Snarl (15 page)

Chapter Twenty One

When Kate had finally got back to the incident room, Olbeck had said nothing but simply thrown his arms around her and held her tight for a long time. Then he’d stepped back and touched the bandage on her upper arm. He’d traced a line across from the bandage to the centre of her chest. “God, if that had been four inches further across…”

“Oy, hands off the boobs,” Kate had said.

“Well, it’s the only pair I’m ever likely to get my hands on,” Olbeck had replied. Then his mouth had twisted and he’d pulled her back into a hug.

It was seven thirty in the morning
, the day after the shooting, and they were all waiting, pacing the floors, biting their nails, drinking cup after cup of the rank instant coffee that was all the station could offer. Most of the team hadn’t slept at all. They were all fixated on the door and when it finally crashed back, admitting Anderton, there was an audible intake of breath heard.

He didn’t waste time keeping them in suspense.
“He’s alive, he’s okay,” said Anderton.

That
in-held breath rushed out. Jane burst into noisy tears, sobbing, “Sorry – sorry, everyone,” and then cried again. Theo put his arm around her and she leaned into him, hiding her face. Kate sat down suddenly, the nervous energy that had propelled her through the rest of the night suddenly dissipating. Olbeck sat down next to her and put his head in his hands for a moment, rubbing his eyes. Kate heard him murmur something like
oh, thank God
.

Anderton’s eyes were pouched with shadow and his skin had that grey tinge of exhaustion. He held up a hand.
“I should qualify that a bit. Rav’s not
okay
, he’s very badly hurt. But he’ll live. I know you’re all dying to see him, but he’s in Intensive Care. He’s not allowed visitors at the moment and obviously his parents and his sisters will be first in the queue when he is, all right?”

They all nodded. Jane wiped her face and sat back up again.

Kate opened her mouth to ask about Stuart, and then shut it again. She had a feeling she wouldn’t like the answer.

“Now,” said Anderton. “Now, those who want to can go home and get some sleep. I’ve got our prime suspect to interview. Anyone want to sit in on that with me?”

“I will,” Kate said, immediately.

“Me too,” said Olbeck.

Theo opened his mouth for a second and then shut it again.

“Right,” said Anderton. “Let’s go then.”

*

The woman’s face reminded Kate of a statue, one of those ancient marble Greek sculptures. The same strong lines of the face, the same absence of expression. The woman’s eyes had that same blankness
, too. She was beautiful but it was the beauty of a distant supernova or the sinuous curves of a poisonous snake; something lethal, best appreciated at a distance.

Too
fanciful, Kate. She turned her attention back to Anderton and what he was saying.

“So, Angie,” said Anderton, pleasantly. “We’ve been having a look at your records. What made you choose the name Angela Sangello?”

Angie looked at him with no expression. “She’s an Italian artist of the twentieth century,” she said, in a bored tone. “Don’t worry.
You
won’t have heard of her.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t. But then I don’t know much about art.”

The contempt in Angie’s face was now visible. Kate clamped down on a smile. She knew Anderton had a variety of ways of softening up a suspect and knew that his line in self-deprecation would be just the thing to get through to this arrogant, chilly girl.

“That’s not your real name, is it though?” asked Anderton. “Not according to our records. You were born Clara King, firstborn daughter of Damien King, or should I say Lord King, hereditary peer. Ring any bells?”

“I’m estranged from my family,” said Angie, coldly.

“How very sad. I wonder why that could be?”

Angie remained silent.

“Now, let me see, your mother died when you were seven. I’m sorry. And your father married again when you were ten. Am I right
, so far?”

The solicitor next to Angie, a grey-haired, middle-aged man, shifted slightly in his seat. No doubt he, as well as Angie, was wondering where this was going.

“Now, your new stepmother and father had another child, didn’t they? Another girl. Can you tell me anything about your sister, Angie? Or should I call you Clara?”

Angie’s face tightened a little
, but she still said nothing. Anderton continued.

“Now, it seems that your younger sister was tragically killed in an accident when she was two. She fell from the top of a quarry near your house at the time, near Guildford. What an awful thing. That must have been extremely traumatic for the family. Was it very traumatic, Angie?”

Angie’s face had settled back into blankness. She didn’t respond to Anderton’s question.

“Now
, it seems that after this dreadful event, your father actually had you taken into care. Why was that? Could you not cope with your sister’s death?”

Angie looked at him with contempt.
“My stepmother hated me. She was just looking for an excuse to get rid of me.”

“Oh, is that why?” Anderton shuffled the papers before him into a little more order. He went on, the gentleness of his tone belying the devastation of his words. “It wasn’t because your father and your stepmother thought you were actually responsible for your sister’s death?”

The solicitor made a sound of protest but Angie cut across him. “You can think that, if you like,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t give a shit. If you’ve got access to my notes, you’ll see there was no charge.”

“No, that’s true, that’s true,” said Anderton. “There was no actual
charge
. Father pulled some strings, did he? Or was it that he knew, deep down, exactly what his daughter was, but just couldn’t face up to it?”

Angie scoffed. She leaned back in her chair, looking away ostentatiously.

“Well,” continued Anderton. “We’ve also had a look at your medical notes. Diagnosed with a personality disorder at sixteen, I see. In and out of various therapies, expelled from your boarding school…”

He waited a moment.

“What I find remarkable,” he said, in the same quiet tone, “is that you’ve managed to make such a name for yourself, despite such, well, difficult beginnings. Your art, your relationships… quite remarkable. And it helps that you’re beautiful, too. That must really help.”

