“Because she was going to London in trousers, presumably.”
“No,” said Roz stubbornly.
“If the dress was her favourite, then that’s what she would have worn for her trip to town.
London was her birthday treat to herself. She probably had dreams of bumping into Mr. Right on Waterloo station. It simply wouldn’t occur to her to wear anything but her best. You need to be a woman to understand that.”
He was amused.
“But I see hundreds of girls walking around in shapeless trousers and baggy T-shirts, particularly the fat ones. I think they look grotesque but they seem to like it.
Presumably they’re making a statement about their refusal to pander to conventional standards of beauty. Why should Olive have been any different?”
“Because she wasn’t the rebellious type. She lived at home under her mother’s thumb, took the job her mother wanted her to take, and was apparently so unused to going out alone for the day that she had to beg her sister to go with her.” She drummed her fingers impatiently on the table.
“I’m right. I know I am. If she wasn’t lying about the trip to London then she should have been wearing her dress.”
He was not impressed.
“She was rebellious enough to kill her mother and sister,” he remarked.
“If she could do that, she could certainly go to London in trousers.
You’re splitting hairs again. Anyway, she might have changed to keep the dress clean.”
“But she definitely intended to go to London? Did you check that?”
“She certainly booked the day off work. We accepted that London was where she was going because, as far as we could establish, she hadn’t mentioned her plans to anyone else.”
“Not even to her father?”
“If she did, he didn’t remember it.”
Olive waited in an interview room while Hal spoke to her father. It was a difficult conversation. Whether he had schooled himself to it, or whether it was a natural trick of behaviour, Robert Martin reacted little to anything that was said to him. He was a handsome man but, in the way that a Greek sculpture is handsome, he invited admiration but lacked warmth or attraction. His curiously impassive face had an unlined and ageless quality, and only his hands, knotted with arthritis, gave any indication that he had passed his middle years.
Once or twice he smoothed his blond hair with the flat of his hand or touched his fingers to his tie, but for all the expression on his plastic features Hal might have been passing the time of day. It was impossible to gauge from his expression how deeply he was shocked or whether, indeed, he was shocked at all.
“Did you like him?” asked Roz.
“Not much. He reminded me of Olive. I don’t know where I am with people who hide their feelings. It makes me uncomfortable.”
Roz could identify with that.
Hal kept detail to a minimum, informing him only that the bodies of his wife and one of his daughters had been discovered that afternoon in the kitchen of his house, and that his other daughter, Olive, had given the police reason to believe she had killed them.
Robert Martin crossed his legs and folded his hands calmly in his lap.
“Have you charged her with anything?”
“No. We haven’t questioned her either.” He watched the other man closely.
“Frankly, sir, in view of the serious nature of the possible charges we think she should have a solicitor with her.”
“Of course. I’m sure my man, Peter Crew, will come.” Mild enquiry twitched his brows.
“What’s the procedure? Should I telephone him?”
Hal was puzzled by the man’s composure. He wiped a hand across his face.
“Are you sure you understand what’s happened, sir?”
“I believe so. Gwen and Amber are dead and you think Olive murdered them.”
“That’s not quite accurate. Olive has implied that she was responsible for their deaths but, until we take a statement from her, I can’t say what the charges will be.” He paused for a moment.
“I want you to be quite clear on this, Mr. Martin. The Home Office pathologist who examined the scene had no doubts that considerable ferocity was used both before and after death.
In due course, I’m afraid to say, we will have to ask you to identify the bodies and you may, when you see them, feel less charitably inclined towards any possible suspect. On that basis, do you have any reservations about your solicitor representing Olive?”
Martin shook his head.
“I would be happier dealing with someone I know.”
“There may be a conflict of interests. Have you considered that?”
