‘There’s someone who wants a word with you.’
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘You’ll see.’
‘Is it someone I know?’
Kamsky paused for a moment, as if trying to make up his mind. ‘You’ll see,’ he repeated finally.
I was thinking so desperately that I hardly noticed as the driver pulled into a car park behind the police station and I was led across the cracked tarmac, through a back door, along a narrow corridor into a room and left alone to walk up and down. I’d only left it a couple of hours earlier but it wasn’t like before. Nobody offered me tea. I didn’t know if it was the same room. It felt darker. I tried to compose myself. But not too much. I mustn’t seem defensive. The news wasn’t entirely bad. No. If they were simply arresting me, they would have done it immediately. I would have been warned. Wasn’t that the way it happened?
Kamsky came into the room, carrying a cassette tape-recorder. Behind him was another man in a suit. He was heavily built with grey hair that looked as if it had just been combed, too hard, against his skull. Kamsky motioned to me to sit at the table. The two pulled chairs to the other side and sat down. Kamsky placed the tape-recorder on the table and looked at it for a moment but didn’t switch it on. ‘I’d like to introduce you to my colleague, Bill Pope,’ he said.
‘What’s this about?’ I said. I could feel the spanner in my pocket.
‘DI Pope came down this morning from Sheffield.’
I clenched my fists, then relaxed them, hearing my knuckles crack. I tried to make myself appear alarmed but not too alarmed. I felt my features twist into an expression but I had no idea how I must look to an outsider.
‘Has something happened?’ I asked. Bees inside my skull. Buzz, buzz.
Pope took a notebook from a pocket and opened it. He put on a pair of rimless glasses and peered down at it. ‘David Michael Gifford,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘What is it?’
‘You used to live at fourteen Donegal Close.’
‘That’s right. Has something happened?’
‘When were you last there?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. Was that my voice? Yes. ‘Five or six months ago.’
‘Who lives there now?’
‘My mum, I suppose.’
Pope frowned. ‘You suppose?’
‘I haven’t been in touch for a while.’
‘Why?’
I gave a shrug. ‘When I came down to London, I wanted to make a new start.’
‘What for?’
There was a pause as I tried to think how a person who didn’t know what was going on would respond. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘What’s this about? Has something happened?’
Pope clicked and unclicked the pen he was holding. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Should it have?’
‘Please,’ I said, in a tone that was meant to sound distressed and confused. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Why did you leave Sheffield?’ Pope asked.
‘Look, what’s all this…’ I stopped. Get it right, Davy. Hang on. ‘I always knew I wanted to go to London. I got the offer of a job in London. It seemed the right time. Please could you tell me what this is about? You’re alarming me.’ I tried to smile at him. I couldn’t. The skin on my face was stiff like cardboard.
Pope closed his notebook and leaned back in his chair.
‘Concerns were expressed by residents of Donegal Close. Two days ago police officers forced entry to the premises and a body was found.’
This was it. This was the big moment on which everything would depend. I’d thought about it for a long time. ‘Is it my mum?’ I asked.
‘The body had been there for some time. Months. But we managed to find out by… Well, we’ve confirmed it’s the body of Mary Gifford.’
I could feel them staring at me. Their gaze on my face was hot like the sun.
‘Dead?’ I said. ‘What happened? How could she…? I mean, why did nobody find her?’
I wasn’t able to cry but I rubbed my eyes hard and murmured unintelligible things. For a moment I put my face in my hands, shutting out their gaze and giving myself time to think. Then I looked up again. The two detectives stared at me impassively.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I should have been in touch. I didn’t call. I didn’t see her all the time I was away. But I never thought… I never imagined…’ I rubbed my eyes hard again, and let a few whimpers escape.
‘The officers talked to neighbours,’ said Pope. ‘They mentioned her son. They hadn’t seen you for some time. Or her.’
‘She wasn’t well,’ I said. ‘She wasn’t very mobile.’
‘Her body was in the bed.’
‘Bed,’ I said numbly. ‘She lay there a lot in the day.’
‘Nobody knew where you’d gone,’ said Pope. ‘But then your name popped up on the computer. Imagine our surprise. I thought I’d better come and see you.’
‘I’d have come up,’ I said. ‘Are you sure? My mother? Mum? She’s really dead?’
‘We need to ask some further questions,’ said Pope. ‘I now need to warn you that, in the case of charges being brought, what you say could be used as evidence in court. I should say also that you have the right to a lawyer present. If necessary, we can obtain one for you. Do you understand?’
‘No,’ I said slowly, as if in deep shock. ‘I don’t understand. Was there a crime?’
‘That’s what I’m here to consider.’
‘Was she burgled? She wasn’t… Was she attacked?’
‘Did you understand my warning? Do you want a lawyer?’
I’d thought about this carefully in advance and I knew what I was going to say. ‘A lawyer? What for?’
‘It’s up to you,’ said Kamsky.
‘My mother’s dead,’ I said. ‘I loved her. I should never have left her alone. I’ll answer anything you want. I’ll do anything I can to help.’
Kamsky switched the tape on and announced the date, the time and the place, the names of the officers present, my full name and that I had been told my rights and had agreed to be interviewed without a lawyer present. They began to ask me questions, but really over the next hour or so I learned far more than they did. I was deliberately vague and fumbling in my answers. After all, I was a son who had just been told his mother was dead and, despite his distress, was trying to do his best to help. If I had been precise in every detail about my movements and motives and what I had been doing in the weeks before I came to London and why I hadn’t returned or even been in touch, that’s what would have been suspicious.
It became clear that, after the heat of the last few weeks, the body had been so decayed that it had been difficult enough to make an identification and impossible to find out anything else significant. I could imagine the sequence. First the flies, then the maggots, a boiling carpet of maggots, scouring everything away. It was obvious that they didn’t have anything but they’d brought me in to look at me, to jolt a reaction out of me. I didn’t need to be clever. The more confused and helpless the better.
‘I feel so terrible,’ I said at one point. ‘I thought her friends would look after her. I don’t know what could have happened.’
‘Did she have many friends?’ asked Pope.
‘A few,’ I said. ‘Less since she’d got ill.’
‘How ill was she?’
‘I don’t know what was wrong with her but I think she was sometimes in pain,’ I said, glassy-eyed. ‘I know she tried to keep it from me. But she was so brave about it. Maybe she tried to do too much.’
I wanted to keep on playing stupid. I knew it was the right thing to do. But I couldn’t resist it. I had to know. I waited until the questions seemed to come to a halt.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Why are you both here?’
‘I need to consider all possibilities,’ said Kamsky.
‘My mother was found dead in her bed. In Sheffield. What do you mean, possibilities?’
‘I hate this case,’ Kamsky said.
It was my own fault. I’d gone through that door. I decided it was time to get angry. ‘What do you mean, this fucking case?’ I said. ‘What case? You’ve just told me my mum’s dead. What are you talking about? You’ve arrested fucking Miles. What are you after? Ask me anything you want. I don’t care. But don’t fuck me around.’