Kate kept her face neutral as he elaborated on this theme for some minutes. It was working
, though. She could see Angie gradually thawing, becoming more animated. The more Anderton heaped praise upon her, the more she responded. Anderton had a lot of charm, when he wanted to use it – God knows, Kate knew about
that
– and he was laying it on thick, here.

“So,” said Anderton eventually, smiling genial
ly. “How did you and Alex Hargreaves meet?”

Angie fell into his trap.
“At a poker game,” she said. Then she smiled and laughed a little cruelly. “I thrashed him. Alex was obsessed with gambling - shame he wasn’t any good at it.”

“He was an admirer of your work?”

“Of course.”

“And you were lovers?”

Angie’s smile dimmed a little. “Occasionally.”

“So, you wouldn’t say it was a serious relationship?”

“No, not really.”

“I see,” said Anderton. “Well, that’s strange. We’ve been going through his personal belongings and he seems to have all sorts of pictures of you, including several obviously taken at social events. If we asked Alex’s friends, do you think they might give us a different answer?”

Angie shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “They might. It depends what he told them. He was always much more keen on the relationship than I was.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” Angie said. Her gaze slid from Anderton’s face to come to rest on Kate’s. “You know what men are like.”

Angie smiled a slow smile directed at Kate, her eyelids falling slightly. For a moment Kate, incredibly, felt it – whatever had snagged Stuart
, and Wade, and Alexander Hargreaves. She found herself smiling back, leaning forward, almost eagerly. Shocked at herself, she sat back sharply in her chair and snapped the smile from her face. Angie’s smile changed, from conspiratorial to triumphant. Kate thought of those Sirens from Greek mythology, who’d lured sailors to their deaths by their sweet singing. I need to stop my ears with wax, she thought.

“Did you know that Alexander Hargreaves was
embezzling funds from his company, MedGen?”

Angie’s eyes widened.
“No,” she said and Kate could have congratulated her on the feigned shock in her voice. For the first time since the arrest, Kate started to think that perhaps they might have bitten off more than they could chew.

“You had no idea?”

“Of course not.”

“Did he ask you for help in any way?”

Angie looked at him coolly. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“You didn’t introduce Alex Hargreaves to your other lover
, Guy Wade? They didn’t arrange the killing of Jack Dorsey between them?”

Angie was shaking her head, seemingly horrified.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Guy was – Guy was a brutal man. I was terrified for my life.”

Anderton sat back and regarded her. She looked at him, her eyes big and dark.
“So, tell me what really happened, Angie,” he said, softly.

The silence stretched on and on. Kate could even hear the faint ticking of the clock up on the wall, an ancient model which hadn’t yet been replaced by a digital one.
From outside, came the sounds of normal life; car engines, bird song, slamming doors.

“Well,” said Anderton eventually, seeing Angie wasn’t going to speak. “Here’s what I think happened. Perhaps you’ll correct me if I’m wrong.”

Silence. Angie’s face had changed again, from a beautiful stony mask, to the hurt expression of a young vulnerable girl. Oh, she was good – Kate would give her that.

“You and Alex Hargreaves were lovers. You were also the lover of Guy Wade, a violent and revengeful animal rights militant. How did you meet him, by the way?” Anderton waited a second for Angie to answer and then went on, clearly knowing she wouldn’t. “You made a piece of art for him, Angie, didn’t you? The multi-media piece
, with the footage of all the animal cruelty? What made you decide to go even further? Was it his idea, or yours, to film the death of Jack Dorsey?”

Angie’s face had stilled again. Kate could see a distant spark in the depths of her dark eyes, as if her thoughts were there, ticking over, the only outward sign of her search looking for a plausible explanation. When she spoke, it sounded as though it was something she’d been preparing for some time. No doubt, she had.

“Guy threatened me,” she said. Her voice quavered a little and Kate inwardly cursed, knowing the effect that would have on a jury. “He was obsessed with animal cruelty. He said if I didn’t help him, he’d
kill
me. You have to believe me.”

“So what did he ask you to do? Did he plant the bomb that killed Michael Frank?”

Angie nodded, her head down.

“Did you help him with that?”

“No.”

Kate spoke up, unable to help herself.
“Did you
film
it?”

Angie looked at her and for a moment, Kate saw the snake
, down there in the darkness, stirring. “No.”

“Really?” said Kate sceptically. “So I guess when we wade through all the footage on your computer, Angie, we won’t find anything like that? I wonder.”

Angie’s mouth tightened a little and Kate felt a little spark of triumph. She was pretty sure that once they’d searched through all the evidence, they would find exactly that.

Anderton gave her a glance and she sat back, letting him take up the reins.

“You’re a pretty persuasive person, Angie, from all I’ve heard. Men become quite obsessed with you, don’t they? Did you suggest to Alex Hargreaves that you could introduce him to someone who could do his dirty work for him?” Angie said nothing, staring at him blankly. “Did you suggest to Guy Wade that you could give him access to one of his targets?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Angie, coldly.

“No? How did Guy Wade know the alarm codes to Jack Dorsey’s home? How did he know where Jack Dorsey’s home was? How did he know to locate and wipe the CCTV onsite?”

Angie shrugged.

“He knew, Angie, because you told him. Hargreaves told you, and you passed the information on to Wade. You were there at the scene, holding the camera, Angie. And, in fact, I think you were the way in. Darryl Timms opened the door to you because you were no threat, were you, Angie? Is that right? He saw a frightened, tiny young girl on the doorstep and opened the door to you. That’s why he was facing away from the door when he was killed, because he was leading you into the house. That’s when your lover, Guy Wade, came up behind him and killed him.”