“Uh-uh,” Adi Hanson from the Forensic Scene Investigation team came into the room. “Even you aren’t allowed in just yet, Zoe Finch.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “Adi. Good to see you.”
He smirked. “I hoped I’d be working with you on your first case as a DI.”
“Acting DI.”
“Potato, pot-ah-to. I like your jacket.”
She tensed. “I don’t think this is the time—”
He waved a hand. “You’ll change your mind one day, Zoe Finch. Meanwhile, I’ve got a scene to secure. Please tell me those PCs didn’t stomp all over it.”
“No. PC Khaled has been on the door—”
“Oh I know. He almost didn’t let us in.”
“—and PC Bright had the presence of mind to ask the victim’s wife to let us have her dress.”
Adi wrinkled his nose. “Is it bad?”
“It’s covered in blood, if that’s what you mean.”
“The victim’s?”
“Mrs Jackson cut herself too,” interrupted PC Bright.
“How?” asked Zoe.
“She says she did it on the knife. Her palm. It looks bad.”
“The murder weapon?” said Adi.
A nod.
“Shit.” His eyes sparkled. “She tried to pull it out of him? She grabbed it?”
A shrug.
“Either that, or…” said Mo.
Zoe frowned at him. “You think so?” She looked towards the door. Could Margaret Jackson, that timid mouse, be capable of killing her husband?
Mo shrugged. “Let’s let the evidence speak for itself.”
“I was about to interview her,” said Zoe. “I’m wondering if we should do it more formally.”
“If you think so.”
She tapped her foot, irritated. Mo had never deferred to her before.
“We don’t want her any more perturbed than she already is,” she said. “Let’s have a chat with her here. PC Bright, I want you standing outside that study door until you’re relieved. Even when there are officers in there examining it. Especially where there are officers in there. I’ll do tea duty.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You get ’em, Zoe,” said Adi. “I’ll be getting suited and booted, if that’s alright with you.”
“Of course.”
PC Bright gave him a wary look and followed him out of the room.
“That guy won’t let up,” Zoe breathed.
“He’s harmless,” replied Mo. “Unless he’s been harassing you?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“You wanted Bright to guard the room. You think someone on the force could be involved?”
“I’ve no reason to. But he’s a senior officer. You can’t be too careful.”
Again she thought of that musselman comment.
“Treat her gently, Zoe. I know what you can be like when you’ve got the bit between your teeth.”
“You underestimate me.”
“No, I don’t.” Mo smiled at her. He knew as well as she did that this case would be snatched away from them as soon as more senior officers were woken. But the first hours after a murder were crucial. They couldn’t afford to wait.
She wondered if Uniform were at Lesley or David’s houses now, hammering on their doors. Waking the neighbourhood.
“I’m back.”
Margaret Jackson stood in the doorway. She wore a pair of ironed blue jeans and a grey sweater over a matching blouse. She’d rubbed off her make-up and washed her hands.
Zoe eyed the woman’s fingernails, which were mid-length and painted a pale pink. Blood tipped their ends. Whose blood?
But Margaret Jackson was a witness, not a suspect yet. Zoe couldn’t demand to take samples from under her nails. It was enough that they could take that dress.
She resolved to make sure Margaret didn’t wash her hands again. To speak to Adi about getting a sample from under her nails.
“Mrs Jackson, thank you. This is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Mohammed Uddin.”
Margaret shook Mo’s hand, showing none of the prejudice her husband had displayed. Margaret watched the handshake, thinking of that blood under her fingernails.
“Do you need me in here?” Margaret’s voice sounded clearer now she’d changed and had a few moments to collect herself.
Zoe smiled. “Yes please. Would you like another cup of tea?”
“I think I’ve had enough. At my age…”
“I’ll put the kettle on,” said Mo.
“Black coffee for me, please,” said Zoe. “Strong.”
“I know.”
She gestured to the settee. It was threadbare, unlike everything else she’d seen in this house. Zoe wondered what the living room looked like. If it was ever used.
Margaret slid along the settee and Zoe perched on the other end. She shifted in her seat, imagining Jackson’s ample backside in her place. Mo placed a coffee on a coaster and retreated to the kitchen table. He took out a pad and pen.
“Mrs Jackson,” Zoe said. “I hope you don’t mind me speaking to you so soon. I know this is still very raw for you. But we find that the sooner we talk to witnesses, the more they’re able to remember. And the first hours after an incident like this are crucial.”
“I know.”
Zoe took out her notepad. “I’m going to ask you to tell me everything that happened from the moment you got home last night to the moment my colleagues arrived. I know it won’t be easy to talk about this, but I’d be grateful if you could start at the beginning. Is that alright?”
“Yes.” Margaret’s voice was weak. Zoe watched for signs of guilt. But she just looked tired.
“Thank you. Can you remember what time you arrived home?”
“It was eleven thirty. We left the party at ten past. I remember looking at my watch. And the traffic was light on the…” Mrs Jackson slumped in her seat.
“Are you alright? Did something happen on your way home?” Zoe asked.
“No. Nothing happened. You wanted to know about when we got home.”
“Yes.”
“Bryn did his usual thing where he cuts out the gas and turns off the lights when he turned in to the drive.”
Zoe wanted to ask why he did this, but preferred not to interrupt the witness’s flow.
“Then he unlocked the front door and let us both in. I went to the kitchen and he went to his study.”
“He went straight to his study?”
“No.” Margaret’s gaze travelled to the window. She looked worried. “He came into the kitchen first. I poured him a drink.”
“What kind of a drink?”
“Scotch. Bowmore. His favourite.” A sniff. Margaret slumped back onto the sofa. “I’m sorry. It’s just… the things like… it makes you…”
“I know. And I’m truly sorry for making you relive this.”
“I know.”
Of course she did, she was married to a copper.
“So, you poured him a drink, and he went to his study. Did the two of you stay in the kitchen for long? Did you talk?”