‘Can you confirm that you are Helen Rachel Groves of Westwood, Rue des Vinaires, St Peter’s?’
Michael and Marquis sat across from Helen Groves and her advocate, Jim Bradford, an earnest and capable man in his late thirties, in the stuffy, windowless interview room at Guernsey Police Station. Advocate Bradford had loosened his tie, and both Marquis and Michael had their shirtsleeves rolled up, but Helen Groves sat stiff and straight, hands clasped together on the desk.
‘Yes.’
‘And can you also confirm that between the years of 1979 and 1989, you went by the name of Rachel Carré and lived at the Cottage, Rue du Fort, Sark?’
‘It was never my name.’ She spoke quietly.
‘Can you explain?’
‘I was always Helen Groves. Reg and I never married. People just assumed we had.’
‘And Rachel?’
She shrugged. ‘My middle name. I always preferred it. Used it for the first time when I visited Sark as a kid.’ She paused. ‘Not a kid. I was eighteen. It was when I met Reg.’
‘What were you looking for at the cottage this morning, Ms Groves?’
Michael placed an evidence bag in front of Helen, containing a yellowed piece of paper, the writing on it faded, barely legible in places.
‘Were you looking for this?’
She nodded.
‘Can you tell me what it is, Ms Groves?’
‘It’s a letter.’
‘From whom?’
‘From a woman called Catherine.’
‘And why did this woman called Catherine write to you, Ms Groves?’
‘She wanted money.’
‘What for?’
A deep breath.
‘What for, Ms Groves?’
‘She gave him to me.’ Her voice was strong and clear now.
Michael held the letter at arm’s length, squinted at the words. ‘“You took him from me. You need to pay.”’ He looked at Helen.
‘I didn’t take him. It wasn’t like that.’
‘Why don’t you tell us what it was like?’
She looked at her advocate. He nodded.
‘I wasn’t myself. I was depressed. I’d had a miscarriage a few months previously. I was only with Reg because I was pregnant—we both knew that. After I lost the baby . . . he wanted me to stay. I did for a few months. But there was nothing for me there. There’s nothing for anyone there. I left in the summer. Went back to my father’s house.’
‘He was a vicar.’ Michael scanned his notes.
‘He was. But sadly lacking in the values he preached. He didn’t believe that I’d lost the baby, and even if he had . . . The church ran a charity—the Christian Pregnancy Advice Centre. He thought I did everything to spite him.’
‘And this advice centre was where you met Catherine, Luke’s mother?’
‘She gave him to me. I’m his mother.’
‘She just handed him over?’ Marquis looked incredulous.
Helen’s stare was cold and hard. ‘She was going to have him adopted. She didn’t want him. I did.’
Marquis shifted in his seat. Michael’s throat was dry. He needed to lie down. He took a sip of water. Pointed at the letter. ‘But then this arrived.’
‘Yes. Five years later. You only read the beginning. She wanted money. She asked for three thousand pounds.’
‘And you paid her?’
Helen nodded.
‘How did you go about finding that sort of money?’
‘I asked Reg.’
‘He knew that Luke wasn’t yours?’
‘Not at first. Not until this letter came.’
‘And how did he react when you told him what you’d done?’
‘He was . . . very upset. Devastated. But I knew Reg loved Luke. I knew he’d do anything to protect him. And he did. He got the money.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Anything to do with what we’ve recently discovered about the Le Page family business?’
She shrugged. ‘He told me he’d won it playing cards. I knew he was lying.’
‘This wasn’t the end of it, was it, Ms Groves? There were more letters asking for money.’ He placed two more evidence bags on the desk. ‘And then this.’ He placed the last of the four letters they’d found in front of her.
Michael summarised the contents. ‘Catherine said she was coming to Sark. Said she wanted to see Luke. That she regretted giving him up.’
‘You see,’ Helen said, an edge to her voice now. ‘She admitted it herself—she gave him up.’
‘But you never made any of this legal, Ms Groves! You must have known that you couldn’t just take someone else’s baby and be done with it. There’s a process. You say you were depressed when all this happened, but what about this young woman, eh? What state was she in? Alone, confused, just had a baby. She needed proper help, proper counselling, not to hand him over to a stranger!’
‘It wasn’t like that! She was only interested in money. When she came—’ She stopped abruptly.
‘What happened when she came? What happened when Luke’s mother came to Sark?’
Helen rubbed her eyes. ‘She was very thin. I hardly recognised her. And she was dirty. I remember looking at her filthy fingernails and her hair—it can’t have been washed for weeks. The thought of her touching Luke . . .’ She swallowed. ‘She’d been in and out of temporary housing, she said. Homeless for a while. Blamed it all on giving up Luke. Said she wanted to see him. I explained he was at school. She said she would wait until he came home, that he deserved to know who his real mother was. She was disappointed, I could see, that our house was so small. She was looking around, sizing the place up, trying to figure out how much more she could ask us for.’
