She silences him again with another thigh-grip. ‘I’m sorry Leo’s visit seems to have caused an issue, Detectives. If I’d known Saskia would be there, I wouldn’t have asked him to do it. She often goes away at Christmas so I thought what harm would it do, Leo shoving a note through the letterbox?’
I tap my notepad with my pen. ‘Hold on, you said you feared coming face to face with Saskia. Now you say you didn’t expect her to be there anyway?’
A pinched smile. ‘I just didn’t want to risk it.’
‘Why?’ asks Parnell. ‘Why didn’t you want to risk coming face to face with Saskia French?’
Nate shrinks into himself, his pallor whiter than the marble fireplace.
Gina lowers her eyes. ‘I believe you already know the answer to that question, Detective. I don’t know why you feel the need to humiliate me in my own home.’
‘Can we see the eviction letter, Gina. Take a copy?’ I say it softly, in a way that suggests I’m trying to help, trying to divert things away from her husband’s indiscretion but if anything she looks more uncomfortable.
‘I didn’t make a copy. I just filled it out quickly and pressed print. Sorry.’
I shrug, note this down. ‘Not to worry, we’ll assume it’s in Saskia’s flat somewhere. Our Forensics team should turn it up.’
Stony-faced, she says, ‘I’m actually very sorry to hear Saskia might be in danger. I wouldn’t wish that anyone, despite everything, but I don’t see what more we can do.’
Parnell doesn’t bow to the pious act. ‘What you can do, Mrs Hicks, is have your son return on the next flight for questioning.’
A hand to her chest. ‘That sounds rather extreme!’
‘Not at all. As far as we’re aware, Leo was the last person seen with Saskia French. You must understand that we need to speak with him.’
Nate appeals to Parnell. ‘Look, mate, do you have sons?’ The ‘mate’ sounds ridiculous. Plummy and contrived.
‘Four,’ says Parnell.
‘Gosh.’ ‘Gosh’ suits him better than ‘mate’. ‘Well then, you’ll know that young lads love playing the big man. That’s all Leo was doing, I’m sure of it.’ He gives Gina a fond – some might say condescending – smile. ‘You really should have judged that better, darling, but honestly, Detectives, there’s really nothing we – or Leo – can tell you.’
He’s either brave or stupid – lecturing his wife on her judgement when he’s been sweating up the sheets with their prostitute tenant.
‘We’d rather hear that from Leo, all the same,’ says Parnell.
Nate’s eyes dart. He’s looking for an escape route. ‘Well, actually, there’s a problem with the flights apparently. Storms and strong winds of up to a hundred kilometres an hour across northern Austria, we’re led to believe. The forecast isn’t looking great either so God knows when Leo will get back. How about a Skype chat?’ He looks pleased with this suggestion. ‘Although I suspect reception won’t be great. We haven’t heard from him since Monday, not that that’s unusual with teenage boys. We’ll try to arrange something in the next day or two, does that work?’
Parnell bites back a smile – I mean, Nate Hicks’ arrogance is pretty amusing.
Deciding it’s time to hit them with something tangible, Parnell takes out his phone and starts tapping the screen, doing his bumbly Luddite act, muttering ‘bloody technology’ under his breath.
Nate looks bemused but Gina senses something serious is in the offing. I sit back and watch the rapid rise and fall of her bony chest
Eventually, Parnell leans forward, offering his phone.
‘This is a photo of Saskia French pictured with Maryanne Doyle, or we can call her Alice Lapaine for argument’s sake. Would you both take a look and tell me if you agree.’
Nate studies the photo, making it bigger, then smaller, with the ease of a man who spends his life on his smartphone. ‘Well, it’s certainly Saskia, a much younger Saskia. I don’t know the other woman, other than the photos I’ve seen in the media and the one you showed me, so I wouldn’t be able to say with absolute certainty that it is her.’
Gina takes the phone, holds it with both hands, frowning. ‘They both look a lot different but yes, I’d say that’s Saskia and Alice.’
