Mother Love (31 page)

With Howe out of it, there was only one person left who knew. Her glance fell on Olivia's photograph lying next to the body. It was the only intact picture in the room. Sarah sighed. Whichever way she looked at it, they'd failed; they'd got here too late, the case was slipping away. And if Elizabeth Kent had taken the law into her own hands, she might well escape justice. ‘Come on, Dave. I need fresh air.'

The forensic team had arrived and a meat wagon.

‘Before you go, ma'am.' The young copper again. ‘While I was hanging around I nipped next door and had another word with the neighbour who raised the alarm.'

She nodded, tight-mouthed.

‘I said she must have thought all hell was breaking loose what with all the noise? Weird thing is, she says all the banging around and breaking glass? It happened after the shot. She thought it was burglars and they'd shot Mrs Kent.'

Sarah sat at her desk hoping she didn't look as shattered as she felt. Harries had already popped his head round the door looking brighter than a distress flare. She'd told him to go away on the grounds his energy was injurious to her health.

In truth she was bracing herself for a showdown with the chief. Baker seemed to think the inquiry was over: Elizabeth Kent had killed her daughter's abductor in self-defence. End of. As far as Sarah was concerned the case was so crammed with lies and half-truths it couldn't be closed.

Baker had made the point there was little to gain by pursuing it further but she thought the casualty list was long enough without adding the truth to it. Howe had paid the ultimate price for his crime. It seemed likely Elizabeth would get away free of charge. Unless Sarah could come up with a better motive, an alternative theory. To that end she'd been going through every interview, statement and report written and submitted by every officer since the start of the investigation. There had to be something, somewhere. Some fact she'd overlooked, undervalued; an idea that should have been followed up, an action that should have been followed through. Surrounded by printouts and paper cups, she was beginning to feel she'd be better off reading tea leaves. She glanced at her watch: ten minutes and she'd be in with Baker; ten more and she'd probably be on another case. She hated the feelings of failure and frustration.

Leaning elbows on the desk, she rested her head in her hands. ‘Come on, God. Give me a break.' The Almighty didn't have a hotline. When the phone rang she reckoned it was Baker. ‘You're early, Chief.'

‘It's not the chief. And I'm late.' Caroline King. Sarah barely recognized the listless voice. It was the main reason she didn't jump down her metaphorical throat.

‘For what?'

‘Not on the phone. I need to see you.'

‘I can't—'

‘I'm downstairs. Please, Sarah.'

It was the first name as much as the lacklustre tone that changed Sarah's mind. ‘I'll get someone to bring you up.'

On the surface, King looked much the same: short black dress, red leather jacket. The DI couldn't recall seeing the reporter in other colours. On closer inspection, she realized King was usually in better shape.

‘Take a seat.'

King's make-up was as immaculate as ever; it was the in-your-face attitude that was absent.

‘So why are you here?'

The reporter picked a loose thread from her skirt. ‘I almost didn't come at all. I thought I'd let sleeping dogs . . .'

‘Lie?' Sarah raised an eyebrow. ‘Trouble is when they wake they still bite.'

‘Not this one.' She lifted her head, held Sarah's gaze. ‘Jack Howe's dead, isn't he?'

Who'd told her? Nothing had been released. ‘Go on.'

‘Olivia rang. She said Elizabeth shot Howe in self-defence?'

It sounded like a question. Sarah stayed silent, tapped a pen against her teeth.

‘Is that how it happened?'

A definite question and a hint of what? Pleading? Sarah shrugged. ‘It's what Elizabeth Kent's saying.'

The reporter leaned forward, hands on the desk. ‘Is that how you see it?'

Sarah sat back, studied King's face. Either she could tell her to get lost or she could take her at least a little into her confidence. The reporter was probably just after material for a story. On the other hand she was closer to the Kents than anyone in all this. Sarah played the pen between her fingers. ‘I don't know, Caroline. I wasn't there.'

‘But?'

In her mind's eye she saw Howe's body bag being stretchered out of the house. What had she got to lose? ‘Off the record?'

