‘And you should have sent her straight back there.’
‘What if she’s right?’
‘She’s not.’
‘I’ve been to Christine Wheeler’s house. I’ve talked to her business partner.’
‘And?’
‘She was having money problems, but nothing else suggests a woman on the verge of a breakdown.’
‘Suicide is an impulsive act.’
‘Yes, but people still choose a method that suits them, normally something they perceive as being quick and painless.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘They don’t jump off a bridge if they’re afraid of heights.’
‘But we both saw her jump.’
‘Yes.’
‘So your argument doesn’t make sense. Nobody pushed her. You were nearest. Did you see anyone? Or you think she was murdered by remote control. Hypnotism? Mind control?’
‘She didn’t want to jump. She was resigned to it. She took off her clothes and put on a raincoat. She walked out of the house without deadlocking the door. She didn’t leave a suicide note. She didn’t tidy up her affairs or give away her possessions. None of her behaviour was typical of a woman contemplating suicide. A woman who is scared of heights doesn’t choose to jump off a bridge. She doesn’t do it naked. She doesn’t scrawl insults on her skin. Women of her age are body conscious. They wear clothes that flatter. They care about their appearance.’
‘You’re making excuses, Professor. The lady jumped.’
‘She was talking to someone on the phone. They could have said something to her.’
‘Perhaps they gave her bad news: a death in the family or a bad diagnosis. For all you know she had an argument with a boyfriend who dumped her.’
‘She didn’t have a boyfriend.’
‘Did the daughter tell you that?’
‘Why hasn’t the person on the phone come forward? If a woman threatens to jump off a bridge, surely you call the police or an ambulance.’
‘He’s probably married and doesn’t want to get involved.’ I’m not convincing her. I have a theory and no solid evidence to support it. Theories achieve the permanence of facts by persisting and acquiring an incremental significance. So do fallacies. It doesn’t make them true.
Veronica Cray is staring at my left arm which has begun to twitch, sending a shudder through my shoulder. I hold it still.
‘What makes you think Mrs Wheeler was afraid of heights?’
‘Darcy told me.’
‘And you believe her- a teenage girl who’s in shock; who’s grieving; who can’t understand how the most important person in her life could abandon her…’
‘Did the police search her car?’
‘It was recovered.’
That’s not the same thing. She knows it.
‘Where is the car now?’ I ask.
‘In the police lock-up.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘No.’
She doesn’t know where I’m going with this, but whatever happens I’m creating more work for the police. I’m questioning the official investigation.
‘This isn’t my case, Professor. I’ve got real crimes to solve. This was a suicide. Death by gravity. We both saw it happen. Suicides aren’t supposed to make sense because they’re pointless. I tell you something else, most people don’t leave a note. They just snap and leave everyone wondering.’
‘She showed no signs-’
‘Let me finish,’ she barks, making it sound like an order. Embarrassment prickles beneath my skin.
‘Look at you, Professor. You got an illness. Do you wake up every day thinking, Wow, isn’t it great to be alive? Or some days do you look at those shaking limbs and contemplate what lies ahead and, just for a moment, a fleeting second, consider a way out?’
She leans back in her chair and stares at the ceiling. ‘We all do.
We carry our past with us- the mistakes, the sadness. You say Christine Wheeler was an optimist. She loved her daughter. She loved her job. But you don’t really know her. Maybe it was something about the weddings that got to her. All those fairytales. The white dresses and flowers; the exchanging of vows. Maybe they reminded her of her own wedding and how it didn’t match up to the fantasy. Her husband walked out. She raised a child alone. I don’t know. No one does.’
The DI rocks her head from side to side, stretching her neck muscles. She isn’t finished.
‘You’re feeling guilty, I understand that. You think you should have saved her, but what happened on the bridge wasn’t your fault. You did what you could. People appreciate that. But now you’re making a bad situation worse. Take Darcy back to school. Go home. It’s not your concern any more.’
‘What if I told you I heard something,’ I say.
She pauses, eyeing me suspiciously.
‘On the bridge when I was trying to talk to Christine Wheeler, I thought I heard something being said to her- over the mobile.’
‘What did you hear?’
‘A word.’
‘What?’
‘Jump!’
I watch the subtle change in the detective, a little shrinking created by a single word. She glances at her large square hands and back to me, meeting my eyes without embarrassment. This is not a case she wants to carry forward.
‘You think you heard it?’
‘Yes.’
Her uncertainty is transient. Already she has rationalised the possible outcomes and weighed only the downside.
‘Well, I think you should tell that to the coroner. I’m sure he’ll be pleased as punch to hear it. Who knows- maybe you’ll convince him, but I seriously doubt it. I don’t care if God himself was on the other end of that phone, you can’t make someone jump- not like that.’
On-coming headlights sweep over the inside of the car and pass into darkness.
Darcy lifts her eyes to the windscreen.
‘That detective isn’t going to help, is she?’
‘No.’
‘So you’re giving up.’
‘What do you expect me to do, Darcy? I’m not a policeman. I can’t make them investigate.’
She turns her face away. Her shoulders rise as though protecting her ears from hearing any more. We drive in silence for another mile.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I’m taking you back to school.’
‘No!’
The aggression in her voice surprises me. Emma flinches and looks at us from the back seat of the car.
‘I’m not going back.’
‘Listen, Darcy, I know you’re very sure of yourself, but I don’t think you fully realise what’s happened. Your mother isn’t coming back. And you don’t suddenly become an adult simply because she’s not here.’
‘I’m old enough to make my own decisions.’
‘You can’t go home- not alone.’
