“How long have you known Hannah Mickery?”
“Known?”
“How long?”
“I don’t know her. We picked her up, interviewed her, dug around her computer... That’s it. I know her as well as you do.”
More silence.
“Are you excited by her crimes?”
This was getting weirder by the minute.
“Of course not. These crimes are despicable. Abhorrent. If Mickery’s guilty, then I hope they throw away the key.”
“We’ll have to find her first.”
Low. But probably deserved. Charlie had messed up with Mickery—no doubt about that. Would there be more deaths? And would they be onherconscience this time?
“What did you feel when you heard Peter Brightston had killed himself?”
“What did I ‘feel’?”
“Did you think he was weak?”
“No. Of course not. I felt sorry for the guy. We should all have done mo—”
“And what about Anna and Marie? Did you feel sorry for them? Or did they deserve it. They were definitely weak. What did the local lads call them? Mongs?”
“No! Absolutely not!No one deserves to die like that. And with the greatest of respect—”
“Do you need money, Charlie? Are you in debt?”
“No.”
“Need a bigger house? Better car?”
“No. I don’t need more money.”
“Everyone needs money, Charlie. What makes you different? Do you gamble? Drink? Borrow money from the wrong people?”
“No! A hundred times no.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Battered, Charlie finally looked up.
“Do what?”
“If you tell me now, I can help you.”
“Please, I don’t know what you want me to say—”
“I don’t pretend to understand why you let her use you like this. Best-case scenario, she had something on you. Worst-case, you’re as twisted as she is. But understand this, Charlie: if you don’t tell me the truth now—every last detail—then you will go to prison for the rest of your life. Do you know what happens to bent coppers in jail?”
And at once it all fit into place.
“I didn’t do it.”