She nodded.

‘I don't think Howe intended to kill Olivia let alone Elizabeth. I think he went there to tell Mrs Kent why he abducted her daughter, to explain, justify it maybe. I don't think she liked what she heard and shot him. And there's sod all I can do about it.' Throwing the pen on the desk. ‘Only Elizabeth and Olivia Kent know the full story.'

Reaching into her bag, the reporter drew out a file and two tapes, placed all three on top of a pile of paperwork. ‘Not quite.'

Sarah rang the chief – the debriefing could wait.

Caroline had driven straight to the QE after Olivia's phone call. She knew Elizabeth had been taken to casualty for treatment to minor injuries and waited outside until she was released. She'd seemed pleased to see Caroline, certainly prepared to chat. They'd wandered over to the hospital coffee bar. King had already decided to record the conversation covertly.

‘She told me everything, Sarah. How he'd abducted Olivia. How he'd forced his way into the house, smashed the place up, threatened to kill her. Everything except, why. That's when I showed her Howe's letter.'

‘Letter?'

‘Yeah, he let me keep one.'

She widened her eyes. ‘You talked to Howe?'

‘I was working on the big exposé. Inside the mind of a master criminal. Jack Howe tells all.' Her attempt at a voiceover ad for
The Sun
fell flat. ‘I was going to give you his head on a plate.' She nodded at the desk. ‘You've got two for the price of one there: Howe's and Elizabeth's.'

Anger growing, Sarah listened as the reporter told the story of Grace's death and Olivia's letters begging for forgiveness. King's tone was still downbeat, no gloating, no trumpet blowing. ‘Elizabeth wasn't going to say anything. Just that Grace had died in an accident and he blamed Olivia. After reading the letter, she broke down and confessed. I read them all.' King raked fingers through the bob. ‘There was a load of crap about visions and voices but the bottom line was she pushed her kid through a window. It was all me, me, me – look at what it's doing to my life.

‘And every one ended the same: I'm lying here, crying. I wish I was dying. I could kill myself. But I won't.'

‘How long have you known about this? If you'd come to us earlier, we'd have brought Howe in. You could have prevented a killing – if you hadn't been so keen to make one with some sleazy little story.'

‘I haven't got a story, sleazy or not. What do you take me for? These are my friends we're talking about.' She snorted. ‘Were my friends.'

Sarah felt a stab of sympathy, but not too sharp. ‘I could charge you over this, you know.' Withholding evidence.

‘You could. But I'm betting you won't. Whether you like it or not you needed my help. You wouldn't have got that without me.' She pointed at the tape now in Sarah's hand. ‘I could have come to you sooner, I guess. I'll have to live with that.' Rising, she headed for the door, turned back. ‘I think I must have been trying to protect Olivia. If you listen to Elizabeth's confession it's patently obvious she had all the protection in the world. Mother Love, they call it. Only it skipped a generation.'

FIFTY

‘
C
hrist, Quinn, where've you been? I was going to send for the Mounties?'

‘Sorry, Chief. Bit of business came up. You know how it is.' After King's departure, Sarah had paid a hospital visit.
Tying up loose ends.
‘You read my report?'

‘Could've learned it by heart waiting for you.' He must have seen her face. ‘Sorry, lass.'

Lass? My God, the station gossip was true then: Baker was in a good mood. The chief felt he had enough leverage on Rust to make him see sense and drop the official complaint. Apparently, when the head was released, Suzie and Sadie had been in reception. There'd been quite a touching reunion. Rust was one of their best clients.

Baker toed out the bottom drawer, used it as a foot rest. ‘Why'd she open her mouth, Quinn?'

Elizabeth? Olivia?
‘Who?'

‘Your pal, Lois. If she'd kept it zipped, we might be none the wiser.' As it was Elizabeth Kent was in custody; charges would undoubtedly follow. Jill Paige was still being questioned. Ditto.

‘She's no pal of mine, Chief.' She'd given it some thought though, driving back from the QE. ‘I'm not sure she's a pal of anyone's. In her line of work, I think friends are thin on the ground.'

