The Fall by Claire McGowan Read Free Book Online Page B

It would be OK. Of course it would. But why were they still here, hours later?
    All night long people had been brought in, drunks with blood streaming from their heads, women shrieking, sirens going. The TV was showing BBC news, and on it a rolling story about Haussmann’s Bank. Bailed out by government loan , it said. Then in the scrolling ticker she saw: Man arrested over London club death . The irony of it didn’t escape her, that the very catastrophe which had sent Dan falling into this mess hadn’t even happened in the end. Instead he’d made his own private disaster, now joining the bank on the news. But it would be OK. It had to be.
    ‘Miss Miller?’ It was the flat-shoed Brummie woman. A thin morning light was coming in the high windows.
    Charlotte’s mouth tasted dry and sour, her eyes felt gritty. All she’d eaten was half a disgusting corner-shop sandwich, washed down with the worst cup of coffee she’d ever tasted, so bad she’d almost spat it back out into the polystyrene cup. But there was nothing else, so she drank it, and afterwards she had sat and picked the cup to pieces with nerves.
    She stood up, dizzy, sure that what she was about to be told was going to change everything in a way she didn’t yet see. She had an urge to squeeze her eyes shut and hope it would all go away.
    ‘Can you come with me, miss?’
    ‘Sorry. Coming.’
Hegarty
    ‘But I don’t understand!’ Stockbridge’s girlfriend was wearing old jeans now, a baggy sweatshirt with the name of some Oxford college on it. Her face looked tired and confused, but she was still sexy. Very sexy.
    ‘I’ll try to explain again. We’ve charged your fiancé with the murder of Anthony Johnson, owner of the Kingston Town nightclub.’
    The crosser she got, the rougher her voice became. Was that a northern accent creeping into her posh tones? ‘It’s ridiculous.’ She folded her arms. ‘To say that Dan might have killed someone – well, you don’t have a clue, obviously. Listen, I know he can seem kind of – sort of closed up, but I promise you he’s not, he’s just under so much pressure, and that’s how he goes when . . . It doesn’t mean anything.’
    Hegarty bit back the urge to tell her about the mothers he’d interviewed, tearful and loving except for the dead toddler in the morgue, the favourite teacher and what you found on their laptop. You never knew. That was what he’d learned, if anything, from being in the police. ‘Let me ask you again, miss. When you came out of the ladies’, your fiancé was arguing with Mr Johnson?’
    ‘I didn’t say arguing!’ She sighed and rubbed her face. ‘Oh, I suppose they were. But it doesn’t mean—’
    ‘Then you saw the two men go into his office, yes? You waited outside the club, you say for just a few minutes, and then you went home? Did you get a taxi?’
    ‘Yes.’ Her eyes flicked away.
    ‘You’re sure?’
    ‘I – we must have. I don’t remember.’
    He made a note. ‘You’ve already told us you took drugs that night. Is that correct?’
    She nodded slowly, staring at her feet. ‘I wouldn’t normally.’
    ‘Where did he get the drugs?’
    ‘How would I know?’ She sat up suddenly. ‘Look, am I under arrest?’
    ‘No, miss. Not at the moment.’
    ‘Well then, I’ve already told you everything. I really don’t know any more.’
    Hegarty clicked his pen. ‘Does Daniel have a problem with black people?’
    She gaped. ‘What?’
    ‘It’s just a question, miss.’
    ‘Are you trying to say he’s a racist or something? Just because the guy was— Dan’s not racist, for God’s sake. He was the one who wanted to go to the bloody club in the first place. It’s so stupid.’ He thought she was about to say they even had black friends, but she seemed to think better of it.
    ‘There were a number of witnesses to the argument. You say you saw a group of people, possibly two black girls. Anyone else?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Recognise this man?’ He