“Because there are more inconsistencies now than there were before.”
She held up her fingers and ticked them off point by point.
“Why was she crying so much when she telephoned the police station that the desk sergeant couldn’t understand what she was saying? Why wasn’t she wearing her best dress for London? Why did she burn the clothes?
Why did her father think she was innocent? Why wasn’t he shocked by Gwen and Amber’s deaths? Why did she say she didn’t like Amber? Why didn’t she mention the fight with her mother if she intended to plead guilty? Why were the blows from the rolling pin so comparatively light? Why? Why? Why?” She dropped her hands to the table with a wry smile.
“They may very well be red herrings but I can’t get rid of a gut feeling that there’s something wrong. Ultimately, perhaps, I cannot square your and her solicitor’s conviction that Olive was mad with the assessments of five psychiatrists who all say she’s normal.”
He studied her for some minutes in silence.
“You accused me of assuming her guilt before I knew it for a fact, but you’re doing something rather worse. You’re assuming her innocence in spite of the facts. Supposing you manage to whip up support for her through this book of yours and in view of the way the judicial system is reeling at the moment, that’s not as unlikely as it should be have you no qualms about releasing someone like her back into society?”
“None at all, if she’s innocent.”
“And if she isn’t, but you get her out anyway?”
“Then the law is an ass.”
“All right, if she didn’t do it, who did?”
“Someone she cared about.” She finished her coffee and switched off the tape.
“Anything else just doesn’t make sense.”
She shut the recorder into her briefcase and stood up.
“You’ve been very kind to give up so much of your time. Thank you, and thank you for the lunch.” She held out a hand.
He took it gravely.
“My pleasure, Miss Leigh.” Her fingers, soft and warm in his, moved nervously when he held them too long, and he thought she seemed suddenly rather afraid of him. It was probably for the best. One way and another, she spelt trouble.
She walked to the door.
“Goodbye, Sergeant Hawksley. I hope the business picks up for you.”
He gave a savage smile.
“It will. This is what’s known as a temporary blip, I assure you.”
“Good.” She paused.
“There’s just one last thing. I understand Robert Martin told you he thought the more likely scenario was that Gwen battered Amber, and Olive then killed Gwen trying to defend her sister. Why did you dismiss that possibility?”
“It didn’t hold water. The pathologist established that both throats were cut with the same hand. The size, depth, and angle of the wounds were consistent with one attacker. Gwen wasn’t just fighting for herself, you know, she was fighting for Amber, too. Olive is completely ruthless. You would be very foolish to forget that.” He smiled again but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“If you’ll take my advice you’ll abandon the whole thing.”
Roz shrugged.
“I tell you what, Sergeant’ she gestured towards the restaurant ‘you mind your business, and I’ll mind mine.”
He listened to her heels tapping away down the alley, then reached for the telephone and dialled.
“Geof,” he snapped into the mouthpiece, ‘get down here, will you? We need to talk.” His eyes hardened as he listened to the voice at the other end.
“Like hell it’s not your problem. I’m damned if I’ll be the fall guy for this one.”
Roz glanced at her watch as she drove away. It was four thirty.
If she pushed it she might catch Peter Crew before he went home for the day. She found a parking space in the centre of Southampton and arrived at his office just as he was leaving.
“Mr. Crew!” she called, running after him.
He turned with his unconvincing smile, only to frown when he saw who it was.
“I’ve no time to talk to you now, Miss Leigh. I have an engagement.”
“Let me walk with you,” she urged.
“I won’t delay you, I promise.”
He gave a nod of acquiescence and set off again, the hair of his toupee bobbing in time to his steps.
“My car isn’t far.”
