Kim was about to gather more details when her phone rang.
‘Hey, Jack,’ she answered, leaving the kitchen table as one of the boys shouted ‘beans’ down the stairs.
‘Inspector, you might want to get here pronto,’ the custody sergeant said. ‘You’ve got quite the fan club building up, and I’ve got two drunk and disorderlies on their way in and nowhere to put them.’
‘On my way,’ she said, before ending the call.
She considered asking Abby a few more questions, but there was no point.
This woman was not going to give her what she needed to get the truth out of Joe Butler.
Fifty-Seven
Abby’s words had remained on Kim’s mind all the way back to the nick, but she’d put the thoughts aside to focus on trying to empty the station. For the first time she could remember, all three interview rooms were occupied, and she was dealing with every one of them.
‘I’ll take all your apologies later,’ Kim said to Bryant as they stepped out of interview room one.
‘There’s nothing graceful in I told you sos,’ Bryant complained. ‘And gloating is not very becoming.’
‘But I was right, wasn’t I?’ she asked, leaning against the wall. Her colleague had given her shit for trusting her gut non-stop.
‘Thought you said we were doing this later?’ Bryant replied.
‘I lied. Probably gonna do it now and later.’
Lena Hubbard had refused to speak on the way back to the station, but she must have spent that time weighing up her options. During processing she had refused a lawyer and stated she wanted to talk.
Kim had been happy to oblige, and Lena had admitted to shooting her husband. She branded him a weak-minded, lily-livered pathetic excuse for a man because he’d wanted to make peace for Eric and Donna’s sake. The woman had no remorse, felt entirely justified, and had even told them where she’d buried the gun.
‘Guv, it’s not that I mind you being right, it’s that you’re never done. Even now, you’re still trying to?—’
‘You’ve got a visitor in reception,’ Jack said, popping his head into the corridor.
She nodded her understanding.
Bryant shook his head. ‘See what I mean. When are you gonna stop?’
‘Told you before, Bryant, God loves a trier,’ she said, walking past interview room two, which was occupied by Joe Butler and his lawyer.
She took a breath before entering interview room three, where Martha Stout sat glowering.
Despite the look of hatred, the woman looked cleaner than she had in years. After being charged with the murder of George Hubbard, she’d been taken to Foston Hall in Derbyshire, where they’d have insisted on a shower. They’d probably been fearful of what she might pass on to the other inmates. Kim couldn’t help but wonder how many officers it had taken to get her under running water.
‘What game we playing – musical fucking cells?’ Martha asked as Kim took a seat. ‘Get on with it or I’ll miss my fucking tea back at Fossy.’
‘Why’d you do it, Martha?’ Kim asked, tipping her head, even though she had a good idea.
‘I told yer. He came past the oak tree. You dumb or something?’
Kim had to fight back her smile. Perversely, the more unpleasant Martha was, the more Kim liked her. She supposed it was because the woman cared nothing for anyone else’s opinion and she would change for no one.
‘How’d you do it then? Only a bullet that could bend could have hit him where it did.’
‘Jesus, sue me for being a few feet out. I might have been standing a bit further up the yard than what I said.’
‘Give it up, Martha. We know you didn’t do it. We have a watertight confession from the person who actually did kill George Hubbard.’
‘It wasn’t him. Ignore him. He might have been holding the gun, but it was me. He’s just trying to protect me, but he’s lying. Will yer just fucking accept?—?’
