A Shred of Evidence (35 page)

Kim knew what Hannah had told her mother, what she had presumably told the police. It hadn’t seemed like that to her, but she
was
very far away, and Hannah ought to know what happened, after all. But all the same.

She took a deep breath. “But it’s Mrs. Cochrane who’s dead,” she said defiantly, before she changed her mind about saying it.

Inspector Hill nodded.

“And … and, well … people were saying that Colin was going with Natalie, and if Hannah thought that, she would be much more likely than Mrs. Cochrane to—” She broke off. That wasn’t fair. That really wasn’t fair. She didn’t know Mrs. Cochrane. For all she knew, she might be perfectly capable of jealous murder. She had no right to say that Hannah was. “That was a terrible thing to say,” she said.

“No,” said the inspector. “It might be wrong, but it isn’t terrible.” She sat beside her, put her arm round her like her mother had. “When the police investigate a murder,” she said, “we find ourselves thinking—and discussing—all sorts of possibilities. That a child’s own mother killed him, perhaps. If we’re wrong, we’re glad. But we don’t feel bad for having thought it. The unthinkable does happen.”

She was nice. Not like she’d been the other day, when Kim had felt like a fish on a hook, being drawn to the surface against her will.

“And don’t worry,” she said. “I understand your concern—and I’m not taking anything at face value.” She smiled. “I’ve been taught not to, by someone who checks for himself if someone tells him it’s raining.”

Kim smiled too, and sniffed back the tears.

“Thank you,” said Inspector Hill, closing her notebook, standing up just as Kim’s mum came back in. “I’m sorry to
have had to put you through so much,” she said, and then smiled at Kim’s mother. “I’ll see myself out, Mrs. Walters. Kim may be required to give evidence at some future date, but we’ll let you know.”

Her mother looked up at the inspector. “What happens to Hannah now?” she asked. “Will she have to go through a trial or anything like that?”

“That depends on a lot of things way outside my control,” said Inspector Hill. “And, as I said, we don’t actually know the full story yet.”

“Hello, Hannah,” the woman said as she came into the interview room.

“About time too!” said Hannah’s mother. “I don’t know who you people think you are.”

“This is DI Hill,” said Tom Finch, with a nicely wicked comic timing, Hannah thought.

He’d told Hannah to call him Tom, when he had picked her and her mother up from the hospital, doggedly polite in the face of her mother’s rudeness.

“She wants to ask you a few questions, Hannah,” he went on. “We just need to get everything clear, you know?”

“Just call me Judy,” said the inspector as Tom set up the cassette recorder. “How do you feel now, Hannah?”

Hannah smiled a little. “Not too bad,” she said.

“Now, Hannah,” the inspector said. “You are here because Mrs. Cochrane died from stab wounds inflicted by you, and we have to talk to you about that.”

“But she was trying to kill me,” Hannah said.

She couldn’t think of the inspector as Judy, the way she thought of Sergeant Finch as Tom. She sounded too like a headmistress. A headmistress trying to sort out a playground fight.

“Yes, I know. But I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as that, Hannah. The inquest may well produce a verdict of lawful killing, but in order to do that they have to know what exactly happened, to the best of your recollection. We need to know now, so that we can tie it in with our forensic evidence.”

“It’s perfectly obvious!” said Mrs. Lewis, who Hannah would swear had not shut up from the moment Tom Finch had appeared, apologetically, at the hospital. “And it’s ridiculous to make Hannah do this so soon after something like this has happened to her!”

The inspector smiled sympathetically, but it was manufactured sympathy. Hannah’s mother was rubbing this woman up the wrong way, as she so often had with others. Teachers, youth club workers, swimming instructors. Anyone Hannah had ever had anything to do with.

“I know it must seem very callous, Mrs. Lewis. But we have to talk to Hannah while the events are very fresh in her memory. The inquest will be opened and adjourned—it could be several weeks before it’s actually heard.” She turned to Hannah. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “Neither this, nor the inquest. We just want to know what happened—as far as you are able to tell us.”

“It’s all right,” said Hannah. “I don’t mind, honestly. Mum just fusses.” She ached all over, and her throat hurt. She just wanted to get all of this over with.

