‘What’s this about?’
‘I wondered if we could talk to you about Tessa.’
She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘What else is there to say?’
There was no delicate way to do this, despite what Adams had said, and now he saw why his senior officer stepped back and handed over the lead. This wasn’t like going into Neal Cooper’s house and rattling him. There were consequences for Mrs Darby that were going to hurt and that pain would be on him.
But she would want the right man to be punished, Zigic thought, and forced himself to press on.
‘Do you remember one of Tessa’s friends, Lee Walton?’
A flicker of panic passed over her face and he realised he didn’t have to explain. That she was connecting the dots by herself. Maybe she had already wondered about him.
‘They weren’t friends exactly,’ she said. ‘I’m friends with his mum – me and Jackie have known each other for years. Tess had known him since she was little.’ Her hands twisted around the broom handle. ‘Why are you asking me about him? What’s he got to do with anything?’
‘He was released from prison recently,’ Zigic said.
‘Jackie told me all about it,’ Mrs Darby said, a caustic edge coming into her voice. ‘She always said he wasn’t guilty.’
‘And did you agree with her?’ Adams asked.
‘All mothers want to see the best in their sons.’ Mrs Darby shook her head. ‘But I followed the news. That many women don’t just lie.’
‘It was a lot more women than the ones he was charged over,’ Adams said.
Zigic moved slightly, putting himself between them, pieces of broken pot crunching under his feet. But the damage was done, as it was always going to be.
Mrs Darby knew where they were going. Twenty years after her daughter’s murder, eight after the man convicted of it was released from prison, why would anyone be asking about the case now?
‘Neal Cooper killed my girl,’ she said fiercely. ‘He confessed.’
‘We have reason to believe his confession may have been made under duress,’ Adams said. ‘We’re carrying out a case review prompted by the discovery of new information that might have a bearing on how the original investigation was conducted.’
Zigic felt his pulse thudding in his neck, wanted to round on Adams and tell him to go, take his lies and hunches and complete lack of tact, and leave this to him.
A soft, keening noise came out of Mrs Darby and she let the broom drop, the sound like a gunshot in the walled confines of the garden centre.
‘You’ve got no right to do this,’ she said, her voice clogged, hand going to her throat. ‘Cooper confessed. He killed my Tess. He was obsessed with her. Why do you want to make out he’s innocent? Isn’t it bad enough he only served twelve years? For my daughter’s life. He’s out and about, living it up, doing whatever the hell he wants. And my little girl is dead. Why are you defending him?’
Zigic put his hands out, wanting to calm her but seeing it was impossible.
‘We just want to make sure the right man is punished, Mrs Darby.’
‘No, you think I’m an idiot,’ she snapped, darting towards him. ‘You lot messed up and now Lee’s out and you want to put him back inside. God knows, he deserves to be banged up and never see the light of day, but I will not let you use my little girl to do that.’
‘You really think there’s no chance he was responsible?’ Adams asked. ‘Knowing what you know about him now – what we all know he’s capable of – don’t you want us to at least investigate the possibility?’ She looked at him, eyes brimming. ‘Maybe we can save another mother from going through what you’re suffering.’
Mrs Darby wiped her eyes on the back of her wrist.
‘All we’re asking is that you think about this for us,’ Zigic said. ‘If there’s anything you can tell us about Walton, anything you didn’t mention to the original investigation, it could make all the difference.’
He held out a card to her but she just stared at it.
‘Neal Cooper murdered Tessa,’ she said firmly. ‘He confessed and I believe him. You weren’t there. You don’t know what kind of boy he was.’ She glared at Adams. ‘I don’t even know who you are. If you come near me again, I’ll be making a formal complaint of harassment against you.’
Wendy Darby stooped to pick up her broom and walked away from them.
Zigic watched her go, seeing a woman moving at speed because she didn’t know how long she had before she was going to break down completely. And he thought of how quickly they had upended her life, shredded whatever tenuous acceptance she’d come to, ripping the old wounds open again.
He trudged back to his car, relieved that Adams had finally worked out how to keep his mouth shut for a couple of minutes. Zigic wanted to blame him for what had happened but they’d both done it, decided, without openly discussing it, that the ends justified the means.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The satnav directed Ferreira through central Cambridge and down a series of residential streets until she entered a 1970s housing estate of neat detached properties, all two windows wide and standing a car’s depth back from the path. Their driveways were mostly empty at this time of the afternoon, but somebody was home at the last known address they had for Nadia Afua Baidoo.
A fifty-something woman with a lot of grey-threaded black hair piled on top of her head answered the door. She wore an oversized T-shirt with a sequinned French slogan and shorts she’d cut down from a pair of jeans.
She eyed them suspiciously and didn’t relax at the sight of their warrant cards as Ferreira made the introductions. She seemed reluctant to even give her name.
‘We’re looking for Nadia Baidoo,’ Ferreira said. ‘Does she live here?’
‘I should think you people have a better idea than
