‘No. I was worried I’d gone too far with my accusations. So I was relieved when she didn’t come back. I went into her room and found her passport in the drawer. In her hurry to leave she must have forgotten it.’
‘But why hide it?’ asks DC Reid.
‘Because I didn’t want my mother to know we’d argued. I wanted her to think Jemima had just left because she’d had enough.’
‘And you didn’t wonder why she didn’t come back for it?’
Kathryn nods. ‘Of course. But I figured she knew I was on to her, that she’d found another victim to try to fleece and that she didn’t need it. It was only the passport. She had her handbag on her with her money and things.’
Holdsworth writes something in her notebook, then looks up at Kathryn. ‘You say she had a backpack on her?’
‘Yes.’
‘She didn’t have it on her when she died.’
Kathryn shrugs. ‘I don’t know what she did with it.’ She hesitates. ‘I don’t have it if that’s what you’re getting at. The clothes are Viola’s. I just shoved the passport intothat bag because I thought, at some point, Jemima would come back for it.’
She wonders who found it. Daisy probably. Kathryn had been dubious about storing it at the gallery, but she hadn’t known where else to put it after Una had found it in the cellar. She’d thought it would be safe in the loft.
‘Where were you at around eleven p.m. on the nineteenth of December?’
Kathryn frowns. ‘I was here, wasn’t I, Mother? When Jemima didn’t come back I stayed to help.’
Holdsworth turns to Elspeth, who looks skinny in her chair, her face pale. ‘Is this true?’
Elspeth wrinkles her brow but doesn’t say anything, and Kathryn feels sweat break out under her armpits. ‘I can’t remember,’ she says, not looking in Kathryn’s direction. ‘I think so. I’m sure that’s true, but it’s months ago now and my memory isn’t as good as it was once.’
A white-hot flame of anger ignites inside Kathryn. ‘You know I was here,’ she snaps, turning to Elspeth. ‘You hate being on your own in the house.’
Elspeth replies calmly, her face poised, ‘I’m sure you’re right, my dear.’
Holdsworth doesn’t look convinced and she surveys Kathryn, her eyes scanning her as though she has X-ray vision and can see her every thought. It makes Kathryn feel uncomfortable. ‘How tall are you?’ she finally asks. ‘Five ten?’
‘Nearly.’
‘And Jemima was what?’
Kathryn feels a prickle of irritation. ‘I don’t know. Five one?’
Holdsworth makes a noise through her teeth. ‘We have CCTV footage of Jemima on the bridge that night. She wasn’t alone.’
Elspeth leans forward. ‘What do you mean? You think someone hurt her?’
‘I’m afraid so, Mrs McKenzie. Someone else was with her on the bridge that night.’
Kathryn falls back against the chair. When she speaks her voice is thin, strained. ‘Am I a suspect?’
‘We’re looking into all avenues. A witness has come forward to say they saw her getting out of a white van. Do you know anybody with a van?’
Kathryn exchanges looks with her mother. ‘Handymen who have come to the house in the past, I suppose,’ says Elspeth. ‘A joiner came to put up shelves a few months ago. He had a white van.’
‘Would he have met Jemima?’
Her mother considers this question. ‘No. No, it was before she started here.’
‘If you can think of anything else, please get in touch,’ says Holdsworth. She stands up and the younger officer follows suit. ‘Thank you for your time. We’ll see ourselves out.’
After the police have left, Kathryn can’t move for a few minutes. She can’t even speak. Her mother must feel the same as she shrinks into her seat, looking frailer than ever.
