‘Gonna have to be. I shot the bastard, and I’d do it again. I’ve told you that. I’d have shot her as well if she’d come past the oak tree. I hate the whole family. I ain’t got a shred of remorse, and I ain’t gonna cry until my brief tells me to.’
‘Martha, I want the truth,’ Kim pushed, trying to hide her frustration. She knew from experience that it only added to the woman’s pleasure.
‘You lot don’t even want the truth when it’s being handed to you on a plate.’
‘Not when the evidence tells us otherwise. Explain that to me.’
‘Faulty test,’ she sniffed. ‘Your equipment is shit. They tested the wrong samples. Doesn’t matter.’
‘You gonna argue with NABIS as well?’
‘Don’t know who he is, but bring him in and I’ll give him the same answer.’
Kim shook her head. Yeah, it would be just like Martha to argue with the National Ballistic Intelligence Service which linked firearms and ammunition to each other and to crimes. The gun and the recovered bullet would be sent to them for a forensic report, but there was no chance of a result for forty-eight hours and that was if her request for priority was approved. With a full confession and no immediate threat to the public, it was likely to be denied, meaning her questions wouldn’t be answered for weeks.
‘So, they’re going to tell me that bullet was fired from that gun?’ Kim asked.
‘If they don’t, they’re a bunch of arseholes or the test was wrong.’
‘Lots of faulty tests going on around here, eh?’
‘Yeah, you might wanna look at that,’ Martha said, shoving her finger in her ear and twisting it. She looked almost proud of what she pulled out on her dirty fingernail.
‘Weird how any test that would give evidence of?—’
‘I’m your bloody evidence,’ Martha snapped. ‘I shot him, and I’ve got no reason to lie.’
‘What’s wrong with Martin?’ Kim asked, wondering why the man couldn’t make it down the stairs. Or was he hiding away for a reason?
‘Mind your own fucking business.’
Kim met her gaze and held it. Animosity flowed between them, but Kim was not leaving the room until she got an answer.
‘Cancer,’ Martha said at last before her expression revealed she wished she hadn’t. And then her face reflected her sorrow, giving Kim more of the story.
‘What kind?’
‘Pancreatic.’
The worst kind. Most likely terminal.
‘How long?’ Kim asked, feeling a seed of sympathy land in her stomach.
‘Weeks,’ Martha replied.
Kim shook her head in despair. ‘And you’re coming in here with a cock-and-bull story about shooting your neighbour when you should be at home spending precious?—’
‘I did it, sow, now just charge me and be done with it,’ Martha spat.
It was impossible to hang on to sympathy for longer than a minute with this woman.
‘Not so fast, Martha. There’s more going on here than you’re telling me. When was the last time you saw Donna?’
‘Donna’s dead,’ she spat again.
‘Well, she isn’t really, is she? She’s alive and well with her boyfriend, Eric Hubbard.’
‘Scum.’
