Hope to Die

‘This,’ she says, ‘is a DNA report from our forensics lab on blood samples found at the scene, comparing them with a sample already stored in the National DNA Database.’

Swann pushes the paper away. ‘This is all just gobbledygook.’

‘It shows a match, Mrs Swann. A parental match between the dead man and a prisoner currently serving a life sentence for murder at HMP Heathside. The prisoner’s name is Camilla Rowan. The daughter you never told us you had.’

The silence is so long Gis has time to feel sorry for Merrick, who’s staring at them, open-mouthed. She had no idea what a hospital pass this would turn out to be. Swann, on the other hand, isn’t meeting anyone’s eye. She’s opened her handbag and is ferreting about for a tissue. But her hands are shaking.

‘You knew, didn’t you,’ says Ev softly. ‘You knew he was Camilla’s child –’

Her head snaps up. ‘I did not!’

‘– in fact, I think you knew exactly who he was long before he turned up at your door. What did he do? Call you? Send you a letter? You didn’t tell your husband, though, did you? You kept him in the dark, hoping it would all just go away –’

‘This is insane – you’re insane – the very idea is preposterous –’

‘Preposterous? Maybe. But not impossible.’

Their eyes lock and the moment tenses like elastic. But it’s Swann who blinks first. She turns to Merrick. ‘I utterly refute these deranged accusations. And beyond that I have nothing to add.’

Ev gives her a dry look. ‘OK, if that’s how you want to play it. Interview terminated at 13.18.’

* * *

Adam Fawley

24 October

14.15

I get Quinn to drive, mainly because he likes it so much and, broadly speaking, I don’t. I’ve never got the whole bloke thing about wheels, which is probably why I have a Mondeo and Quinn has an Audi A4. Red. As if you had to ask. It’s not a bad journey, on the whole. The weather is dreary but there isn’t too much traffic, at least until we hit the M25. Quinn asks if I want music and I’m surprised to find the last thing he was listening to was Radio 4.

‘Maisie,’ he says, glancing across. ‘She likes that sort of thing.’

I haven’t met her yet, but the word round the station is that it’s serious. And what little I’ve picked up sounds surprisingly encouraging – surprising because Quinn’s track record with women usually has me heaving a very loud sigh. But Ev says she’s exactly what he needs – she met them out shopping in Summertown a few weeks back (that alone is headline-worthy – OK, Quinn’s always been able to shop for Europe, but with a woman?). According to Ev, Maisie came over as bright, confident and extremely unlikely to take any of Quinn’s shit. She didn’t put it precisely that way, of course, but I got the message. I also happen to know Maisie’s parents are very well off, which no doubt adds to the attraction.

‘Going well, is it? With Maisie?’ I say, trying not to sound like his dad.

He looks a little flustered. ‘Yeah.’ A pause. ‘Actually, she’s moving in.’

I try not to look flabbergasted but I suspect I’m not managing it.

‘Sounds great. Congratulations.’

He gives a little sideways smile. Now he’s got the words out he looks not just relieved but happy. Genuinely happy. I wonder for a moment how many other people he’s told. Not many, I’m guessing. Maybe I’m a dry run.

Someone in a Porsche cuts in front of us and he swears under his breath and changes lanes.

‘I was talking to her last night, actually – we were watching that Netflix thing about Rowan. Maisie went to the same school as her. Years later, obviously. She said no one at the school ever talked about it.’

I bet they didn’t. Rowan may well be their most recognizable old girl, but that’s one picture you definitely won’t find in their fancy prospectus.

‘The woman they interviewed,’ he says, ‘Marion Teesdale. She was Maise’s housemistress too. She said she was all right. A bit of a battleaxe but basically OK. And she really liked Maise.’

So if we decide we want to speak to her, that might help. I get the message. My phone starts to ring: Gis.

‘Thought you’d like to know what we got from the old folks, boss, before you see Rowan.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, if you ask me, I don’t think either of the Swanns knew the vic was coming that night.’

‘Interesting – what makes you so sure?’

‘The clothes, really. The old girl wouldn’t have been in her nightie if she was expecting visitors. Not that generation. Not if my gran was anything to go by.’

‘Of course – I should have thought of that myself.’

‘As for whether they worked out who he was,’ continues Gis, ‘either before or after the gun went off – now that’s more of a toughie. I don’t think Mr Swann did – I just don’t think he’s that good an actor. As for Mrs S, well, Ev’s convinced she knew exactly who he was but there’s no way she’s going to admit it.’

Quinn looks across and makes a face. ‘Talking of battleaxes …’

‘And you agree with Ev – you think the old lady knew who the victim was?’

‘Yup,’ says Gis. ‘I reckon she did.’

‘OK. Thanks for letting me know.’

‘No worries, boss, see you later.’