Good boy, I thought.
The policeman took the lack of an answer in his stride and carried on. ‘Is it not true that you saw her last Sunday?’
Last Sunday? Even I would like to hear his answer to that bombshell.
‘I am advised by my solicitor not to answer any questions at this time,’ Declan repeated.
‘Is it also not the case, Mr Chadwick, that you collected Zoe Robertson from Cambridge Station just after midday on Sunday and drove her away in your car, a light-blue Audi A4?’
What?
‘I am advised by my solicitor not to answer any questions at this time.’
‘We have CCTV footage from the forecourt of Cambridge Station that shows her getting into your car. Were you the driver, Mr Chadwick?’
‘I am advised by my solicitor not to answer any questions at this time.’
‘Where did you take her, Mr Chadwick?’
There was something quite menacing in the way the detective kept adding ‘Mr Chadwick’ to all his questions. If I was beginning to sense the threat, goodness knows how Declan was feeling. But he appeared to stay calm and unconcerned.
‘I am advised by my solicitor not to answer any questions at this time.’
Even I was beginning to be irritated by his response because I, too, would have loved to hear the proper answers to the detective’s questions.
There was a brief knock on the door.
‘Interview suspended,’ said the chief inspector, and he pushed a button to stop the recording before stepping out of the door, leaving Sergeant Venables still in with us.
Declan turned to me as if he was about to say something.
‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Anything you say in here may be used in evidence, whether during the formal interview or not.’
Declan nodded and turned back to face the sergeant.
The three of us waited in silence for DCI Eastwood to return, which he did after a few minutes, carrying a small, transparent plastic bag.
The chief inspector pushed the relevant button and was rewarded with another long beep from the recorder. ‘Interview restarted,’ he said. ‘I remind you, Mr Chadwick, that you are still under caution. Are you aware what this is?’ He held up the plastic bag. It contained a mobile telephone in a pink case. ‘Why was this found hidden under your clothes at the back of your wardrobe?’
Declan looked at me and, for the first time, there was more than a touch of panic in his eyes.
Time for me to step in.
‘I would like to speak privately with my client,’ I said.
‘I want an answer to my questions first,’ said the detective, but he hadn’t risen to the rank of chief inspector without knowing the law. I knew it too. Declan had a right to speak privately with his legal advisor at any time.
‘Interview suspended,’ the DCI said reluctantly. He stood up, as did his sidekick. ‘In here all right?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘In the previous room.’
He gave me a look but I glanced up at the camera above his head. I wasn’t totally confident that the video recording switched off at the same time as the audio.
Declan and I went back into the legal consultation room. I closed the door.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ I said. ‘You told me that the police had no evidence against you and then I find out that you collected Zoe from Cambridge Station on the very day she died. And whose phone is that?’
‘Zoe’s,’ he said. ‘She left it in my car.’
‘So you did collect her on Sunday?’
He sat down heavily on a chair next to the table, while I remained standing.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did.’ He leaned forward and rested his head on his arms and sighed deeply.
‘Why didn’t you tell me? I’m here to help you but you have to tell me the truth.’
‘I collected her and spent a few hours with her. But I didn’t kill her. That is the truth.’
‘So tell me everything that happened.’
‘She called me on Saturday afternoon in a real state. She was shouting down the phone at me. Claimed she needed to talk but not on the phone. She initially wanted me to come to London but I refused. In fact I refused to speak to her anywhere. Then on Sunday morning she called me again when I was in the yard office. Said that she was already on the train from King’s Cross and she was coming to see me whether I liked it or not. She sounded completely deranged.’
‘What was it that was so important?’
‘Family matters,’ he said, clearly not wanting to elaborate. ‘But the last thing I needed was for her to turn up in that condition at my front door upsetting Bella, so I finally agreed to pick her up from Cambridge.’
‘Did Arabella know that?’ I asked.
‘No way,’ he said decisively, glancing up at me.
‘Why not?’
‘I decided it was best to keep them apart. Zoe had upset Bella enough already.’
‘Over what?’
‘Money, mostly. Zoe was always in need of money. Used to say that her need was greater than ours as she had her brats to feed. And that didn’t go down too well either.’
I remembered back to Arabella’s brusque reaction when I’d asked her whether she and Declan had any kids of their own.
‘So you and Arabella can’t have children?’
He looked up at me again. ‘No.’
‘Your fault or hers?’ I asked, hopeful that I wasn’t prying too deeply.
‘Hers,’ he said. ‘She has something called PCOS. I can’t remember what it stands for, but it stops her producing eggs. We’ve tried every drug there is. IVF too. All bloody hopeless.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Shit happens, or rather it doesn’t. Not in our case.’
‘Was it money that Zoe wanted to talk to you about on Sunday?’ I asked, trying to bring the conversation back to the matter in hand.
‘Yeah. Mostly.’
‘What happened after you picked her up from the station?’
‘I drove around for a bit.’
‘Where to?’
‘I don’t know. Around Cambridge somewhere. We parked for a while outside one of the colleges to talk. Then I drove her to Newmarket.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she asked me to. She wanted to see if anything had changed since she left. We stopped at a McDonald’s for a late lunch on the way.’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘Drove around the town a bit. Then I dropped her at Newmarket Station to get the train back.’
‘At what time was that?’
‘About three-thirty.’
‘Did you actually see her get on the train?’
‘No. It wasn’t due for another half an hour. I couldn’t wait. I had to get back for evening stables.’
‘How was she when you dropped her?’ I asked.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Was she still in a state? Or had she calmed down, back to normal?’
‘Normal?’ Declan said with a laugh. ‘Zoe was never normal. But she was fine, I think.’
‘You think?’
‘Yeah. She was still angry, but she was always angry.’
‘Angry with whom?’ I asked.
‘Everyone. Me, Ryan, our father, everyone. Psychosis is a very angry disease.’
‘Psychosis?’
‘She had no grasp of reality. How they ever let her out of a mental hospital I’ll never know. She lived in her own little bubble.’
Yes, as may be, I thought, but who burst it?
‘My client would like to read a prepared statement,’ I said. ‘But he does not intend to answer any questions after it.’
It was half an hour later and we were back in the official police interview room with DCI Eastwood and Sergeant Venables.
And the recorders were running again.