She sniffs and looks away.
Merrick is poised, pen at the ready. ‘Could you give me the details of this witness, please?’
Ev pushes a piece of paper across to her. ‘He works at the station cab rank and picked the man up at just after nine that night. He gave Gantry Manor as his destination, spent most of the journey looking at his mobile phone and paid with cash from a leather wallet. He also had a backpack with him.’
Merrick looks up. ‘You only have the driver’s word for that.’
Gis smiles. ‘Actually, no. We’ve been able to secure CCTV footage from the station, and that completely corroborates the driver’s story. The man can be seen quite clearly coming through the ticket barriers. He also had a return ticket.’
He lets the implications of that settle for a moment.
‘And would you believe,’ he continues, ‘we’re fortunate enough to have a second witness. Someone who saw Mr Swann outside the house that night, with a black plastic bag.’
Margaret Swann laughs. ‘And taking out the rubbish is a crime now, is it?’
Gis pauses. ‘No. But I do start to wonder when I’m told this occurred only a few minutes after the sound of gunfire. Gunfire which – as we now know – left a man lying dead in your kitchen with his brains blown out. I don’t know about you, Mrs Swann, but “taking out the rubbish” isn’t the first task that would come to my mind in circumstances like that.’
The lawyer flushes slightly; she’s getting out of her depth and she knows it. ‘All the same, you can’t prove that wasn’t what he was doing –’
‘He was walking in the opposite direction of the bins, so yes, Miss Merrick, I think it’s a fair assumption.’
Swann stares at Gislingham. ‘And have you actually found the things you allege we “destroyed”?’
‘Not as yet, no. But it’s only a matter of time. I hope you know that.’ Gis sits back in his chair. ‘Your husband says he’d never seen the man before. You’re aware of that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know who he was?’
She frowns. ‘I told you, I never saw him.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘No, of course I didn’t know who he was. He was a burglar. We don’t know those sort of people.’
‘He was nothing of the kind, Mrs Swann, as you well know.’
Swann gives him a poisonous look but says nothing.
‘So, for the record,’ says Everett, ‘you’re denying all and any prior knowledge of this man?’
Merrick may be a rookie, but even she knows this is heading in a dangerous direction. As for Swann, she’s gripping her handbag so hard her knuckles are white.
Ev fixes her with a cool stare. ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you, Mrs Swann.’
Swann lifts her chin. ‘I’m not a liar, Constable, or whatever it is you are. And neither is my husband.’
Gislingham nods to Ev, who passes across a second piece of paper.
‘This,’ she says, ‘is a DNA report from our forensics lab on blood samples found at the scene, comparing them with a sample already stored in the National DNA Database.’
Swann pushes the paper away. ‘This is all just gobbledygook.’
‘It shows a match, Mrs Swann. A parental match between the dead man and a prisoner currently serving a life sentence for murder at HMP Heathside. The prisoner’s name is Camilla Rowan. The daughter you never told us you had.’
The silence is so long Gis has time to feel sorry for Merrick, who’s staring at them, open-mouthed. She had no idea what a hospital pass this would turn out to be. Swann, on the other hand, isn’t meeting anyone’s eye. She’s opened her handbag and is ferreting about for a tissue. But her hands are shaking.
‘You knew, didn’t you,’ says Ev softly. ‘You knew he was Camilla’s child –’
Her head snaps up. ‘I did not!’
‘– in fact, I think you knew exactly who he was long before he turned up at your door. What did he do? Call you? Send you a letter? You didn’t tell your husband, though, did you? You kept him in the dark, hoping it would all just go away –’
‘This is insane – you’re insane – the very idea is preposterous –’
‘Preposterous? Maybe. But not impossible.’
Their eyes lock and the moment tenses like elastic. But it’s Swann who blinks first. She turns to Merrick. ‘I utterly refute these deranged accusations. And beyond that I have nothing to add.’
Ev gives her a dry look. ‘OK, if that’s how you want to play it. Interview terminated at 13.18.’
* * *
Adam Fawley
24 October
14.15
I get Quinn to drive, mainly because he likes it so much and, broadly speaking, I don’t. I’ve never got the whole bloke thing about wheels, which is probably why I have a Mondeo and Quinn has an Audi A4. Red. As if you had to ask. It’s not a bad journey, on the whole. The weather is dreary but there isn’t too much traffic, at least until we hit the M25. Quinn asks if I want music and I’m surprised to find the last thing he was listening to was Radio 4.
‘Maisie,’ he says, glancing across. ‘She likes that sort of thing.’
I haven’t met her yet, but the word round the station is that it’s serious. And what little I’ve picked up sounds surprisingly encouraging – surprising because Quinn’s track record with women usually has me heaving a very loud sigh. But Ev says she’s exactly what he needs – she met them out shopping in Summertown a few weeks back (that alone is headline-worthy – OK, Quinn’s always been able to shop for Europe, but with a woman?). According to Ev, Maisie came over as bright, confident and extremely unlikely to take any of Quinn’s shit. She didn’t put it precisely that way, of course, but I got the message. I also happen to know Maisie’s parents are very well off, which no doubt adds to the attraction.
‘Going well, is it? With Maisie?’ I say, trying not to sound like his dad.
He looks a little flustered. ‘Yeah.’ A pause. ‘Actually, she’s moving in.’
I try not to look flabbergasted but I suspect I’m not managing it.
‘Sounds great. Congratulations.’
He gives a little sideways smile. Now he’s got the words out he looks not just relieved but happy. Genuinely happy. I wonder for a moment how many other people he’s told. Not many, I’m guessing. Maybe I’m a dry run.
Someone in a Porsche cuts in front of us and he swears under his breath and changes lanes.
‘I was talking to her last night, actually – we were watching that Netflix thing about Rowan. Maisie went to the same school as her. Years later, obviously. She said no one at the school ever talked about it.’
I bet they didn’t. Rowan may well be their most recognizable old girl, but that’s one picture you definitely won’t find in their fancy prospectus.
‘The woman they interviewed,’ he says, ‘Marion Teesdale. She was Maise’s housemistress too. She said she was all right. A bit of a battleaxe but basically OK. And she really liked Maise.’
So if we decide we want to speak to her, that might help. I get the message. My phone starts to ring: Gis.
‘Thought you’d like to know what we got from the old folks, boss, before you see Rowan.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, if you ask me, I don’t think either of the Swanns knew the vic was coming that night.’
‘Interesting – what makes you so sure?’
‘The clothes, really. The old girl wouldn’t have been in her nightie if she was expecting visitors. Not that generation. Not if my gran was anything to go by.’
‘Of course – I should have thought of that myself.’
‘As for whether they worked out who he was,’ continues Gis, ‘either before or after the gun went off – now that’s more of a toughie. I don’t think Mr Swann did – I just don’t think he’s that good an actor. As for Mrs S, well, Ev’s convinced she knew exactly who he was but there’s no way she’s going to admit it.’