I put my pad down, stare at her intently. ‘So bearing in mind you’ve agreed that this is Saskia and “Alice” pictured many, many years ago, we have to ask, Gina, is it true that you only met “Alice” four years ago?’ She says nothing. I soften my tone, see if that works. ‘Come on, you have to admit, it’s just seems too coincidental that the woman you claim you met on a random IVF forum four years ago turns out to be a long-time friend of one of your long-term tenants?’
I shouldn’t have used the word ‘coincidental’. It gives her an out, no matter how poor an out it is. She hands the phone back to Parnell, bolder now. ‘It must be, as you say, a coincidence. There’s no other explanation.’
‘Oh, I think there is, Mrs Hicks.’ Parnell’s voice is thick with warning. ‘What would you say if we told you that this photo, which we’re putting at around 1999, maybe 2000, was taken in your King’s Cross flat. Do you see why this makes it very hard for us to believe what you’re saying?’
Nate sighs irritably. ‘Gina didn’t own the flat then so this really is pointless. Tiresome, even.’
‘Honestly, I don’t know what to tell you,’ she says, sounding desperate. It could be an act but the frown-line, once deep, is now cavernous. ‘This just isn’t making any sense. We got the flat in 2005, Saskia French was a sitting tenant who came with excellent references .?.?.’
Nate takes her hand. ‘I’ve explained this to them, darling, they just don’t want to listen. Perhaps we should call Felix?’
No guesses for who Felix is.
Parnell powers on and I don’t blame him. ‘Perhaps we should .?.?.’ isn’t the same as ‘I demand to see .?.?.’ but we’ve probably got a matter of minutes at most.
‘Mr and Mrs Hicks, a murdered woman, who you’ – a point to Gina – ‘have at least admitted knowing, is pictured many years ago in a flat that you now just happen to own. Now I’ll be honest with you, I don’t know what you’re lying about but I know you’re lying. A woman is dead and she’s continually being linked to your King’s Cross flat.’
‘Did you hear what my wife said? We didn’t buy the property until .?.?.’
I’m sick of the sound of his voice. I don’t know how Gina sticks it. ‘From who?’ I say, sharply. ‘Who did you buy the flat from? And it will only take us ten minutes to find out so do yourselves a favour .?.?.’
‘From me.’
A voice from the doorway. Frail but commanding.
The grandad.
He of the Santa beard and stage four cancer.
‘Well, Gina didn’t buy it from me, of course. I transferred it over to her.’ A quick chuckle. ‘I got it off Lenny Spoons in the Seventies, if you’re interested. Didn’t buy it, I won it in a poker bet. They were good times, back then. Lawless.’
Gina jumps up, moves towards him, arms outstretched. ‘Dad .?.?. please .?.?. don’t .?.?. we’ve got this .?.?. don’t say anything else.’
Parnell stands up, astounded, mouth gaping like a fish. I glance from one to the other, waiting to be put in the picture, but they just eyeball each other, locked in their own private reunion. There’s a hint of a grin on Parnell’s face. ‘Mr Mackie, it’s been a very long time,’ he says eventually. ‘Did the craving for a decent cup of tea finally get to you? Or is it the weather that tempted you back?’
The old man laughs. ‘Tell you the truth, it’s that copper sense of humour I missed the most. The Cuerpo Nacional de Policía take themselves far too seriously. Bit of a mouthful, ain’t it? La Pasma tends to do. Means “the cops”, “the pigs”, y’know?’
Parnell turns to Gina Hicks whose face is the colour of glue. ‘OK, I think it’s time we swapped places, people. You all need to come to our place and our guys need to move into yours. Oh, and Mr Hicks.’ Nate Hicks has his head in his hands but at the sound of his name, he looks up. ‘I’m arresting you both for assisting an offender, and quite possibly for perverting the course of justice, so I think you might be right – perhaps it is time you called Felix.’