The Widow(89)

Everyone looked at her for more and, as if on cue, Kate’s phone began ringing and Bob Sparkes’s name flashed up. “Sorry. Got to take this, Simon. It’s the copper in charge of the case. Might be a day three.”

“Keep me posted, Kate,” he said as he marched off to his office, and she moved through the swinging doors to the lifts to get a bit of privacy.

“Hello, Bob. Thought I’d hear from you this morning.”

Sparkes was already standing outside the newspaper office, sheltering from summer rain in the grand portico of the building. “Come and have a coffee with me, Kate. We need to talk.”

The Italian café around the corner in a grubby side street was crowded, and the windows were running with steam from the coffee machine. They sat down at a table away from the counter and looked at each other for a minute.

“Congratulations, Kate. You got her to say more than I ever managed.”

The reporter held his gaze. His generosity disarmed her, made her want to tell him the truth. He was good, she had to admit.

“I should’ve got more, Bob. There was more to get, but she stopped when she chose. Incredible self-control. Frightening, really. One minute she was holding my hand and literally crying on my shoulder about the monster she married, and the next, she was back in the driver’s seat. Clammed up and wouldn’t budge.”

She stirred her coffee. “She knows what happened, doesn’t she?”

Sparkes nodded. “I think she does. But she can’t let it out, and I don’t know why. After all, he’s dead. What has she got to lose?”

Kate shook her head in sympathy. “Something, obviously.”

“I’ve often wondered if she was involved in the crime,” Sparkes said, mainly to himself. “Maybe the planning? Maybe it was about getting a child for them both and something went wrong? Perhaps she put him up to it?”

Kate’s eyes were glittering with the possibilities. “Bloody hell, Bob. How’re you going to get her to confess?”

How indeed, he thought.

“What is her weak point?” Kate asked, playing with her spoon.

“Glen,” he answered. “But he’s not here anymore.”

“It’s kids, Bob. That’s her weak point. She’s obsessed with them. Everything came back to kids when we were talking. She wanted to know everything about my boys.”

“I know. You should see her scrapbooks full of babies.”

“Scrapbooks?”

“That’s off the record, Kate.”

She tucked it away for later and automatically put her head on one side. Submission. You can trust me.

He wasn’t fooled. “I mean it. It could be part of a future investigation.”

“Okay, okay,” she conceded irritably. “What do you think she’ll do now?”

“If she knew anything, she might go back to the child,” Sparkes said.

“Back to Bella,” Kate echoed. “Wherever she is.”

Jean had nothing else to think about now. She’d make a move, he was sure.

“Will you call me if you hear anything?” he asked Kate.

“I might,” she teased automatically. He flushed and, despite herself, she was pleased to see him respond to her flirty tone. Sparkes felt out of his depth suddenly.

“Kate, we’re not playing games here,” he said, trying to get back on a professional footing. “Let’s stay in touch.”

They parted in the street, and he tried to shake her hand, but she leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.





FIFTY-ONE


The Widow

FRIDAY, JUNE 11, 2010


When the crew has gone, I sit quietly and wait for the late evening news. Mr. Telly has said it’ll be the top item, and it is. “Widow in Bella Case Speaks Out for First Time” flashes up on the screen, and music rolls over it and into my front room. And there I am, on the telly. It doesn’t last very long really, but I say I knew nothing about Bella’s disappearance but suspected that Glen was involved. I said very clearly that I didn’t know for certain, that he had not confessed to me, that journalists had twisted what I said.

I answered their questions calmly, sitting on my sofa. I admitted I was offered payment but had turned it down when I found out what the paper was printing. There was a curt statement from the Daily Post and a shot of Kate and Mick leaving my house. And that was it.

I wait for the phone to ring. First was Glen’s mum, Mary. “How could you say those things, Jeanie?” she says.

“You know as well as I do, Mary,” I say. “Please don’t pretend you didn’t suspect him of it, because I know you did.” She goes quiet and says she will talk to me tomorrow.

Then Kate calls. She’s businesslike, saying that the paper is including my statement from the TV interview in their article so I can “give my side of the story.”

I laugh at the cheek of her. “You were supposed to be writing my side of the story,” I say. “Do you always lie to your victims?” She ignores the question and says I can ring her anytime on her mobile, and I hang up without saying good-bye.

The paper comes through the letter box the next morning. I don’t have deliveries. I wonder if Kate posted it. Or a neighbor. The headline screams “Widow Confesses Bella Killer’s Guilt,” and I’m shaking too much to open the paper. My picture is on the front, gazing into the distance like Mick told me to. I put it down on the kitchen table and wait.