Dead Man’s Daughter. Roz Watkins
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his seat, eyes flicking to and fro, mouth open ready to intervene if Rachel started to say anything too rash.
‘Phil’s drawings and sculptures – they were interesting.’ I pictured the carved girl with her heart missing. That one had seared its way into my brain. ‘They’re very . . . well, dark?’
There was something there. A crackle in the air. Something around the artwork. ‘Are they? I didn’t really think about it.’
The lawyer deflated a little. He hadn’t noticed.
‘Had Phil always been interested in art?’ I asked.
A tiny intake of breath. ‘I suppose so. Only as a hobby.’
‘And you had some mental health problems a few years ago?’
She relaxed – a slight shifting downwards of her weight, the energy that seemed to spin around her dropping a little. ‘After Jess died? I was upset but I wouldn’t say I had mental health problems. Who told you that? I had an infection and they couldn’t get to the bottom of it. And I was worried about Abbie. How could I not be worried when she could have died too?’
‘So, did everything improve once Abbie had the transplant?’
There it was again. She tapped her fingers repeatedly against her knee. Then spoke fast and somewhat mechanically, speedy- robot style. ‘Yes. I mean, we’re still worried about her, but it’s much better.’
‘Except for the night terrors? That must have been upsetting for Phil, particularly?’
‘Well, for both of us.’
‘What was she scared of?’
‘I don’t know, nothing in particular. She was just getting scared in the night. It happens.’ I could hear the dryness of her mouth. She hadn’t mentioned the dreams about Phil, or the theory about Abbie’s heart. Maybe she was embarrassed. Thought it would sound crazy.
‘But she was scared of Phil, wasn’t she?’ I said.
Rachel stood up. ‘I have to get back to Abbie.’
‘Why did you think she was having such bad dreams?’
‘I don’t know! She’d had a heart transplant! It’s scary. And Phil stupidly told her a horrible story about our house.’
On the face of it, this had absolutely nothing to do with Phil Thornton’s death. But if Karen Jenkins had been telling the truth, then Rachel was covering up the fact that Abbie had been terrified of her father. I decided not to mention what Karen had said, and see what more she came out with. The lawyer narrowed his eyes as if wondering what I was up to. Something was afoot.
‘But it was bad enough for you to take her to see a psychiatrist?’ I said.
She spun round and looked at her lawyer. My pulse whipped high. This was something.
A sharp knock on the door and Jai poked his head round. ‘Can I have a quick word?’
Rachel jumped up. ‘Can I go?’
Jai gave a rapid shake of his head.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll only be a minute or two.’ I stepped outside the interview room and pulled the door closed. ‘What have you found?’
Jai kept his voice low. ‘We got the ANPR data. She drove towards their house at seven thirty, not nine thirty like she said. Then she left again, and came back when you were there.’
‘Did the CCTV actually show that she went to the house?’
‘There’s no CCTV to the house. But she went along the main road just before the turning to her house.’
‘So, in theory she could have driven past and gone somewhere else, and then come back?’
‘But why lie about that?’ Jai said. ‘She told us she came straight from her mother’s house.’
‘I know, I know. She’s dodgy as hell. What about in the night? Have we found her on the CCTV then? Around the time of death.’
‘No. She could have avoided it then. Gone round the lane off the main road.’
‘But then why not avoid it later?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t avoid it deliberately.’
I pushed the door open and walked back into the interview room. Rachel was still standing. I looked towards her chair. ‘You’d better sit down.’
She glanced at me and then at her lawyer, who nodded. She sat down.
The room seemed very quiet, its air thick.
‘We’ve got the CCTV footage,’ I said. ‘You need to tell us the truth now. You went back home earlier this morning, didn’t you?’
A muscle below her eye fluttered, and she gripped her hands together. ‘What? No. What have you seen on the CCTV?’
‘How about you tell us what happened?’
The lawyer shifted as if to put himself between me and Rachel. ‘Could we have a moment?’ he said.
Rachel spun round to face her lawyer. ‘It’s fine. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I must have forgotten. I nipped into Eldercliffe to go to the shops, and then went home.’
‘That’s not true, is it? You don’t appear on the CCTV going into Eldercliffe.’
‘We need a moment,’ the lawyer said.
‘I went to the other shop.’ Rachel sounded as if she was about to burst into tears.
‘Which one?’
Silence.
I was okay with silence. Rachel wasn’t. She picked at a piece of skin on her finger. The lawyer sat looking stressed but seemed to have given up trying to restrain her.
‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘I did go home first. I couldn’t get the landline to work and there’s no mobile signal so I drove off to call for help.’
‘But you didn’t call for help.’
‘I couldn’t get a signal so I came back.’
‘Over an hour later? You’re not a great liar. You know we’re going to find out. I’m sure you had reasons for what you did. It would be in your interest to tell us now.’
‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘Okay.’ She dropped her head forward and a tear splashed onto her jeans-clad leg.
‘Thank you, Rachel,’ I said quietly. ‘It’ll be for the best.’
The lawyer was poised like a cat about to pounce.
‘I got home and he was there. Already dead.’
‘So why didn’t you call an ambulance? Or the police?’
‘He was definitely dead. There was no point calling an ambulance. And I was worried you’d think I did it. I panicked.’
‘And left your child in the house with your dead husband?’
‘I know. I’m sorry. She was on sleeping pills. I never thought she’d wake up. Of course I regret now what I did. But I didn’t want you to think I did it. We’ve been having a few problems . . . ’ She let out a sob. ‘I thought you’d think it was me. It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill him.’
*
‘You took on the case then?’ Jai sat briefly on the chair by my desk, then stood up and leant against it. Why would no one sit on that chair? Were they so traumatised by experiences in Richard’s chair that they shunned anything remotely similar? It was as if they were playing a strange game with me – counting all the ways they could avoid sitting on the damn thing.
‘Richard left me very little choice. If we can make