The Outcast Dead (6 page)

Liz Donaldson answers the door. She’s in a pink tracksuit and Tim wonders if she was on the way to the gym. He’s a gym addict himself and would understand the impulse to lose yourself in exercise. Judy, though, gives the outfit a rather surprised look.

‘Liz,’ said Judy, ‘we have to ask you to come to the station with us. We need you to answer some questions for us.’

‘Can’t I answer them here?’

‘We need you to come to the station?’

Liz looks from one face to another. ‘Am I under arrest?’

By Tim’s reckoning she has asked this question far too soon but Judy replies calmly, ‘No, but we’d like to ask you some questions under caution.’

‘In line with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984,’ adds Tim, thinking he might as well come across as the unsympathetic cop who sticks by the rules.

‘Attendance is voluntary,’ says Judy, shooting a rather unfriendly look at Tim.

‘I’ll come,’ says Liz. ‘Can you give me a few minutes to get ready?’

Tim assumes that she’s going to change out of her tracksuit, but when she emerges a few minutes later she’s still a vision in pink. It’s only when they are half way to
the station that he realises what she has done. She’s put on her make-up.

There are a still a few reporters camped at the front of the station so Judy tells Tim to drive around the back. As they hustle Liz in through the door, Tim can hear Tom Henty, the grizzled desk sergeant, bellowing at the press pack. ‘You’ll get nothing from us until such time as DCI Nelson makes a statement.’

‘Have you got new evidence?’

‘Has she confessed.?’

‘Has this brought back memories of the Scarlet Henderson case?’

‘Why …’

‘How …’

‘Vermin.’ Henty slams the door.

Nelson is waiting in the lobby, trying to keep out of the sight lines. Tim hears him ask the sergeant, ‘Who asked that question about Scarlet Henderson?’

‘Some woman reporter, I think. Young. That’s her in the green jacket.’

Tim thinks for a second that Nelson looks rattled; far too rattled, surely, for some fairly innocuous questions from a fairly innocuous group of hacks? But then he turns to Tim and Judy and he is his normal self, brusque but in control.

‘Take Mrs Donaldson into Interview Room 2, Johnson, and then we’ll have a quick team meeting.’

*

Nelson begins the briefing at a gallop. ‘We can only keep
the suspect in for twenty-four hours without charge so let’s get our interviewing strategy right. How did she seem?’

‘Calm,’ says Judy. ‘Self-composed.’

‘She asked us to wait while she put her make-up on,’ puts in Tim.

Judy shoots him another black look. ‘I don’t see that that’s relevant. Most women put make-up on before they leave the house.’

‘Do you?’ mutters Clough. Judy pretends not to hear him. Tim gives Judy a sideways glance. Her face looks shiny and make-up free. She has nice freckles, he notices.

‘I think it could be significant,’ says Nelson slowly. ‘It could mean that she’s putting on a different face for us.’

Tim thinks this is a rather perceptive comment. Nelson has grown-up daughters, he remembers. Judy, though, snorts contemptuously. Nelson carries on, ‘Has she called a lawyer?’

‘Yes,’ says Tim. Liz made two phone calls before they left the house. One to her ex-husband and one to her lawyer.

‘Who’s her solicitor?’

Judy answers. ‘Nirupa Khan.’

Nelson groans. Tim gathers that Ms Khan is not a personal friend. ‘Well, we’d better get going double quick. Nirupa will have her stopwatch going. Johnson.’

‘Yes Boss.’ The briefing room is small but Tim notes that Judy has moved as far away from him as possible. ‘I want you to take the lead on this. Be sympathetic. You’re
a young mum, you know what it’s like to have a crying baby, all that kind of thing.’

‘I’m not bringing Michael into this.’ Judy looks mutinous.

‘Shall I do it?’ Tanya chimes in. ‘It might be too distressing for Judy, having a young baby and everything.’

Tim suppresses a smile. He has already noticed that Tanya always volunteers for everything, whether it’s meeting the chief constable or going on the afternoon chocolate run.

Judy shoots a distinctly unfriendly look at her colleague. ‘I’m all right, Tanya. It’s my job.’

‘Yes, I need Judy’s expertise here,’ says Nelson. ‘Tim, you back her up.’

‘OK, Boss.’

‘In the meantime, Cloughie and I will talk to the husband. We should speak to the grandparents too. Anyone else?’

‘Liz mentioned a babysitter,’ says Judy. ‘Justine something.’

‘Good. We need anyone who can help us build up a picture of Liz Donaldson as a mother. Tanya, you check her record of hospital attendance with all three children.’

