Owen led the second half of the interview with their suspect without the same kind of responses his boss received, even though the younger detective attempted to emulate Jack’s questioning by switching to different topics to confuse her. Rachel appeared only to want to speak to the man in charge; that was often the case. Ms Roberts was determined to make life difficult for the detectives.
The journey back to Penrith mainly passed in silence. An awkward trio, forced to spend time together, confined in a car, for almost three hours. Rachel sat in the back seat, her hands cuffed and her eyes closed for most of the journey. Jack drove and Owen sat beside him, apparently lost in thought, and as any conversation between the detectives during the journey would need to be guarded, silence was the order of the day.
It was a relief to arrive at Hunter’s Lane and to book their prisoner in for the night, after which a weary Jack told his DS to go home and get some rest, advice he intended to take himself. The interview with Rachel would resume in earnest the following day, even though it was Sunday.
* * *
‘And I thought weekend working was a thing of the past.’ Sarah joked when her husband arrived home. Jack was ravenous and grateful for the meal waiting for him. He’d only eaten a rather stale sandwich since breakfast. While he ate, his wife brought him up to date on Alice and Millie.
Unsurprisingly, the news of Rachel’s whereabouts had come as a shock, with the poor woman berating herself for not having guessed where her daughter might have been. But worse than that, the gossamer thread of hope that Tom would also be found was severed. Alice hadn’t needed to tell her friend that she was expecting the worst; the pain was etched clearly on her face.
Sarah was able to impart some positive news to her husband as she described Millie’s progress. The little girl was the one bright spot in Alice’s life.
* * *
Jack managed only a few hours of sleep, his mind refusing to switch off and was up and dressed before seven the following day. After a breakfast, which Sarah insisted he eat, the DI left for the police station, eagerly anticipating the day ahead.
DS Owen Hardy didn’t sleep much either, although he was less confident about prising information from Roberts than his boss was. When Jack arrived, Owen was in the incident room, updating DCs Claire Swift and Elaine Thompson, both of whom had come into work even though they were not officially on duty.
Jack smiled at the eager core of his team, grateful for their presence. ‘News travels fast.’
‘Owen rang me last night, sir. Good news in some respect, but not the best…’ Claire replied.
‘No. I honestly don’t know what Rachel thinks she’s achieving by not telling us her father’s whereabouts. Perhaps it’s a control thing. She seems to like to play games, doesn’t she, Owen?’ Jack grinned at the DS.
‘Aye, she does that. I’ve never claimed to understand women, but this one’s in a different league completely.’
Elaine chipped in. ‘We do have good news from Matlock, sir. They found Ms Roberts’ car overnight, and they’ll be towing it up first thing tomorrow.’
‘Can’t someone from their CSI team look at it today? If there’s any evidence of Tom Roberts being in that vehicle we need to know now. Would you get onto that please, Elaine, try a bit of sweet-talking?’ Jack didn’t want to waste any time, Sunday or not.
‘Yes, sir.’ The young officer moved towards a desk.
‘And Elaine, thanks for coming in. You too, Claire. I know how precious weekends off are.’ Both women nodded, appreciating their boss’s words.
‘So, Owen, shall we see if our guest has had a comfortable night?’
* * *
‘Good morning, Rachel. Can we get you a coffee?’ Jack spoke pleasantly, noting the tiredness in their suspect’s face.
‘No, thank you.’
Owen did the honours with the tape recorder and the men sat opposite Rachel Roberts. The interview room they occupied was even smaller than the one at Matlock and windowless. The hum of a faulty fluorescent tube filled the initial silence and the air already felt stale, even so early in the day. Jack had requested this room specifically.
Jack jumped straight to the point. ‘Did you kill your father?’
‘No.’ Rachel sighed, apparently bored already.
‘Did you regularly drug your daughter to keep her biddable?’
Rachel smiled. ‘You can’t prove that.’
‘The hospital found traces of Zopiclone in her blood.’ Jack turned to Owen. ‘DS Hardy, remind me to add assault by administering a drug to a minor to the charges against Ms Roberts.’
Rachel sighed again; her demeanour unchanged.
‘What did you do on the day of the eighth of June?’
‘You tell me,’ she challenged.
‘I think you spent the day setting the scene for your plan. You drugged your mother the evening before and probably administered more medication to keep her under for the following day and night. You also drugged your father and somehow got him into your car. Did you kill him with the Suxamethonium or just keep him under sufficiently to let him suffer? Perhaps you’ll fill in the timeline for me later, Rachel, but we know you got rid of Tom Roberts at some point.’ The rest of the day was spent setting the scene.
‘First, you removed all signs of your father as if he’d never lived in that house. Not too arduous a task, considering your parents had only recently moved in. You even deleted all evidence of your daughter, who never existed in your little plan. Then you planted a few choice items. If I remember, there was a red coat and the order of service for your father’s funeral – quite inventive. You must have been planning this for a long time, Rachel. Undoubtedly a premeditated crime. And then there was Barney, poor innocent Barney. Did you poison him with your drugs too?’
As Jack spoke, Rachel stared at him with her cold grey-green eyes; one eyebrow arched as if amused.
‘What a delightful, whimsical tale, DI Priestly, but I’m rather disappointed in you. I expected so much more.’ She spoke slowly, smiling at him, mocking. ‘So, what if I did spirit my father away? Where is he? If I’ve got him locked away somewhere, he could be dying while you’re keeping me here, wasting precious time…’
‘Why the coat, Rachel? Just to mess with your mother’s mind?’ Jack was going to lead the interview. He wasn’t going to answer her questions.
‘A charity shop find, in just the right size. I couldn’t resist, knowing how much my mother dislikes red.’
Owen Hardy shuffled in his chair as Jack coolly continued.
‘And the order of service, did you have to be so cruel?’
‘A stroke of genius, don’t you think, Detective Inspector?’ She couldn’t resist gloating.
‘Where’s your father, Rachel?’ Jack sounded slightly weary.
‘Oh, DI Priestly, what would be the fun in telling you that? Can’t you work it out for yourself? You’re the detective. Okay, I’ll help you out a little here, just a tiny clue. Tom Roberts is exactly where he deserves to be.’ Rachel, who’d been leaning forward with her hands on the table, sat back and folded her arms – she was finished talking.
Jack decided not to push for more and stood to leave the room without another word. Owen switched off the tape and followed, somewhat perplexed and wondering if he’d missed something.
‘What kind of clue was that supposed to be?’ he asked, catching Jack up.
‘Probably the only one we’re likely to get.’
‘Bloody hell, she’s an evil one all right, the hairs on the back of my neck were tingling in there. I thought she was about to confess!’
Jack shook his head, ‘Rachel’s finished, for now, and feeling smug with herself, so I think the best thing we can do is to let her sweat it out for the rest of the day. Get someone to take her back to the cells, keep her guessing. We’ve got enough to hold her, so we’ll use the time to brainstorm what she’s told us so far.’