“Right,” Inspector Hill said. “We will be taping this interview, Hannah, but you are not obliged to answer any questions. Anything you do say, however, may be given in evidence.”

“You’re treating her like a criminal!”

“Hannah has, even if it was in self-defence, taken someone’s life, Mrs. Lewis,” the inspector said.

“So had that woman! And she would have taken Hannah’s if she hadn’t managed to stop her!”

“All violent death has to be investigated, Mrs. Lewis. This is a formal interview in which the caution, the tape, and everything else is to safeguard Hannah’s rights.”

“It’s outrageous.”

“And I must ask you, Mrs. Lewis, to let Hannah answer any questions put to her herself.” She turned again to Hannah. “You are here voluntarily, Hannah, and are free to leave at any time. You are also entitled to free, independent legal advice.”

“She doesn’t need legal advice! And if we can leave, that’s
what we’re doing.” Mrs. Lewis stood up. “Come on, Hannah,” she said.

Hannah didn’t move. She was the one being interviewed—it was up to her whether she stayed or not. And she was staying.

“I strongly advise you against leaving, Mrs. Lewis,” said Judy. “I would be quite within my rights to arrest Hannah.”

Her mother stared at the inspector. “
Arrest
her?” she said, her voice barely audible, for once.

“Yes,” said Inspector Hill coolly. “Please don’t make me do it, Mrs. Lewis.”

Tom watched, lost in admiration for Judy’s style, as the formidable Mrs. Lewis, who had dismissed her husband at the hospital with a wave of the hand, telling him to go to work and keep out of the way, sank back down into the chair.

He always wondered whether Judy would really carry out the odd threat that she was given to making, but she sounded about as comforting as a dentist’s drill when she issued them, so he had never had occasion to find out.

“Good,” said Judy. “The sooner it’s all sorted out, the better.”

So everyone kept saying. Tom felt badly about interviewing the girl so soon after such a dreadful thing had happened to her, but her injuries were superficial, and the attempted strangulation had been halted before any real damage had been done. Hannah seemed to have suffered no psychological ill-effects, and the doctor had said they could talk to her. “A very pragmatic young lady,” he had called her.

Tom was never entirely sure what pragmatic meant, but the DCI had said it meant that a proper, recorded interview could be done, and that was what they had to do, because the attempted strangulation had been halted by a knife plunged twice, the second time fatally, into Erica Cochrane, and even alleged murderers were entitled to have their own deaths investigated as fully and as speedily as possible.

“I think we have to start with Tuesday evening, don’t you?” Judy said.

Hannah expressed the desire not to have her mother present, but Judy explained that she was being interviewed with regard to the death of Erica Cochrane, and an adult had to be present.

Hannah gave a sidelong glance in her mother’s direction. “It’ll upset her,” she said to Judy. “You’ve seen what she’s like.”

Judy smiled a little. “Well,” she said. “I can’t say I blame your mum for being upset. You seem remarkably calm about it all.”

“Not much point in getting into a flap,” said Hannah. “It’s happened.”

“True.” Judy sat down and took out her notebook. “So, let’s get down to it,” she said.

“All right,” said Hannah.

“You wrote a letter to Mr. Cochrane telling him you would meet him at the adventure playground on Tuesday evening—is that right?”

Hannah, so apparently calm a moment before, went a painful pink. Poor kid. That was why she hadn’t wanted her mother present, of course.

Mrs. Lewis was, predictably, staring at her daughter now. “What letter?” she demanded.

“Just a letter,” mumbled Hannah.

“I want to know!” said Mrs. Lewis.

“Mrs. Lewis!” said Judy. “I must ask you not to interrupt this interview!”

Judy had an enormous store of patience; Tom had seen it last her through hundreds of no-comment interviews, through dozens and dozens of voluble parent-overseen interviews, watched it finally produce answers from seasoned pros who simply couldn’t match her in that department, and who eventually told her what she wanted to know. But she must have forgotten to top up this morning.

“You’d written him a lot of letters, hadn’t you?” she asked, her voice calm again now.

Hannah nodded again.

“Is that why you didn’t want me here?” her mother asked. “Because you’ve been writing love letters to him, is that it?”