‘We’ve already done that.’

‘We may have missed something. Do it again. Then you can go out with Rocky and talk to the neighbours.’

Tim notes that Tanya looks less than delighted. He has already come across PC ‘Rocky’ Taylor, the slowest man in British policing. As a pairing, it’s not exactly Cagney and Lacey.

Tom Henty appears in the doorway. ‘Miss Khan is here, Boss. She says she hasn’t got all day.’

‘Charming,’ says Nelson. ‘OK. Let’s get to work.’

*

Tim has to admire Judy’s style. She starts off low key, leaning confidentially across the desk.

‘Are you OK, Liz? Have you got everything you need?’

‘I’m OK.’ Liz Donaldson is sitting patiently, hands clasped in her lap. The pink tracksuit looks almost shockingly bright in the basement interview room. The hastily applied make-up looks garish, lips too red and eyes too dark. She appears calm but Tim thinks that there is something defeated in her posture, as if she has already been convicted and is waiting for sentencing.

‘You kept her waiting nearly half an hour,’ says Nirupa Khan.

Nirupa Khan is small and neat, with black hair drawn back into a tight ponytail. Tim thinks that she is trying to appear older and tougher than she actually is. The black suit adds a few years, as does the hair style. Her manner is brusque and aggressively charmless. Tim can see why she and Nelson draw sparks from each other.

Judy doesn’t rise to the comment or mention that the lawyer only arrived ten minutes ago. She continues to address Liz in the same calm voice.

‘You know why you’re here, Liz? The autopsy on David has raised a few questions.’

‘What sort of questions?’

‘The pathologist found traces of fibres in David’s nose and mouth.’

Tim knows what Judy is doing. Keep saying the name, that’s what the books say. The more you can make the suspect concentrate on the dead child, rather than the manner of their death, the better. He sees Liz flinch away from the words and thinks that Judy too looks rather sick. Must be hard doing this when you’ve got a child yourself.

‘What does that mean?’ asks Liz, her voice steady but her hands tense on her lap.

‘It suggests that David was suffocated,’ says Tim.

‘Suffocated?’

‘Liz,’ says Judy. ‘Why don’t you take us through the events of last Tuesday again.’

Liz looks at Nirupa who nods slightly.

‘It was afternoon,’ she says. ‘I’d taken David to the mother and toddler group and he’d fallen asleep in his pushchair on the way back. When we got home I carried him upstairs, put him down to sleep in his cot and went back downstairs. I did some housework then I made myself a cup of coffee. I sat on the sofa and I went to sleep. I was … I was very tired. David wasn’t sleeping much and nor was I. When I woke up it was almost five. I couldn’t hear a sound from the baby monitor. I thought that David had been asleep a long time. It’s usually only an hour or two in the afternoons. I went upstairs and he was lying face down in his cot.’

‘Did you put him to sleep face down?’.

‘No, I knew it was dangerous to do that. I put him on his side.’

‘Was there a pillow in the cot?’

‘No. They shouldn’t have pillows until they’re a year old.’

‘Was he still in his outdoor clothes?’

‘No. I’d taken off his jumper and trousers. He was just in his vest and nappy.’

She knows all the answers, thinks Tim. He’s read up on it and knows that children can die because they’re too hot or because they’ve suffocated on a pillow. Judy must know this too, that’s why she’s asking these questions again. Christ, why does anyone become a parent? The worry would kill you.

‘When did you realise something was wrong?’ asks Judy.

‘I think I knew as soon as I went into the room,’ says Liz, twisting her hands together. ‘I turned him over and his face was blue and his skin was cold …’ Her voice dies away.

‘What’s the point of this line of questioning?’ says Nirupa, leaning forward to pat her client on the shoulder. ‘I assume you’ve been through all this before.’

‘New evidence has emerged,’ says Judy. She, too, leans forward.

‘Was anyone else in the house, Liz? When David died?’

‘No. I was on my own.’

‘When did you call the ambulance?’

‘Immediately. I had my phone with me.’

‘That’s efficient,’ says Judy. ‘I always leave mine downstairs.’

Nice touch, thinks Tim. But Liz is ready for it. She looks coolly at Judy. ‘I always have mine with me.’

Tim, says, ‘It must be tough having a baby who doesn’t sleep.’

‘I didn’t mind,’ says Liz quickly. ‘He was teething.’

‘How long since you’d had a proper night’s sleep?’

‘I don’t know. A week or so.’

