“We need her cooperation and if we can use leverage to get it that’s what we’ll do,” I said sternly.
Crabbie game me a dour look of disapproval and shook his head. I could see his point but I wanted to find that lock-up and get all we could from Mrs D.
“And get Lawson to get the local constabulary to notify the mother in Frinton-on-Sea. See if they can dig up any dirt.”
“All right,” Crabbie said.
“Look, no need for the long face. I’ll be back in half an hour. We’ll finish up with Mrs Deauville and if we’re satisfied that we’ve gotten all we can we’ll send her home. We still have this Morrison fella, the first victim, to interview before he legs it.”
Outside to the Beemer in the chilly early March rain but the dark blue 1988 model 535i Sport was not waiting there like an expectant panther.
“Where’s me bloody car … oh yeah. Shit.”
Back inside the cop shop where I asked Sergeant Prentice to sign out a Land Rover for me.
A three-ton police Land Rover chugging along the Scotch Quarter, over the Horseshoe Bridge and then up the Barn Road and Coronation Road.
#113 Coronation Road where my Beemer was waiting for me.
Park the Rover. Up the path. In through the front door.
Silence.
“Hello?”
Silence.
The fuck?
Kitchen table. A note: “Don’t be alarmed, Sean. I’ve taken Emma to stay with my folks for a while. You can phone me there but please don’t phone me today. I know what you’re like.”
I crumpled up the note, grabbed the telephone and dialled the number.
“Hello?” Beth said.
“It’s me.”
“I knew you’d call. And I knew it would be at lunchtime. How’d your fitness thing go? Did you get out of it?”
“What’s going on, Beth?”
“I think we need a little break from each other, Sean. Clearly.”
“Look, I was way out of line this morning. I know that now. You want to move house? That’s fine with me. You know I’m not a morning person. It was all just a bit much. I’m sorry.”
A long pause.
Crying.
“I’m so glad to hear you say that, Sean. Really, I am.”
“You forgive me? I know it’s no excuse but I’m under a lot of stress.”
Another long pause. “I forgive you, Sean. But you can’t act like that in front of Emma. She’s just a little girl.”
“What are you doing now? I’ll come down there and get you.”
“No, Sean. I’m staying here for a couple of days. It’s good for Emma and it’s good for me.”
“So when are you coming back?”
“Just give me a couple of days, OK?”
“The weekend? Sunday night?”
“Please, Sean, no pressure.”
I put my hand over the receiver. “You don’t know anything about fucking pressure, sister,” I whispered to myself.
I took my hand off the mouthpiece. “OK, sweetie. Give me a call. Have a nice time with your folks and say hi from me … You didn’t tell them we had a row?”
“Uhm, not as such.”
“Good. OK. Give me a call. Love you. Bye.”
“OK, Sean, bye.”
Asymmetrical response. No “love you too”. Fuck.
Back out to the Land Rover in the rain. Check underneath for mercury tilt switch bombs.
None.
Back to the station.
Crabbie meeting me in the incident room.
“Everything OK on the home front?”
“Fine. Any developments on the case?”
“Not really.”
“Deauville’s mother?”
“Local boys gave her the notification. She’s very upset obviously.”
“I imagine. Anything helpful from the local plod?”
“She says she doesn’t know who killed Mr Deauville and has no knowledge of any drug dealing.”
We went back to Interview Room #1 and tried another couple of lines of attack on Mrs Deauville but she wasn’t giving us anything. She claimed she didn’t know about any off site lock-up or garage. She denied being a drug mule. She said she didn’t kill her husband and didn’t know who did. The first two statements were obviously lies but all three of us believed the third.
“Did anyone threaten your husband recently?”
“No.”
“Did anyone threaten you?”
“No.”
“Have there been any problems with the neighbours?”
“No.”
“Any anonymous letters or bricks through windows, anything like that?”
“No.”
“Anyone following you, or strangers watching the house?”
A tiny hesitation before: “No.”
“Are you sure no one’s been following you?”
“No. Nobody follow.”
“No strangers around the house?”
“No strangers.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. Very sure. Everything normal and then Frank is murdered. Who did this? Who killed Frank?”
“We’ll endeavour to find out, Elena.”
Pause.
Reverse the shot.
Go close on her face. She’s not telling you everything but she’s almost certainly not the killer. Eyes – read the eyes for that kind of information.
“I no kill Frank. Someone kill him. You find!”
I pushed the chair back and stood up from the desk. “All right, Mrs Deauville I’m going to let you go, DC Lawson will take you next door to the Incident Room and give you some lunch and get you to make a formal statement. When that’s done WPC Green will take you home, OK?”