She went upstairs. There were others in the squad room, and Judith nodded a hello, but she went directly to her desk and logged in to her terminal. While she waited for the computer to wake up, she took out her notebook and turned all the way back to the notes she had taken in her interview with Alexis Turner a week and a half ago. Her notes were sparse, far too sparse, because she’d been aware of the voice recording. She’d scratched down only a handful of words: Alexis’s name and her age and her status as a college student. The wordsheadachesandclaustrophobiathen, a little further down the page,student—food science/chemistryandRobert Walker.His name was underlined. The pen had gone deep enough that it had very nearly ripped through the page.
That was it. The end of her notes. She’d stopped writing because she’d been so focused on watching Alexis. She hadn’t wanted to miss anything the other woman said. Judith turned back to her screen and called up the video recording. She slipped on her headphones, pressed play, and closed her eyes.
Just like that, she was back in the room, listening to Alexis describe what had happened. Telling her about Walker, about how he’d told her to relax.
Alexis had been completely believable. That was the thing that Judith’s brain kept bumping up against. Judith wasn’t a fool and she wasn’t naive. She’d worked at least an interview a week... sometimes as many as four or five... for her entire career. Which meant something like a thousand or fifteen hundred interviews. In all of that time the vast majority of people who’d sat opposite her had lied badly. You got to know the tells. The unnecessary detail or exaggerations. The eyes that kept slipping away or that held on to hers too tightly. There were a hundred obvious tells and a hundred others that were so subtle she probably wouldn’t have been able to describe them specifically, but she recognised them, or at least her subconscious did. Every now and again she’d come across an expert liar—someone who could pull off a lie with perfect ease—but that was rare, and even with those people, there was usually at least one moment that seemed off. With Alexis, there had been no discordant moment. Judith had believed her. One hundred per cent believed her.
But Alexis Turner was not at all who she had appeared to be. She’d adopted a false name, and with it a false personality. The real Ruth Hall was a more complex being than the angry, hurt girl who’d sat opposite Judith in the interview room. The real Ruth was an excellent liar. She was clearly intelligent and organised and inventive. She was also fearless. She’d walked into a police station and sat opposite Judith and played her role, utterly convincingly. She’d then killed Robert Walker. She had, Judith believed, set up Jack Miller for that murder. Maybe Walker had deserved his end, and plenty would argue that he’d had it coming, but did Jack deserve what Alexis had sent his way? Judith didn’t think so. Jack had failed Miriam—admitted it in his own words—but he’d been young and clueless. There had been nothing deliberate. Clearly, Alexis saw things differently.
Frowning, Judith closed the file again and logged off the system. She picked up her mobile and called Katy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
With traffic, it was after seven by the time Judith reached Katy’s house. She’d stopped on the way to buy a bottle of wine. She parked outside the house, then sat on her bike for a long moment, hesitating. Which wasn’t like her. She felt utterly at home with Katy, with Oliver, with the kids. She spent a lot of time at the house, and never once had she questioned whether or not she was welcome. It wasn’t that that made her hesitate.
Oliver was the one to answer the door.
‘Jude! Great timing. We’d run out of booze. Come in, come in.’
‘I only brought one bottle. If I’d known—’
‘One’s plenty. Plenty! If I’m desperate I can always have a G & T.’
She followed him into the kitchen. Katy was standing at the hob, stirring something into a big pot of what looked like pasta sauce. Nico was at the kitchen table, his schoolbooks spread out in front of him.
‘I shouldn’t have to do homework on aThursday,’he was saying. ‘My teacher says that we should take a break on Thursday. I’ve had a tough week.’
Katy wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, kissed Judith on the cheek, and rolled her eyes at Nico.
‘Your teacher isn’t aware that you’ll spend half of Saturday on the cricket oval, and the other half attached to your computer. That Sunday morning you’ll be right back on the computer and I’ll have to pry you off with a crowbar. Do forty minutes now and there’s a chance we’ll all actually enjoy our weekend.’ As she spoke, Katy took two wine glasses from the cupboard. She kissed her husband on the cheek. ‘Are you good to take over?’ She didn’t wait for a reply, but threw a ‘Come on, Jude,’ over her shoulder, as she opened one of the double doors that led onto the back porch.
Outside, it was chilly. The sun had gone down hours earlier. The Cirillos’ little garden wasn’t much—just a square of lawn that was probably more weed than grass, and a rusting set of swings. But the house was built on top of a hill, and so the porch had a view out over trees and rooftops. After dark that view was a sea of lights from distant houses. The porch also had a large table, big enough for eight chairs. Judith had spent many a night there with Katy and Oliver, drinking and talking. There was a gas heater next to the table. Katy turned it on.
‘Thank god you came,’ Katy said, taking a seat and opening the bottle. ‘Nico is in full-on whinge mode and my feet are killing me.’ She poured a glass for Judith, and one for herself.
‘Are you sure it’s okay? That I’m here, I mean?’
Katy gave her a look. ‘Did you bump your head?’
Judith took her glass, and sank gratefully into the chair. ‘It’s been a day.’
‘Spill,’ Katy said. ‘I could do with the distraction.’
Judith wasn’t sure where to begin. ‘Well, you were right about Miriam Hall, that her file was sealed because of something high profile. She was once Margaux Palmer.’
Katy’s brow furrowed. ‘Palmer.’
‘Daughter of Charlie Palmer.’
‘Oh Christ. The guy who killed his wife, right? The one they suspected of killing a bunch of young girls.’
‘That’s the one. Margaux would have been twelve when all of that happened. And she had a little sister, Renée, who was eight. Renée was given a new name too. Ruth.’
‘How did you find all of this out?’ Katy asked. ‘Did you get the files?’
Judith shook her head. ‘Not yet. I’ve put in a formal request, but it won’t be processed until tomorrow, at the earliest. I spoke to the Giffords. They confirmed it. The girls went to them for a couple of weeks after it all went down.’
‘Fuuuck,’ Katy said slowly. For a minute or two, they sipped their wine in silence, looking out over the city. ‘So. You think Ruth went back to the Giffords’ place and stole the guns?’