‘Bet you didn’t know whether you were awake or asleep half the time.’

Suddenly Liz stands up. In her pink tracksuit she towers over Judy and is on eye level with Tim.

‘I know what you’re doing and I didn’t kill David because I was tired or because he was crying or because I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t kill him. I loved him. And, you know what? I’ve got all the time in the world to sleep now. I’ve got no husband, no babies, and you’re probably going to put me in prison for life. I just hope I go to sleep and never wake up.’

She collapses back into her chair, sobbing, tears making streaks down her cheeks.

‘Interview suspended,’ says Judy into the tape machine.

*

Nelson is about to drive over to interview Bob Donaldson when Tom Henty informs him that Mr Donaldson is in the waiting room.

‘He wanted to see his wife … ex-wife … but I told him that it wasn’t possible.’

‘OK. I’ll have a word with him.’

‘He’s a bit upset,’ warns Tom.

‘I’ll be gentle with him.’

Nelson takes Bob up to his office so it seems less like an interrogation. He’s slightly disappointed not to be able to see Bob Donaldson at home as he likes to observe people in their own environment. You’d be surprised, he’d told his team, how many clues you can get from a person’s record collection. ‘No-one has records anymore,’ objected Clough, but he’d got the point.

Now Clough stands back to let Bob precede him into the room. It’s a shame that Clough looks so much like a nightclub bouncer, thinks Nelson, it hardly creates a cosy impression. But at least he’s stopped eating crisps.

Nelson asks Bob if he’d like a cup of coffee. Ruth always tells him that the station coffee is vile but people seem to like him to make the offer. Sure enough, distressed as he undoubtedly is, Bob requests a white coffee (‘not too milky’) and two sugars. Nelson dispenses a glowering Clough to get the drinks.

‘Thank you for talking to us,’ he says.

‘What have you done with Liz? What’s happening?’

‘Mrs Donaldson is being questioned by two of my officers.’

‘She didn’t do it, you know. Liz would never have harmed David.’

Bob Donaldson is a nervous-looking man, slight and prematurely balding. Nevertheless Nelson knows that he has a glamorous new girlfriend and lives in Pott Row, a
much sought after village on the outskirts of Lynn. There must be more to him than meets the eye. Nelson casts his mind back for Bob’s profession. Something to do with computers …

‘Programmer,’ says Bob impatiently. ‘I’m a computer programmer. I want to know what’ll happen to Liz. You can’t keep her here without charging her.’

‘Everything’s being done by the book, Mr Donaldson,’ says Nelson. ‘Mrs Donaldson has her lawyer with her.’

‘Nirupa?’ Bob relaxes slightly. ‘Good. I rang her as soon as I heard from Liz.’

‘Very sensible,’ says Nelson, wishing that Bob had been slightly less sensible. And was there something suspicious about running so quickly for a lawyer? Probably not. ‘Innocent men don’t need lawyers’ had been a favourite adage of his former boss, but Nelson knows that they often do.

Nelson tries to get the discussion back on track and even attempts a smile. ‘I’m DCI Harry Nelson and this …’ as the door opens on Clough, who seems to have brought half the chocolate vending machine as well as the coffees, ‘… is DS David Clough. We’d just like to ask you a few questions.’

Judy had interviewed Bob Donaldson as part of her preliminary investigations. She described him as ‘pleasant but a little colourless’. He and Liz were married for seven years, during which time they had three children and lost three children. Nelson can see the dates as if they are written on Bob’s worried face. Samuel: born 2008, died
2008. Isaac: born 2009, died 2010. David: born 2010, died 2011. A list to make a stone weep.

‘You and Mrs Donaldson are separated,’ he says now. ‘Is that right?’

‘Yes, we separated at the beginning of the year. It was all very amicable. Liz is a lovely woman. There’s no way she could have done a thing like this.’

‘A thing like what?’

Bob stares at him. ‘Are you playing games with me? I know you think she killed David. You probably think she killed Samuel and Isaac too. All our beautiful boys.’ His pale blue eyes fill with tears.

‘We’re not making any assumptions,’ says Nelson. ‘Nevertheless there are circumstances around David’s death that concern us and we have to investigate them. We wouldn’t be doing our job otherwise.’

‘What sort of circumstances?’

Nelson isn’t about to tell him yet. ‘I believe you have a new partner, Mr Donaldson.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Just trying to build up a picture.’

There’s a silence while Bob wonders whether to answer then says, in a voice made up of equal amounts of pride and resentment, ‘Yes. Aliona. We’ve only been together a few months.’