‘Ah, here she is.’ Pelham got up to fetch another drink while Hendry made the introductions.
Cheryl Haggard had dark, sleepless eyes, bloodshot from recent tears. Her skin was pale, her hair straw-like. She was probably an inch shorter and four kilos lighter than her buxom sister.
‘Thanks for agreeing to meet,’ Clarke said as Haggard settled in the chair across from her.
‘That’s all right.’ It was an automatic response. Cheryl Haggard looked far from all right.
‘I think you’ve talked with my colleague, Christine Esson,’ Clarke said. ‘I’m fairly new to the case, so I thought we should maybe...’
Haggard nodded throughout without making eye contact. She wore a long-sleeved top with the arms pulled down so that her hands could disappear into them. She allowed her right hand some freedom when her drink arrived. Like her sister, she was on white wine. Clarke had sampled her own gin and tonic and was hoping she’d still be able to drive after finishing it.
‘How’s the case going?’ Pelham asked.
‘We’re making progress. I don’t suppose we could have a few moments alone with Cheryl?’
‘Suppose all you like. I’m staying right here.’ She reached towards her sister and clasped her wrist. Again, the look Hendry gave Clarke intimated that there’d be no getting around this, so Clarke yielded with a nod of understanding.
‘Remind me how long you’ve known your husband, Cheryl.’
‘Best part of ten years.’
‘And you’ve been married for six?’ She watched the slow nod.
‘Thank Christ there are no kids, that’s all I can say,’ Pelham added.
‘He never wanted them,’ her sister said quietly.
‘Any particular reason?’ Clarke asked.
Haggard gave a shrug. ‘The way the world was going... he didn’t want kids of ours having to live through it.’
‘A bloody nonsense,’ Pelham muttered.
‘Had he always thought like that?’ Clarke pressed. ‘Pessimistic about things in general?’
‘Job probably didn’t help.’
‘He talked to you about his job?’
‘Not really. I mean, you don’t, do you?’ Her eyes went from Clarke to Hendry and back again, as if seeking acknowledgement of the fact. ‘Maybe it would have done him some good to let it out instead of bottling it up... I don’t know. Most nights he was late home — a few drinks with the lads after work. His way of letting off steam.’
‘The lads being his colleagues?’
‘We didn’t have other friends. It was always nights out with blokes he worked with and sometimes their partners.’
‘You think the job got to him, maybe changed him?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this,’ Pelham snapped, glaring at Clarke. ‘Sounds like you’re defending him.’ Then, to her sister, ‘I warned you this would happen, Cheryl. Under the bloody carpet it goes.’ Her phone rang and she answered it. ‘I’ll have to call you back, Melinda,’ she barked. ‘Later, sweetheart, mwah.’ She tossed the phone back onto the table. ‘Work,’ she explained.
‘The thing is,’ Clarke pushed on, focusing her attention on Haggard, ‘Francis is saying PTSD is to blame. In other words, the job. So I’m wondering if you think there could be any truth in it. Did his behaviour change down the years? Did he ever try to explain his fits of violence?’
‘He was always a bastard,’ Pelham said, but her sister was shaking her head.
‘He definitely got worse over time. And PTSD — I remember him googling it. It was in his search history on the computer.’ She narrowed her eyes to help her think. ‘But that was after.’
‘After what?’
‘After the neighbours got the police to come. Not this time, but the time before, when they just talked to him and left.’
‘You should have ditched him that same bloody night, Cheryl.’ Pelham turned to Clarke, her eyes drilling into her. ‘I told her to, but she wanted to give him another chance. How many chances does a wanker like that deserve?’
‘Trust me, I’m on your side.’ Clarke turned her attention back to Haggard. ‘He became more abusive as the years passed, Cheryl? Just so we’re clear?’
‘It was words at first. He might not even raise his voice. I couldn’t cook a proper meal, keep the flat clean. I didn’t deserve him, he gave me everything. My clothes were never right, I was an embarrassment when we went out.’ She paused. ‘I had friends of my own, but he didn’t like them, so they had to go.’
‘Control,’ Gina Hendry agreed, nodding.
‘He couldn’t push me away, though,’ Pelham said. ‘Eventually he stopped trying.’ She touched her glass against her sister’s.
‘The first time he hit me,’ Haggard said, lost in remembrance, ‘was after a big dinner, some annual police thing. Black tie. He was given a bravery award for stopping a guy jumping off North Bridge. I hadn’t been pleased enough. Hadn’t smiled or clapped... He was halfway through getting undressed in the bedroom. He walked up to me and slapped me hard across the face. I spent the rest of the night locked in the bathroom. He bought flowers the next day. I think he might even have cried.’
‘Like any crocodile,’ Pelham said.
‘How long ago was this?’ Clarke asked.
‘Maybe four years back.’ Haggard was looking at her. ‘He was already a cop when I met him, so I don’t know what he was like before. When we started dating, he seemed nice. We fell in love...’ Tears were beginning to trickle down her cheeks. Her sister gave her wrist another squeeze before rising to her feet.
‘Top-up?’ she asked. Clarke realised she had drained her drink without even noticing. She looked to Gina’s red wine, only a sip missing from it. Cheryl Haggard had got up too, and was heading for the stairs. All three women watched her go. Then Pelham pressed her palms to the table’s surface and leaned across it, her eyes once more meeting Clarke’s.
‘This is why he can’t get away with it,’ she hissed.
‘He won’t,’ Clarke replied.
‘Men are all the bloody same. I’m speaking from experience. You know how my ex got caught? Some website snapped a picture of him coming out of a hotel with the piece of skirt he’d been shagging. Almost young enough to be his bloody daughter, too.’
‘Which website?’ Clarke asked.
‘Calls itself the Edinburgh Courant. Do you know it?’
‘It rakes up the occasional police story.’ Clarke shifted slightly in her chair. ‘And we won’t have that top-up, thanks all the same. We should leave you to get on with the rest of your day.’
‘Well, we’re here if there’s anything else — I’ve put work to one side for as long as Cheryl needs me. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to seeing Francis in court.’ Pelham broke off, running a finger down her wine glass before eventually rousing herself. ‘You’ve got my deets, yes?’ She watched as Clarke nodded. ‘It was two other officers we were dealing with originally.’
‘DC Esson is still involved,’ Clarke explained. ‘DC Ogilvie is off work at the moment. That’s why I’m playing catch-up.’
‘Have you met him yet?’
Clarke knew who she meant and gave a slow nod.
‘Don’t fall for it,’ Pelham counselled. ‘They’re all actors, the bloody lot of them.’
Clarke was in her car, trying to decide whether to head back to the station or call it a day, when Christine Esson called her.
‘What did you think?’ Esson wanted to know.
‘She’s fortunate she’s got her sister in her corner.’
‘Stephanie’s definitely a rock. Did she try kissing you when you left?’