“Yes.”
Marie tapped her carmined nails on the desk.
“Sure you don’t want to tell me who he is in case you end up in bits on your kitchen floor?” She flicked Roz a speculative glance. There might, she thought, be some money in this somewhere.
Roz caught the glint in the other’s eye.
“No thanks,” she said shortly.
“This is one piece of information I intend to keep to myself. I don’t fancy my chances if he learns I’m close.”
“I won’t blab,” said Mamie with a pout of injured innocence.
“You can’t if I don’t put temptation your way.” Roz tucked the photograph into her handbag.
“It would be irresponsible, anyway. You’re a prime witness. He could just as easily come after you and chop you into little pieces.” She smiled coldly.
“I should hate to have that on my conscience.”
Roz returned to her car and sat for some minutes staring out of the window. If ever she had needed a tame ex-policeman to guide her through the maze of legal procedure, she thought, it was now. She was an amateur who could all too easily make mistakes and muck up the chances of a future prosecution.
And where would that leave Olive? Languishing in prison, presumably.
The verdict against her could only be overturned rapidly if someone else was convicted. On its own the seed of reasonable doubt would take years of germination before the Home Office would feel pressured enough to take notice.
How long had the Birmingham Six had to wait for justice? The responsibility to get it right was frightening.
But, loath though she was to admit it, what weighed rather more heavily with her was the knowledge that she hadn’t the courage to write the book while Olive’s psychopathic lover remained at liberty. Try as she might, she could not get the pictures of Gwen and Amber out of her mind.
She slammed her fists against the steering-wheel.
Where are you, Hawksley? You bastard! I was always there for you.
Graham Deedes, Olive’s one-time barrister, walked into his chambers after a long day in court and frowned in irritation to find Roz parked on a seat outside his door. He looked pointedly at his watch.
“I’m in a hurry, Miss Leigh.”
She sighed, unfolding herself from the hard chair.
“Five minutes,” she begged.
“I’ve been waiting two hours.”
“No, I’m sorry. We have people coming to dinner and I promised my wife I wouldn’t be late.” He opened his door and went inside.
“Ring and make an appointment. I’m in court for the next three days but I may be able to fit you in towards the end of the week.” He prepared to shut her out.
She stood up and leaned her shoulder on the door jamb, holding the door open with one hand.
“Olive did have a lover,” she told him.
“I know who he is and I’ve had his photograph identified by two witnesses, one of whom is the owner of the hotel that he and Olive used throughout the summer before the murders. I have a witness who bears out Olive’s claim to have had an abortion. The date she gave me implies that Olive’s baby, had it lived, would have been born around the time of the murders. I have learned that two people, Robert Martin and the father of a friend of Olive’s, quite independently of each other, told the police that Olive was incapable of murdering her sister.
The scenario they both offered was that Gwen killed Amber she didn’t like Amber, apparently and Olive killed Gwen. I admit the forensic evidence doesn’t support that case but it proves that serious doubts existed even at the time which I don’t think were brought to your attention.”
She saw the impatience in his face and hurried on.
“For all sorts of reasons, principally because it was her birthday, I do not believe that Olive was in the house on the night before the murders and I do believe that Gwen and Amber were killed much earlier than the time Olive claims to have done it. I think Olive returned home some time during the morning or afternoon of the ninth, found the carnage in the kitchen, knew her lover was responsible, and was so overcome with shock and remorse that she confessed to the crime herself. I think she was very unsure of herself, very distressed, and didn’t know how to cope when the main prop in her life, her mother, was so suddenly taken from her.”
He took some papers out of his desk and tucked them into his briefcase.
He heard so many imaginative de fences that he was more polite than interested.
“I assume you’re suggesting that Olive and her lover spent her birthday night together in a hotel somewhere.” Roz nodded.
“Have you any proof of that?”
“No. They weren’t registered at the hotel they usually used but that’s not surprising. It was a special occasion. They may even have come up to London.”
“In that case why should she assume her lover was responsible? They would have gone back together. Even if he’d dropped her at a distance from her house he wouldn’t have had time to do what was done.”
