis handed him a steaming-hot cup of tea and Michael took a grateful sip. It was thick as tar and scummy on top, but it still hit the spot.
‘Fine, Marquis. Fine,’ he lied. Resting at home, the wound in his side had barely bothered him. Sitting here, it felt sore and he wondered if he was pulling on the stitches. He repositioned himself, trying and failing to get comfortable in the hard plastic chair.
Marquis sat next to him. Put his own tea on the table.
‘It’s rough in here, isn’t it? Smells like boiled eggs. And I always wonder what those splatters on the walls are.’ He pointed to a dark brown patch in the corner.
Michael grimaced. ‘Best not to think about it. It’s supposed to make the suspect uncomfortable, not throw us off our game.’
‘You think it’s been done on purpose?’
‘I think someone probably shat up the wall, Marquis. But it’s not been repainted for a reason.’
The door behind them opened and Luke Carré was led into the room by a young female prison warden. He looked terrible. He’d had his hair cut, short and choppy. It didn’t suit him. Made him look severe. Like a criminal. He wore the prison-issue outfit—shapeless trousers and a wide-fitting short-sleeved T-shirt, both in the same shade of royal blue.
‘I’ll be outside.’ The warden smiled at them before she left. She was very pretty, Michael thought. Marquis had obviously noticed. He looked like he was about to burst into flames.
Luke sat, heavily, in the chair opposite Michael and Marquis. Eyes down. Shoulders slumped. Michael motioned to Marquis to start the tape.
‘Mr Carré, before we start, I just want to remind you that you’ve been given the opportunity to seek legal advice from an advocate. Could you please confirm for the tape that you do not wish for an advocate to be present during this interview?’
‘I don’t want one.’
‘Thank you. Now, if at any point you do want an advocate present or wish to speak to one, we’ll stop the interview. Do you understand, Mr Carré?’
‘Yes.’
Michael slid the file across the table. ‘Mr Carré, I’m very sorry to inform you that the bones found on Derrible Bay are those of your mother.
‘I’m sorry, son.’
Luke picked up the file. Flicked through it. ‘There must be some sort of mistake.’ He turned the pages back and forth.
‘The sample taken from the bones and the one we took from inside your cheek show the probability of maternity is over ninety-nine per cent.’
He shook his head. ‘My mother left.’
‘Did you ever see her leave the house, Mr Carré?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I . . . She left when I was at school. But I remember her packing a bag the night before. She was crying. I knew that she was going to leave. She put the bag under the bed. Told me not to say anything, that everything would be all right, but I knew it wouldn’t.’ His voice cracked.
‘But you never saw her walk out of the house? You said goodbye to her that morning, and when you got back from school, she’d gone? You don’t know what happened in between. Do you, Mr Carré?’
He shook his head.
‘There’s been no sign of your mother since she left Sark, Luke, not that we can find. No trace of a Rachel Carré. That’s probably not even her name, as it happens. We can’t find any record of your parents’ marriage, not at the Greffe, and your father had no paperwork in his house, no photographs.’ He pointed to the file. ‘Sadly, this here is the only proof she ever existed. Besides you, that is. I am sorry, son.’
Nothing.
‘Did you ever look for her, Luke?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? Surely as you got older, you must have had some questions, must have thought about tracking her down.’
Luke did not respond.
‘Unless maybe, deep down, you knew there was no point. The mind can do amazing things to protect us, Luke. It can block out traumatic memories and fill in the gaps with a version of events that are easier to process. I think you suspected all along that she was dead, didn’t you? And then, when her bones were discovered, your fears were confirmed. You went to confront your dad. Things got out of hand. Perhaps you didn’t mean to kill him, eh? You confess, get yourself a good advocate—maybe you’d be looking at manslaughter. Whole different ballgame.’
Luke looked at him. ‘I don’t have any false memories, Chief Inspector. My mother packed a bag. She left.’
Michael made it as far as the corridor outside the interview room before he had to stop. He sat where he was, on the floor, back against the wall.
‘Sir, are you OK? What is it? Shall I call a doctor?’
Michael shook his head. ‘I’m old and broken, Marquis. Nothing a doctor can do about that.’ He patted the floor next to him.
‘He seemed genuinely shocked, didn’t he, that they were his mother’s remains.’
‘He did,’ Marquis agreed, sitting next to him. ‘Is it true what you said, about blocking things out? You think he might have seen his mum murdered and forgotten?’
Michael shook his head. ‘I really don’t know. I’ve read about it happening.’
‘Luke was there in Sark that morning. The kid saw him.’
‘Kid saw someone in diving gear that Jenny Dorey says she saw on his boat but was never recovered. That’s not going to stand up in court.’ Michael paused. ‘But say he was there and he killed his dad. Why?’
‘Either he’s lying about his mum and he did it for revenge or, I don’t know, money maybe? Reg had plenty and left no will—it was all going to Luke.’
‘He doesn’t strike me as the type. Reg was already sending him a good amount every month—if he needed more, why wouldn’t Luke just ask him? And Reg was getting old; he was ill—why risk a life in prison for an inheritance that would be coming your way in the not-too-distant future?’
‘Maybe he didn’t do it.’
‘Then why isn’t he talking to an advocate, preparing a defence?’
‘Could be protecting someone else.’
‘Have to be someone he cared about a great deal.’
‘The wife?’
‘She’s left him. He’s got no kids. His mum’s dead.’
The prison warden approached them.
‘Good timing, love. Can you check something for me?’
‘You all right? You can sit in one of the interview rooms if you want. Or the foyer at the front desk.’
‘I just need a minute right here; then I’ll be out of your hair. Can you just check if Mr Carré has had any visitors?’
She shook her head. ‘He hasn’t. No one apart from the advocate the court appointed and she didn’t stay long. It’s a bit sad.’
‘What about phone calls?’
‘I’ll have to check on that. Give me a min.’ She flashed Marquis another smile and he flushed crimson again.
‘You know her?’ Michael asked.
‘Went to school with her, sir. Name’s Kayleigh.’
‘Seems nice.’
Marquis cleared his throat. ‘She is, yeah. I see her at the pub sometimes. Same social group, like.’
Kayleigh returned. ‘He’s made three calls, all to the same number.’
‘You got it there?’
‘Yep. House in St Peter’s. Belongs to a Helen Groves.’