‘I see.’ Holden tried to assess this new information – or was it disinformation? It would be easy enough to check out their story – the hair appointment, the text message from the school – and it certainly put Vickie in the clear, but Jim died at 7.27 p.m. and if Maureen was behind that, then Vickie was lying for her. But if Vickie was telling the truth, then the obvious suspect had to be David. ‘Tell me, Vickie. Do you know where David is?’ She spoke casually, as if the answer was barely consequential.
The girl began to study her fingernails, which were painted alternately deep crimson and black. She said nothing. Gave no indication.
‘We’re worried about him. If you know anything, you must tell us.’
Vickie’s hand moved involuntarily to her neck, remembering the aftermath of the fish and chip supper. ‘He can look after himself.’
‘I’m sure he can. It’s just that we’re worried in case he does something silly.’
Vickie’s earlier confidence had faded, and been supplanted by mere stubbornness. ‘I can’t help you.’
‘You know where he is, don’t you, Vickie.’
‘No.’
Holden had been leaning forward confidentially, but now she leant back and took stock. Was it time for a change of tack? David wasn’t going to go far. No doubt he was camping somewhere in the Boars Hill woods. Sooner or later a search team would find him. And then, if he was the killer, there was a good chance they’d be able to get him to confess. But what if he wasn’t? Holden leant forward again. She had another weapon in reserve, and now was the time to deploy it.
She opened the folder in front of her, pulled out a piece of paper, and pushed it across the table towards Vickie. ‘Talking of photos, Vickie, as we were a bit earlier, what can you tell me about these ones?’
‘These ones’ were three of the photos of Ania and Vickie, dressed as schoolgirls and smiling unconvincingly at the camera.
Vickie said nothing. It was her mother who stretched forward, picked them up, and studied them one at a time for several seconds. ‘Where did you get these from?’
‘They were on Paul Greenleaf’s laptop.’
It was just a bit of fun,’ Vickie jumped in. ‘After the football game. We went to Mr Greenleaf’s house, and had supper, and Ania and I dressed up for a bit of fun, like we were sisters, and they took photos.’
‘They?’
‘Mr Greenleaf really. But Dad was there, so I knew it was all right.’
‘Did anything else happen, Vickie?’
‘No. Course not. I got a headache, so Dad brought me home.’
‘And I guess that was quite late, was it?’
‘Half past ten.’ Maureen cut in firmly. ‘Or thereabouts. I was still up. Jim turned on the TV to catch Match of the Day but it had already started. I gave Vickie two paracetamol and saw her into bed.’
Holden picked up her mug and slowly drained the tea in it. Mother and daughter were united now: Maureen was sitting bolt upright in the armchair, while Vickie perched on its arm, her right arm across her mother’s shoulder. The question was how to separate them.
‘Weren’t you worried, Maureen?’
‘Why should I have been? It was a Saturday night. She was with her dad. What was there to worry about?’
‘Sorry, that isn’t what I meant.’ Holden tried to look apologetic, as she set her trap. ‘I meant, weren’t you worried when you saw the photos?’
‘What are you talking about? I’ve never seen them until now.’
‘No, of course not,’ Holden said quickly. The trap had snapped shut on thin air. ‘You wouldn’t have. But I assumed that Vickie would have told you about them. Or maybe your husband would have.’
‘Why would they have told me? It looks like just a bit of fun. Harmless fun. What’s the big deal?’
‘The big deal, Maureen, as far as I can see, is that they are motive for murder. Paul Greenleaf and your husband took the photos, and now they’re both dead.’
‘That’s ridiculous. They’re just stupid photos. They were probably drunk when then took them.’
‘Stupid photos?’ Holden spat the words back. ‘Is that what you really think, Maureen?’