And it appears I’m in.
While Gina’s taken to use the bathroom, Parnell calls me in and explains to Whiteley that I’ll be taking Renée’s place. Whiteley gives a detached shrug – one inexpensively dressed police officer is much the same as another to him. Renée, completely devoid of any ego, is equally indifferent.
When Gina comes back into the room, she tries to mirror Whiteley’s ‘whatever’ stance but there’s a tiny shift in her demeanour. Not softer, but less pinched. She obviously sees a friendly face in me. Or maybe a stooge? It doesn’t really matter, though, I can work with either.
‘Hello again.’ She sits down, her posture slightly less rigid than before. ‘Were you out celebrating New Year last night, you look like you might have been?’
Parnell’s eyes flick to the tape. The last thing he wants is some barrister on a six-figure retainer claiming the interview was flawed because one of the officers was hungover. Thankfully I haven’t switched it on yet.
I smile. ‘I’m fine thanks, Gina. Had to rush my make-up this morning, that’s all.’
‘Lucky you. I’m still wearing yesterday’s.’
I grant her one more smile before the tape goes on and I open up the case-file. I take out a number of the post-mortem photos and lay them across the table. Whiteley rests his chin in one hand, casting an expressionless glance over the macabre jigsaw.
‘Are these supposed to shock me?’ says Gina, flatly. ‘I don’t mean to sound callous but I was a doctor for fifteen years before I had the twins, mainly general practice but a little time in A&E too, so I’m afraid I’m really not that squeamish.’
‘It’s different when you know the person, surely?’ I say.
‘No comment.’
Here we go again.
‘It’s different when you caused those injuries?’
A look to the ceiling. ‘No comment.’
‘But then, which of these injuries did you cause, Gina?’ I hold up the head shot, point out the deep laceration across the front of Maryanne’s hairless head. ‘I mean, we’re pretty sure you – or your stairs – caused this, but what about this?’ A chest shot this time, a red-blue bruise, possibly knee-shaped between the ribs. ‘Or how about this?’ Finally, Maryanne’s throat – the fingertip bruising, the superficial slashes.
‘No comment.’
‘Was it Nate?’ I say, picking up the pace. ‘Word is, he’s a bit of a “yes” man, but would he kill for you, Gina. Is he that devoted? Or that dependant on you? You and your father’s money?’
‘Fucking Nate.’
It’s not the swearing that startles me, it’s the pure, unfiltered contempt. I take a second to work out how to use this to our advantage but Parnell’s ahead of me, keen to keep prodding the wound while it’s still gaping raw.
‘You and Maryanne fought,’ he states. ‘She fell or you pushed her and then you panicked. You asked Nate to sort it, didn’t you?’
‘No comment.’
He keeps going. ‘Or maybe you didn’t ask him? Maybe Nate got rid of Maryanne of his own accord?
‘No comment.’
‘Are you scared of Nate, Gina? Of what he’s done?’
She sighs. ‘No comment.’
Same old, same old, but there’s a weariness creeping in.
‘Look,’ I tell her. ‘All we need is one fibre or one skin cell to match the trace we’ve got off Maryanne’s body and Nate’s going away, Gina. It’ll be better for you, for your children, if you talk to us – if the truth comes from you.’
At the mention of her children, she draws a sharp breath and closes her eyes.
I now know exactly how to play this.
I start clearing away the photos. ‘You know, you can follow Mr Whiteley’s advice if you want, but my Inspector’s going to charge you anyway, and then do you know where your “no comments” will get you?’ The threat in my voice forces her eyes open. ‘The Old Bailey – Court One, maybe. Media speculation. Strangers judging you, calling you a monster and a bitch on Twitter. And not just for your part in Maryanne’s death, but for what you did all those years ago, all those babies you sold.’ She blinks hard, more a twitch than a blink. ‘Oh yeah, that will all have to come out. Whenever you do finally get out of prison, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about catering for Christmas drinks again. You’ll be a pariah.’
Whiteley clears his throat but I don’t give him the chance. Not when Gina’s looking so horrifically spellbound.
‘You’re not a bad person, Gina. You’ve done some really bad things but you’re not a bad person, I genuinely believe that.’ I nod sideways towards Parnell. ‘My Inspector here thinks you’re nothing but a liar. He thinks you told me a pack of lies when you came in to see me on Christmas Eve, and in the main he’s right, most of it was lies, all that stuff about meeting Maryanne on the IVF forum. But the thing is I’ve checked your medical records – your IVF struggle wasn’t a lie, was it? Nine rounds! Must have been very gruelling. I can’t imagine how much the twins must mean to you. Well, it’s obvious all your kids mean the world to you.’
She gives me a long hard stare before leaning over to Whiteley. They whisper back and forth for a few seconds before the conflab ends with a solemn nod from Gina and a ‘on-your-head-be-it’ shrug from her brief.
There’s a palpable silence before Whiteley says, ‘My client admits that there was an altercation at her home with the deceased, Maryanne Doyle. Maryanne fell down the stairs and injured herself but she left the house, walking wounded. She has no idea what happened to her after that.’
I shake my head, disappointed. Inside I’m screaming.
‘I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Gina. You’ve only admitted to what we already know. To quote the popular phrase, “we’ll see you in court”.’
I stand up, willing Parnell to join me. Willing Gina to start panicking and pour forth.
Parnell’s knees have barely had time to click before my second wish comes true.
‘I offered her money but she just wouldn’t go,’ Gina says, looking up at me. There’s amazement in her voice, a twisted wonder at the fact not all problems can be solved with money. ‘That’s all I wanted, for her to go away, to stop talking about the ba—’ she cringes, can’t say it – ‘to stop talking about what we’d done, all the things that went on back then. But she just wouldn’t shut up so I told her. I told her the truth, that I didn’t know where .?.?.’ She can’t finish that sentence either. ‘She went completely berserk. She said she was going to come back the next day and the day after and that she’d tell my children what I’d done with her child.’ Her lip curls. ‘She wasn’t so worried about her child back then, not when she was earning good money. I pointed that out to her and she went for me, well, we went for each other, really. We were both pushing each other.’
All the cringes and the half-finished sentences will have to be filled in at some point. Hours of fact-checking and tedious substantiation always follow even the most detailed of confessions, but right now it will do if it moves us on to the main event.
I sit back down. ‘The fall didn’t kill her, Gina. Who did?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yes you do.’ I lean in. ‘Think about this very carefully. What happened with Maryanne happened because you didn’t want your kids knowing what you’d done – well, if this goes to trial, they’ll know everything. And so will everyone else, all their friends, their friends’ parents, their teachers. Every dirty little detail. The baby-factory, the trafficking, the pimping. They’ll hear about Kristen too. Your kids will find out about what happened to Kristen.’
The look on Gina’s face tells me two things – one, that she’s unravelling, two, that Kristen’s probably dead.
The look on Parnell’s face reminds me of another thing. I wasn’t supposed to be here last night. I’m not supposed to know about Kristen.
I push on.