‘Feed a seagull.’
‘What?’
‘Never mind. I owe him. Call me back.’
64
Tossing his mobile on to his desk with a clatter, Marilyn covered his face with his hands. Jesus Christ. He’d lost count of the hours he’d spent since Carolynn Reynolds was acquitted, reviewing each step of the investigation, putting his logic under the microscope, searching for some minute gap in his reasoning, and he hadn’t been able to find one. And now it turned out what he had missed was a gargantuan black hole that would swallow him entirely: his career, his reputation – the whole lot, hook, line and sinker – if Carolynn Reynolds had indeed murdered her daughter and got away with it, leaving her free to murder little Jodie Trigg.
But the most damaging blow would be the wholesale destruction of his self-respect. He was a good policeman – a great policeman, he’d venture to say when he was feeling particularly self-congratulatory – and through twenty years on the job he had rarely failed to get a result. His reputation and self-respect had been hard won. Hard won; easily annihilated.
A hand on his shoulder and he almost leapt out of his skin. ‘Tea, sir.’
‘I need more than a cup of bloody tea, Workman.’
She put the tea on his desk anyway, slipping two milk chocolate digestives next to the cup.
‘Are we celebrating something?’ Marilyn asked, eyeing the biscuits cynically.
Workman’s expression was inscrutable. ‘I thought we might need the energy.’ She sat down across the desk from him and met his gaze. ‘What’s the problem, sir?’
‘Problem? Is it that obvious?’ Massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers, he sighed. ‘I’ve just had a phone call from Jessie Flynn. She reckons we need to compare Zoe Reynolds’ DNA against Carolynn’s on the database. In haste. Now. Immediately.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Doctor Flynn doesn’t believe that Zoe was Roger and Carolynn Reynolds’ biological daughter.’
The expression of horror that crossed Workman’s face summed up his feelings exactly.
‘And from what she told me, I’m inclined to agree.’
‘But there was no indication at all – neither of the Reynolds said anything to suggest she was adopted. Carolynn had postnatal depression. Zoe even looked like her … her mother … Carolynn.’
‘I know, I know, but I should have checked anyway. It was one of the t’s I should have crossed. I crossed every other bloody one, whole alphabets full of the bloody things, but not the one that needed crossing.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘It’s on me, this one, Sarah. If Carolynn Reynolds is our murderer, this one is on me. Little Jodie Trigg’s death is on me.’
‘On us, sir. We’re in this together.’
‘No, Sarah. I’m the SIO. I take the blame, alone.’ Reaching for his tea, he took a sip, hoping that Workman didn’t notice his hand shaking as he lifted the cup to his mouth.
Workman stood. ‘I’ll get on to it now, sir. Shouldn’t take long.’
‘Thank you.’
When she had gone, Marilyn demolished both biscuits in four big bites and felt no better for doing so.
This one is on me. Little Jodie Trigg’s death is on me.
65
Though Jessie was tempted to keep her finger jammed furiously on the bell until the front door opened, she played the psychology and gave it one short, businesslike ring. Then, instead of stepping sideways as Marilyn had done, so as not to be framed in the eye viewer’s circle, she ducked her head so that if Reynolds checked he’d get an eyeful of long black hair, a woman, in his eyes hopefully less of a threat. She hated to be so disingenuous, but she didn’t have a choice. She needed to get inside that house and talk to Roger Reynolds, and she couldn’t risk him recognizing her through the viewer and deciding that he’d rather shove his head in the oven than answer any more of her questions.
Reynolds had clearly learnt caution; when the door eventually opened, it was only by a fraction. The latched door chain cut across the narrow space, revealing a sliver of pale face and one bloodshot grey eye above it.
‘No’ was all he said.
Following Marilyn’s lead this time, Jessie jammed her foot in the door. Reynolds looked down at her flimsy summer sandal. ‘If I slam it, you risk a severed toe, Dr Flynn.’
‘I’ll take the risk.’
‘Brave girl.’ The face withdrew and the door inched slowly closed, as if moved by an invisible force, until it nudged against Jessie’s exposed toes.
‘Move your foot, Dr Flynn,’ a disembodied voice commanded.
‘If you won’t talk to me, I’ll be forced to go and ask your mother about Zoe’s biological parentage,’ Jessie said. She snatched her foot away, knowing that her words would precipitate either a slam or the door being torn wide open, no scenario in between.
A slam.
Jessie waited. A moment later, she heard the sound of the chain being removed and Reynolds emerged from the concealing darkness of the hallway, blinking furiously in the sunlight.
‘You little shit,’ he hissed. ‘You leave my mother alone.’
She stood her ground and maintained eye contact, though it was an effort.
‘No, you’re the shit, Mr Reynolds. You’ve been lying from the start. Perhaps your mother might know the value of truth, even if she didn’t think to teach it to her son.’
‘She’s eighty years old, in a home. Zoe’s death destroyed her. She loved that little girl.’
‘Unlike your wife.’
‘Carolynn loved Zoe.’
‘Did she? Really?’
‘In her own way, she did.’ His voice now laced with pain, had lost its force.
Jessie didn’t care. ‘In her own way?’ she said scornfully, raising her voice deliberately. ‘What the hell does that mean?’
Reynolds glanced past her, aware that people were dawdling in the narrow road outside, that this unprepossessing house had become an unlikely tourist attraction since the police search, the community bush wire buzzing with speculation.
‘Come in,’ he said, stepping back across the threshold and pulling the door open. ‘Come inside the house, now.’
Should she? She hadn’t, in her haste, told Marilyn where she was going. Carolynn had given Jessie the impression that
