Whiteley objects. ‘It makes her look nothing of the sort. My client is acting on robust legal advice, nothing more.’ His voice doesn’t quite suit his body – it’s twee, almost girlish.
Parnell sighs, crosses his arms. ‘Mr Whiteley, I’m no legal expert, but as I understand it, the point of “no comment” is to prevent yourself from saying anything that might incriminate you. But this clearly incriminates your client.’ Parnell hands him a photo – a high-resolution crime-scene snap. ‘As you can see, luminol has been sprayed and blood detected close to the bottom of your client’s stairs. The swirling pattern suggests an attempt has been made to clean up this blood.’
Whiteley surveys the photo. Gina stares straight ahead.
‘I’d say it’s rather early to confirm exactly whose blood that is, Detective Inspector. I doubt your forensics team have even started recovering the blood yet, much less testing it for DNA?’
‘Correct. But we all know it will turn out to be Maryanne Doyle’s, and therefore combined with Saskia French’s statement, we’ll have irrefutable evidence against your client.’
Whiteley offers Parnell a thin-lipped smile. To the likes of a ￡650 per hour lawyer, ‘irrefutable’ is a challenge laid down. Gloves off, game on.
Parnell appeals to Gina instead. ‘Are you listening? Irrefutable. So there’s very little point to this “no comment” palaver. The best thing you can do is just talk to us.’
It isn’t actually, it’s the worst. Every word she says makes our life easier, not hers. Whiteley’s primed his client to perfection.
She lowers her head. ‘No comment.’
Parnell dips down, he’s not letting her get out of eye-contact that easily. ‘Look, we know Maryanne was definitely injured inside your house – science and an eyewitness confirm it – but who strangled her, Gina? Who slashed her throat. Was it you, hmm? My money says no. I don’t think you’ve got in you.’
‘No comment.’
‘Did Maryanne fall? If Maryanne fell then that wasn’t your fault, and if you tell us who killed her, that will work in your favour.’
‘No comment.’
Renée sharpens her knife. ‘Shall we talk about the baby-trafficking then? That’s not going to go down well in prison, trust me. Tell us what happened to Maryanne and we might be able to help you.’
Whiteley’s nearly on his feet. ‘My client does not wish to answer any questions with regards to .?.?.’
‘Where are the twins?’ Gina cuts in, surprising us all. ‘And Amber?’
Renée looks to Parnell. ‘My God, we have a comment!’
‘Actually, it’s a question,’ says Whiteley. I’m not sure if he’s being a smart-arse or there’s some important legal distinction.
Parnell nods. ‘And unlike your client, we’re happy to answer her questions.’ To Gina, ‘I understand your children are in the care of Nate’s mother at the moment.’
Contradictory emotions flood her face – resentment and relief doing battle.
‘Of course we’ve contacted Social Services to make sure a more long-term plan is formalised,’ says Renée, almost gleefully, just to get a reaction.
Gina pushes her chair back abruptly, starts pacing the few steps between the table and the wall.
‘Where’s Leo?’ asks Parnell, tightening the screw.
She opens her mouth but Whiteley stops her with an ‘I-got-this’ gesture. ‘I believe my client has already informed you that her son is Austria.’
‘But she seems unwilling to give us an exact address and we need to speak with him, now more than ever in light of Saskia French’s claim that he threatened her. It would certainly be to his advantage to contact us voluntarily.’
She sits down again, legs crossed tightly, right foot twitching. ‘Can I ask why you’re so quick to take Saskia French’s word for everything? Or should I say, Sarah Finch.’ Whiteley tries to silence her again with a pudgy hand on a bony forearm but she shakes him off quickly. ‘Have you actually checked Sarah Finch’s record? She’s not exactly known for telling the truth.’
We have, as it goes. The three counts of shoplifting we can live with. A caution for giving a false statement to the police back in 1997 could prove sticky.
‘Few people are, actually. Makes our job a nightmare.’ Parnell turns to Renée. ‘What’s that quote again? The one Kinsella says all the time, the funny one.’ He pretends to think but I know he knows it. ‘Oh yeah, that’s it – “Only three things tell the truth – small children, drunk people and leggings.” He chuckles to himself. ‘Good, isn’t it? It leaves out science, though. Science almost always tells the truth.’
I need Gina Hicks to tell the truth. As bad as things look for her, they don’t look too rosy for me if Parnell and Renée can’t crack her open.
Because if Gina doesn’t come clean, it means a trial.
And a trial means police testimony.
And police testimony means choosing between coming clean – aka career suicide – or taking my chances and lying on the stand.
Committing perjury.
I have to persuade her to tell the truth.
I stand up and walk out. Seth asks where I’m off to so I say ‘bad stomach’ which shuts him down pronto, and I walk down the corridor to the interview room, feeling like it’s the longest mile when it actually can’t be more than twenty steps. I knock on the door and ask to speak to Parnell. He acts like it’s fine and dandy, an almost expected interruption, but when we come face-to-face, his is thunderous, his language distinctly un-Parnell.
‘Fuck’s sake, Kinsella.’ The ‘F’ word from Parnell rocks me and I actually feel tears prick the back of my throat. ‘If you’re after permission to go home, you could have just asked Flowers, you know? He is a sergeant. He does have authority. She was just starting to drop the “no comments” as well. Jesus!’
‘I know. I’ve been watching it in the other room.’ I square my shoulders, lengthen my spine – try to make myself as big as possible. ‘Boss, I want to come in. She might have dropped the “no comments” but she’s not responding to you and Renée, you can see it in her body language. I think I might be able to get through to her, though.’
‘Oh yes? And what makes you Clarice Starling all of a sudden?’ He’s tetchy, not buying it. ‘Anyway, we’ve got enough to charge her without a confession. It’s not ideal but we’ve worked with less.’
Here goes.
‘Seriously? You’ve got enough to charge her with assault, possibly, if Forensics can come up with something to prove she was pushed down the stairs, because Saskia’s statement alone won’t do it, she said she couldn’t see properly. And Gina’s right about Saskia’s character. She’ll be torn to pieces if this goes to trial. As for the murder, you’ve got zilch, and you don’t think she’s got the stomach for it anyway, nor do I. But we both know she knows who did it. She’s just not going to give it up unless she feels she has to.’
And she has to. She absolutely has to.
Seth walks past, shooting me a funny look which thankfully Parnell doesn’t notice. Parnell’s too busy digesting the fact he’s being lectured to by a twenty-six-year-old DC.
‘Look, Boss, it makes sense,’ I say, trying to sound level-headed. ‘I’ve spent the most time with her, I know what buttons to press. Think about it, I’ve been there for every interaction she’s had and it was me she asked for when she came to the station that day.’
‘To tell you a pack of lies, which could mean she thinks you’re gullible.’
His words sting but to be fair, I’m punching below the belt too, implying he and Renée aren’t nailing this. ‘Or it could mean she finds me easy to talk to, compassionate. But, hey, if she thinks I’m gullible, then great. In trying to trick me, she might end up tricking herself. Anything’s worth a shot, surely?’
He doesn’t answer, just walks back into the room and proposes a fifteen-minute break. I assume it’s so he can call the Crime Scene Manager to talk trajectories and get some definitive proof that Maryanne was pushed down the stairs, but it appears I’m wrong.