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‘I’d just convinced myself you were too tied up in your glamorous new life...’ Kate paused, as if a thought had suddenly struck her. ‘The last time we were supposed to meet, lunch at Joe’s just before Easter, why did you cancel that morning?’

‘Well, uh, I had a black eye and a swollen lip. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I’d have had to explain.’

‘I knew something was wrong,’ Kate said. ‘And you were spinning a yarn, weren’t you, when you said you’d been in a remote part of Africa and your phone didn’t work... I’m kicking myself now. Oh my God. It all seemed like such a fairy tale. Kurt, the wedding...’

Her voice tailed off.

Yes, thought Lilian, the wedding had been a fairy tale. The local magistrate had officiated in a romantic ceremony at the St John family mansion high above Cape Town. She and Kurt had taken their vows standing on a gently sloping lawn on a perfect sunny day, the ocean in the distance providing a sparkling backdrop. Kurt had arranged everything, even her beautiful wedding dress. She hadn’t had to think about a thing, and had been ecstatically happy, blissfully unaware that this would be a pattern for the future and one she would come to deeply regret.

Kurt’s father, of English origin, had died some years earlier. His brother William, and his Afrikaans mother Gilda both appeared to welcome Lilian with open arms.

‘If only James were alive to see this day,’ Gilda St John had told Lilian. ‘He so wanted Kurt to find the personal happiness we enjoyed.’

Lilian had glowed.

There were over two hundred people at the wedding, almost all Kurt’s family, his numerous uncles, aunts, cousins and second cousins, and various business associates. Lilian had had no family present. Her only friends there were Kate and her lawyer husband Charlie.

Lilian actually had very little family left, and there had been no one else she’d really wanted to invite, and certainly no one she thought would even consider travelling all the way to South Africa to witness her nuptials.

But that wasn’t quite the point. Blinded by her love for this extraordinary man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, Lilian had failed to notice that Kurt hadn’t even asked her if she would like to invite anyone to the wedding.

Even when she’d mentioned that she wanted to invite Kate and Charlie, he’d paused for so long before replying that she had fleetingly wondered if he were going to refuse. Or at least question her request. But he hadn’t.

‘Of course, my darling, she is your dearest friend, of course she should be there,’ he’d said.

And Lilian had thought at the time that she must have imagined the hesitation, the possible hint of dissent.

Neither had Lilian noticed that Kurt hadn’t even asked her if she wanted to marry in South Africa. He’d just told her how it would be.

‘Lilian, Lilian, are you still there?’

Kate’s voice was full of anxiety now.

‘Yes, yes, I was just thinking...’

‘Look, we’ll come as soon as we can,’ Kate said. ‘Charlie’s at some law society do tonight. We’ll drive down first thing in the morning. I presume you don’t have a lawyer?’

‘N-no.’

‘Well, you need Charlie then, don’t you, ASAP?’

‘B-but I can’t afford to pay him.’

She explained how Kurt had cut off her finances.

‘There’s always legal aid,’ responded Kate, sounding breezy again now that she was organizing things, which was what she had always been best at.

‘Just don’t say another word to anyone till Charlie and I are with you,’ Kate commanded before ringing off.

As soon as she’d finished the call, Lilian was led to a cell by a woman officer. She felt sure she would remember for the rest of her life how she felt when the heavy steel door crashed shut behind her.

The tears she had so far managed to hold back suddenly overwhelmed her.

It was as if her heart were about to stop beating. She could not believe she had sunk to such a low. Her head ached. Her mouth was dry. The brief moment of optimism she had experienced while talking to Kate evaporated without a trace. She could hear screaming, followed by the voice of a man, presumably another prisoner, shouting, ‘Shut the fuck up, will you.’

Only then did she realize that it was she who was screaming. She made herself stop.

She turned to face the door. It contained a viewing panel with a sliding shutter. The shutter was open. Lilian could see a pair of eyes watching. She struggled to control herself, leaning against the far wall of the cell for support.

After a few seconds the eyes disappeared, and the shutter closed with a sharp metallic clunk.

Then with almost unreal clarity came the rhythmic tapping of retreating footsteps, and Lilian was suddenly and irrationally quite sure that she would remain locked in this bare little concrete box for ever.

The cell was around eight foot by six, its grubby cream walls covered in old graffiti, half scrubbed out. A lone light bulb hung untidily from the ceiling. The only furniture was a thin plastic mattress laid on a narrow concrete platform. There was a single, folded blanket. No pillow.

In a recessed area off one corner there was a lavatory pan without a seat. The recessed area had no door, and the lavatory could be seen easily from the viewing panel in the door to the cell.

Prisoners, Lilian realized, forfeit the right straight away to even the most elementary privacy. Even before they are convicted.

She sat down on the concrete bed and wrapped the blanket around her. The cell seemed cold in spite of the warmth of the day outside, and the blanket too thin to help much. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wound her arms tightly around her legs.

A police cell is a very solitary and, to those who have never been in one before, shocking place. That first night at Trinity Road police station was probably the longest of Lilian’s life. Longer, even, then any of the awful nights she had spent with her violent husband.

She could not sleep, so she had plenty of time to think, to reflect not only on the terrible mess she was in, but also the chain of events that had brought her to such a place. And the man, of course.

Nineteen

Vogel’s phone rang just as he and Saslow were leaving the Williams’ home. It was Morag Docherty, the Quinns’ newly appointed FLO, reporting directly to the DCI as instructed.

She was calling from outside Greg Quinn’s flat.

‘They won’t let me in, boss,’ she said. ‘Or rather Greg won’t. He didn’t even come to the door. Just told me on the intercom to go away, that his mother was sleeping and they didn’t need a police nanny.’

Vogel smiled wryly. This was not an unusual response and did not indicate anything in particular.

‘That’s all right, Docherty,’ he responded. ‘You head back to the nick. We can’t force the Quinns to accept a FLO into their home. In any case, Saslow and I are about to pay them a visit.’

He checked his watch as he ended the call and turned to Saslow.

‘So, let’s go straight to Kipling Terrace,’ he instructed. ‘We’d better visit Jason Patel later. It’s almost two thirty already. We’re meeting Dr Lamey at Greg Quinn’s at three, and also we have rather more to put to Mrs Quinn than expected.’

Once in the car he asked Saslow what she had made of Wynne Williams.

‘He’s a bit of a worm, isn’t he, boss?’ the DS responded. ‘But worms are famous for turning.’

Vogel chuckled.

‘They are indeed, Saslow,’ he responded. ‘However, the question is, even if he wanted to, would he ever dare to attack a man so much his superior physically, a man clearly capable of considerable aggression? Does he have it in him?’

‘One thing this job has taught me, boss, is how you never can tell what people might be capable of under the right circumstances, or perhaps I should say, the wrong circumstances,’ Saslow replied. ‘Williams is obviously besotted with Gill Quinn. And we both know how many murders, sometimes brutal murders, are committed in the name of love. We even have a name for them, don’t we? Crimes of passion. Love should play no part in the taking of a life. But it does.’