‘Joined the force, has she?'

‘Couldn't afford the pay cut.' She curved a lip. ‘No, King's career gets top billing – doesn't leave much time for anything else. Marriage is out, house is like a hotel, kids are something other people have.' Sensing his gaze on her, she looked up.

‘Exactly who are we talking about here, Quinn?' He took her glare as an answer and raised his palm. ‘Just so I know.'

She shrugged. ‘Fact is we all need someone. And King always thought she had Olivia. She'd known her all her life. Then finds she lied to her, manipulated her and used her. I think that's why she had no qualms coming to us.' Sarah recalled her thinking in the pub that night. Cops only know what people tell them. It's not always the truth – and certainly not the whole truth. King had learned the lesson, too.

‘Best hope it sticks, Quinn. Elizabeth Kent could retract every word, trot out the old self-defence line again.'

‘Maybe.'

‘As for the other one, it'll never get to court. She'll deny the whole thing, there's no evidence, no witness left.'

‘I've got it all on tape, Chief.' Sarah walked to the window, perched on the sill. ‘Olivia admits killing Grace and takes the blame for Howe's death. It was her gun. She told Elizabeth it wasn't loaded.'

‘So she didn't want her mother to kill him?'

‘She wanted Elizabeth to take the gun into the hospital.'

‘So Olivia was going to kill him?'

‘No. She claims she was going to kill herself. Olivia's sick.'

‘Got that right. They're both sodding barmy if you ask me. Must run in the family, eh, Quinn?'

‘Not funny, Chief.' Ordinarily she'd take the old boy to task but she hadn't got the energy. ‘Olivia has ovarian cancer. It's why she finally told Howe the truth. She couldn't stand the thought of dying with Grace's death on her conscience. He knew nothing about the cancer. No one did.'

‘Not even mummy dearest?'

‘Especially her.' Sarah needed a drink, half-wished the old boy would bring out the Grouse. Not that they'd exactly covered themselves with glory. ‘The cancer will be as much a death sentence to Elizabeth as it is to her daughter.'

‘Damn sight more than the courts'll give 'em.'

‘You're all heart, Chief.' She glanced at her watch. It had been a long day. For once, she'd be almost glad to get home. ‘I'm out of here, got to run.'

‘Run?' There was a sparkle in his eye. ‘You joined the boy wonder's club then?' Grabbing his jacket, he started walking out with her.

‘Club?'

‘Dave's putting a police team together for the London marathon.'

‘Good for him. It's not my scene though, Chief.'

‘Shame.' He turned his mouth down. ‘I'd pay good money to see that.'

It was probably better not to ask but: ‘See what?'

‘My favourite DI in skintight—'

‘Don't.' Had he said favourite?

‘Trainers.'

‘It's so not gonna happen.'

‘You're right, Quinn. It's not ladylike, is it?' Holding the door for her.

‘What isn't?'

‘Running after blokes half your age. Now if it was me . . .' He saw her face. ‘I could run us to the pub. Fancy a pint?'

Bar full of cops? Apartment like the Marie Rose? ‘Go on then.' She smiled. ‘You've twisted my arm.'

‘That's your party piece, isn't it? Beating up hacks?'

‘Fun-nny.' King wasn't taking her ludicrous allegations further, she told him. The reporter had mentioned it in a phone call to Sarah, then had the gall to ask if a speeding ticket she'd clocked up helping the cops could be pulled. ‘A quid pro quo, she called it.'

Baker laughed. ‘And what did you say to her, Quinn?'

‘Put it this way. It wasn't Latin. And it certainly wasn't ladylike.'

‘That's my girl.' The old boy winked, stretched out a hand.

‘That drink, Chief?' She gave a perfect fleeting smile. ‘Pat my ass and you'll be wearing it.'

As for King, it wasn't all she'd said. She'd suggested they meet again some time; have dinner, maybe talk about the past. No pressure.

No pressure? Don't make me laugh.
She already regretted saying she'd think about it.