‘Why might Jason Mercer have been following you, Mrs Rook?’
‘You’ll need to ask him, but given his court case, he seems to enjoy sexually harassing women, so perhaps I was his next victim.’
‘Maybe, but to my eye, it looks like he was...’ She screws her face up and pretends to be thinking. I wait until the charade is over. ‘Investigating you.’
‘The plot thickens,’ says Mattoo with a nod.
‘Can you think of any reasons someone might have you investigated?’
‘My life is made up entirely of looking after my husband and children. They are of little interest to me, let alone anyone else. So I’ll be reassured when you’ve found him and locked him up with your other dodgy colleagues.’
‘Well, when we do find him, Mrs Rook, we’re sure to discover his particular interest in your life,’ says Birch, her mouth in a twisted smile.
I am about to say more but this will only prolong matters. ‘Thank you for your time, officers,’ I say, and head to my car, which I realize is still crawling with Jason Mercer’s DNA should they care to look.
After buying flowers, I drop them off at the school with a note to Mrs Nnadi that says, ‘A good reference is cheaper than a legal challenge.’ I quickly head over to Tor’s where we’ve all agreed to an emergency meeting to talk about Cait. I feel the pang of jealousy whenever I arrive at her house. You have to embrace jealousy if you want to aspire to anything. I just pray that Stephen will work harder to make partner instead of hanging about his mum’s hospital bed like a punctured Oedipus complex.
Tor shows me into the thirty-foot living room, all muted bluesand greys. Sophie and Aisha are already ensconced on the vast white sofa. There’s a photorealistic painting of a shark over the fireplace, and I can’t help staring at it, speechless.
‘Oh, that’s a gift from one of Law’s cash cows!’
‘And is such an image flattering or insulting for a politician?’
‘It’s from a lobbyist, so probably means he’s doing a good job, and it pays well in the long term. These companies don’t forget their political allies.’
I glance out of the window. There are now bricks on top of the concrete footings and several men looking industrious, which is reassuring. I’ve also booked my car in for an ‘Executive Sanitisation Valet’, which I hope will remove any last traces of Mr Mercer from the boot.
Tor sits us down and presides. ‘So, what do we know?’
‘I thought she’d be out yesterday, but I’ve heard nothing,’ I say.
‘The police have charged her,’ says Aisha, referring to a notepad on her knee. ‘She’s on her way to prison.’
We all stare in silence. I’m genuinely surprised. The inadequacy of the police has again outdone my expectations.
‘What does that mean, exactly?’ asks Sophie.
‘It means it’s serious,’ says Aisha. ‘And she could be in prison until her court case.’
‘Bloody hell, that could be months.’
‘Law’s lawyer friend, Dominic, is on the case,’ says Tor. ‘He thinks he can get her released on bail. There’s some hope, as she’s not been charged with murder. So there’s a bail hearing soon.’
‘I thought they arrested her for murder,’ says Aisha.
‘They could only charge her with manslaughter in the end, as they found CCTV of Owen buying the petrol himself,’ says Tor, nibbling a pink macaron. ‘So it’s difficult to argue that it was her intention to burn him to death.’
‘But why manslaughter? I thought it was suicide or an accident,’ says Sophie, getting upset.
‘He had a knife wound in his throat, and there was no knife found at the scene.’ Aisha taps her notebook. ‘Which, if I’m not mistaken, means there was someone else there.’
‘Oh God, really? So he was stabbed first?’ says Sophie.
‘He could’ve tried to cut his own throat and bottled out,’ I say.
‘That’s a good argument,’ says Tor. ‘I’ll mention it to Dominic.’
‘He owed people money,’ says Sophie. ‘If he was murdered, couldn’t it be one of them?’