“Mrs. Lewis,” Tom said, hoping that his intervention would stop Judy from actually hitting the woman. “If you don’t mind …”

“I do mind! I mind finding out from you people that my daughter’s been writing love letters to some teacher!”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” muttered Hannah.

“Of course I
understand
,” said Mrs. Lewis. “What bothers me is that you thought I wouldn’t!” She looked at Judy. “She’s always had a crush on him,” she said. “Of course I understand,” she said again, with a little laugh.

Hannah didn’t seem comforted by that. But then, Mrs. Lewis didn’t know the nature of the letters. Judy would, Tom was sure, keep the content of the letters out of it if she could. but it seemed unlikely that she would be able to.

“I’m not sure I understand,” said Judy. “Why
did
you write those letters, Hannah?”

Hannah thought for a moment before answering. “I love him,” she said quietly.

“It’s just a teenage crush,” Mrs. Lewis assured Judy. “You must have had a crush on a teacher too—everyone does.”

Tom had had a crush on a teacher. Just when he was beginning to understand what people saw in the opposite sex, an exchange teacher from France had come to the school, and Tom had followed round like a puppy this exotic, curvaceous creature, ten years younger and ten times sexier than any of his home-grown teachers. He understood.

But he hadn’t written her letters, and, even if he had, they wouldn’t have been the kind that Hannah had written. Even if they had actually been doing such things, he wouldn’t have written letters about it. The sudden thought of that goddess from his youth performing such acts quite perturbed him. He quickly summoned up an image of his old maths master instead, but that very nearly made him laugh. He thought of his bank balance, and that did the trick.

“Those letters implied that you and Mr. Cochrane were having a relationship,” Judy said. “Were you?”

“What are you suggesting?” demanded Mrs. Lewis, horrified. “How
dare
you sit there and—”

“Mrs. Lewis,” said Judy. “I have asked you several times—”

“I’ll be having a word with your superior officer, my lady! Suggesting such a thing—Hannah is fifteen years old!”

Judy didn’t reply; her cool gaze remained on the outraged Mrs. Lewis for a moment before she looked back at Hannah. “Were you having a relationship with Mr. Cochrane?” she asked again, her tone of voice not one whit altered from the previous time.

“No,” said Hannah, brick red now, and physically squirming. “I just sort of … made things up. It was just a game, really.”

“The letters weren’t true?”

“No!”

“What did they say?” demanded Mrs. Lewis. “What was in them?”

“But you did go to the Green to wait for him, didn’t you, Hannah?” asked Tom, jumping in with a question to get off the subject of the letters. “That is why you were there, isn’t it?”

“I always waited for him on the Green—he didn’t know I did,” said Hannah. “It was just so I could see him. He always came back across that way when he was out running.”

“But you told him you’d be there this time, didn’t you?” asked Tom.

“Yes,” she said. “I thought—I thought this time I could talk to him—that was all—I wasn’t going to do any of those things.”

“What?” said Mrs. Lewis. “What things?”

“And what happened when you got there?” asked Tom, still anxious to leave the topic that embarrassed Hannah so much that she hadn’t even told the police that she had been there.

This was, after all, what they needed to know. No one seriously thought that Cochrane had been having it off with Hannah for months. But that was indeed something else they had to be sure about, so all he could really hope for was a deferment of Hannah’s discomfort.

“I waited for hours—until almost ten o’clock. But he still hadn’t come, so I was just going to leave, when I saw Colin’s car parked there, and … two people by the wall.”

Tom hoped that Judy wasn’t going to insist on knowing what the two people were doing, and this time she did let it pass.

“But it wasn’t Colin,” she said. “It was someone else, with Natalie.”

Tom drew a breath, about to prompt her with another question, but a quick look from Judy silenced him before he had formed the first word.

“And he suddenly got into the car and reversed up the service road really fast.”

“What happened then?” Tom asked after a long silence; it did seem to reduce the violent outbursts from Mrs. Lewis when he asked the questions, and he really felt that one of them ought to be asking them.

“I saw Natalie running up towards me. Her blouse was undone, flapping about. And she didn’t have any shoes on.”

“Did you speak to her?”

“No. I didn’t want her to see me,” said Hannah.

“Why not?”

“Well—you know. Not after what I’d seen her doing. I was embarrassed. So I hid.”

“Where?” asked Judy.

“Behind a tree.”