‘She asked you for more money?’
Helen nodded. ‘Said she’d go quietly if we let her see Luke and gave her ten thousand pounds.’
Marquis let out a low whistle.
‘She wouldn’t have. She would never have stopped, you understand?’
‘What happened, Ms Groves?’
‘It was Reg. He lost it. He used to get so angry. He’d been drinking—it was only ever when he’d been drinking. Ever since I showed him that first letter, ever since he found out that Luke . . . Luke wasn’t his . . . he was different. He came at her. She fought back. He fell, and she . . . she was vicious. I thought . . . I really thought she was going to kill him. I’d been ironing. It was the first thing I picked up. I hit her. I had no idea it would kill her. I was just trying to make her stop.’
Advocate Bradford ran his hand through his hair, undid another shirt button. ‘I’m going to suggest, at this point, that my client be allowed a break and a chance to confer with counsel.’
Michael thought perhaps it was Advocate Bradford who needed the break. He was doing an excellent job of acting like this wasn’t already the biggest case of his career, but the slight shaking of his pen as he lay it on the yellow legal pad said otherwise.
‘You want to stop, Ms Groves?’ Marquis asked.
‘No. It’s been twenty-seven years. I just want to get it over with.’
‘So what happened after you realised you’d killed Catherine? Why didn’t you go to the police? You had a good case for self-defence.’
‘And have you take Luke away from me? It was Reg that sorted everything. I don’t really remember much of what happened after . . . after . . . There was so much blood. And Luke.’
‘I thought you said he was at school?’
‘He came home. Not long after it happened. Reg had gone out the back. I don’t know what he was doing. Panicking. Looking for something to start . . . cleaning up. I was behind the counter. Numb. Couldn’t move. Then I heard him. His little footsteps. He was terrified. We told him she was a bad lady. That he must never say a word to anyone. I don’t think he ever did.’
‘So you killed her and Reg hid her body in a cave. She was no longer a threat to you or your family. Why did you leave?’
‘He made me.’
‘Who did?’
‘Reg. Said I was a danger to Luke, to myself. Said I had to go, for everyone’s sake, and that if I didn’t, he’d go to the police, tell them everything. It was his way of punishing me for what I’d done,’ she said bitterly.
‘You don’t think he was genuinely worried, Ms Groves?’
‘About what?’ The thought did not seem to have occurred to her.
‘That you might be a danger to Luke.’
‘I’d never have harmed him. Reg knew that.’
‘You stayed in touch with Luke—did Reg know that he came to live with you?’
She nodded. ‘When he moved to Guernsey for school, he asked if he could. Reg said no. They had a terrible fight. Eventually Reg realised he couldn’t stop Luke from being with me.’ She looked a little triumphant at that.
‘The bones being discovered in the cave. Must have had you worried.’
She looked down. Twisted her hands.
‘As I’m sure you’re aware, Ms Groves, the prime suspect in Reg Carré’s murder is your . . . is Luke. We’ve only got circumstantial evidence so far, but—’
‘Luke had nothing to do with it.’
Advocate Bradford had aged five years in five minutes. ‘Ms Groves, I have to advise—’
She held up her hand to stop him. ‘The night that Catherine’s remains were found, that constable had been in the pub, telling everyone about it. There were always rumours about my disappearance. I suppose people presumed it was me in that cave. One of Luke’s friends phoned him to break the news. Luke called me. I took the boat over at first light.’
‘You went to see Reg?’
She nodded.
‘Why?’
‘His mind had been wandering, I wanted to make sure he knew to keep quiet, that as long as no one said anything, it would all be fine. When I saw him, he was very distressed. He was insisting that we told Luke everything. Said Luke had a right to know. I went to the bathroom, to think. Luke’s diving gear was hanging over the shower rail. He’d been over a couple of days earlier—he often left his stuff at Reg’s. His bag was there too. His fishing knife inside it. I just . . . It was my only option, don’t you see? I put on the wet suit, the mask, to protect my clothes, my hair and . . . afterwards, I changed, went back to the boat, but it wouldn’t start. I had to take the ferry back. I called Luke that evening, asked him if he could go over and fetch the boat for me.’
‘He knew that you killed the man he believed to be his father?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Luke has done nothing wrong—you have to believe me. He must have suspected, when he saw his things on the boat, but he didn’t know for sure.’
‘And what about Reg? What did he do wrong, eh?’
‘He was going to tell Luke that I wasn’t his mother. Reg took my son away from me once. I wasn’t going to let him do it again.’