I could sense Bridget glancing over at me now and then as the press conference went on, but I didn’t look back at her. I just kept my eyes on the screen and listened as James announced that following forensic analysis of crime-scene evidence, a comprehensive link had been established between the murder of Anna Gerrish and the murder of Stacy Craine in 1993.
‘As some of you may remember,’ James continued, ‘the prime suspect in Stacy Craine’s murder was Anton Viner, a convicted rapist who went missing shortly after the crime was committed. Despite an ongoing and exhaustive search by both national and international authorities, Anton Viner has still not been found.’ James looked up from his notes and stared directly into the camera. ‘However, we now have very strong evidence linking Anton Viner with the death of Ms Gerrish, and we’re making a fresh appeal to anyone with any knowledge of this man’s whereabouts to contact us immediately.’
As James held up an A4-sized mugshot of Viner and explained that photographs and further information would be made available to the media after the conference, I kept my eyes on Bishop. He wasn’t looking at the photo that James was holding up, nor was he looking around at the audience, or into the camera … in fact, he didn’t seem to be looking at anything at all. He was just sitting there, stone-faced, staring blindly straight ahead.
But then, as DCS James announced that DCI Bishop would be happy to answer any questions, Bishop suddenly came to life — raising his head slightly, looking around, taking control … a picture of calm efficiency.
The questions came thick and fast.
Are you treating Viner as a serial killer?
Has he killed more than twice?
Was Anna Gerrish sexually assaulted?
Is it true that she worked as a prostitute?
Bishop answered most of the questions quite briefly, refusing to comment on anything that might jeopardise the investigation in any way, which basically meant just about everything. However, when someone asked him how Anna’s body had been discovered, he suddenly became a lot more talkative.
‘Her body was found by a private investigator who’d been hired by Mr and Mrs Gerrish to investigate Anna’s disappearance. While we’d prefer not to release any further details at the moment, we realise that if we don’t, we may well be adding to the media pressure on Anna’s family.’ He paused for a second, glancing into the camera, and I felt that he was looking directly at me. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘in view of this, we’d like to announce at this point that the private investigator who found Anna’s body was John Craine.’
There was an audible silence from the audience for a moment, then cameras started flashing, an excited murmur filled the room, and everyone started shouting out questions.
‘Is that the same John Craine who was married to Stacy Craine?’
‘Yes,’ Bishop said calmly. ‘Mr Craine was Stacy’s husband.’
‘Did Anna know Stacy?’
‘Not as far as we know.’
‘What’s John Craine’s connection with Anna?’
‘There is no connection. As I’ve already said, Mr Craine is a private investigator. He was investigating Anna’s disappearance — ’
‘How did he find her? What did he know that the police didn’t?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that at this — ’
‘Have you questioned him?’
‘Mr Craine has been questioned, yes.’
‘Is he a suspect?’
‘We have no reason to believe that Mr Craine’s discovery of Anna Gerrish’s body is anything more than a coincidence.’
‘But you have questioned him?’
‘I’ve already answered that question.’
‘Does Craine know Viner?’
‘Not as far as we know.’
‘How did he know — ?’
‘That’s it for now, ladies and gentlemen, thank you,’ Chief Constable Wright broke in suddenly. ‘Press packs are available on your way out, and we will be updating you if and when any more information comes to light.’
More questions rang out as the three men got to their feet and shuffled off the stage — mostly questions about me — but the press conference was over now, the microphones turned off, and Sky News was returning to the studio presenters. As they started telling us what we’d just seen and heard, I turned off the television, took a long drink, and lit a cigarette.
‘Well …’ Bridget murmured, looking over at me.
I smiled at her. ‘Confusing, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘A bit.’
I picked up the whisky bottle. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘No, thanks.’
I poured whisky into my glass. ‘Anna Gerrish’s mother wasn’t happy with the way the police investigation was going. She thought they weren’t doing enough to look for her daughter. So a couple of weeks ago she hired me to see what I could find out.’ I shrugged. ‘It wasn’t too difficult. I poked around a bit, asked a few questions, and after a while … well, like I said, it wasn’t that difficult.’
Bridget looked at me, waiting for me to go on.
I drank some more. ‘I can’t tell you exactly how I found Anna’s body, but it didn’t have anything to do with Viner or Stacy. I didn’t even know about Viner’s connection with this until a few hours ago. That’s what Bishop came here to tell me about.’
Bridget nodded. ‘You don’t have to justify anything to me, John.’
‘Yeah, I know … it’s just … well, the way Bishop explained it, you could easily have assumed — ’
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t assume anything. I still don’t really understand any of it — ’
‘Neither do I.’
She nodded again. ‘Was he right about it just being a coincidence?’
‘I don’t know …’ I sipped my drink. ‘I really don’t know.’
We were both silent for a while then — Bridget just sitting there, idly preening Walter’s grey head, while I just sat there, drinking and smoking … not really thinking about anything any more, just letting things be, letting the alcohol sink down inside me and soak up all the stuff that didn’t make sense …
‘It must have been terrible for you,’ Bridget said after a while.
‘What?’
‘Finding the body.’
‘Which one?’
She hesitated, taken aback for a moment, not sure what I meant, but then she suddenly realised. ‘Oh, shit … of course, your wife … God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean — ’
‘No, it’s my fault,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have said it like that … sorry.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m such a fucking idiot sometimes …’
Bridget smiled. ‘Just sometimes?’
‘Most of the time, actually,’ I said, returning her smile.
We carried on smiling at each other for a few moments, then Bridget looked away and carried on stroking Walter’s head as she gazed casually around the room. As I sat there, half-watching her, I realised that the whisky was really getting to me now, weighing me down with its vaporous gravity, and I could almost hear a faint voice of sobriety castigating me for being so stupid, for drinking so much when I hadn’t eaten anything for God knows how long, for being so weak when I needed to be strong …
But the voice was too far away to have much effect.
And I was already too drunk to care anyway.
‘Is that Stacy?’ I heard Bridget say.
Just for a second, I thought that she meant the distant voice in my head — is that Stacy reproaching you for drinking too much? — but then I looked over and saw that she was studying the framed photograph of Stacy on the shelf.
‘Yeah …’ I said, gazing at the picture as Bridget got up and went over to the shelf for a closer look. The photo was a head-and-shoulders shot of Stacy, taken on the day we’d got married. It wasn’t much of a wedding — a register office service, with no guests, no fuss, no reception … just a couple of friends as witnesses and a few drinks in the Double Locks afterwards — but it was a day I’ll never forget. Just the two of us, alone together in our own perfect world …
‘She’s beautiful,’ Bridget said.