Page 59 of Her Last Breath

‘I know that. You’re a good DC and let’s start getting you trained up to sergeant level, shall we?’

Momentarily buoyed up at being able to help DC Berry, Jane returned to work with enthusiasm, reviewing the evidence against Kangna, then Liam. Looking over the post-mortem reports, re-reading interview notes, just in case she had missed something.

Picking up her notes from her earlier interview with Father Walsh, she was reminded of his cryptic comment about her Uncle Phil. Why had he lied to her? And what did he mean by suggesting that Aunt Melody was a widow, like her own mother? Knowing she had a few minutes grace before her interview with Kangna, Jane seized the opportunity.

Opening her search records, she checked for her Uncle Phil’s death certificate. As the record flashed on her screen, Jane stared blankly at the words in front of her, shocked and confused. There it was in black and white: Philip Mark Rust, born 5 May 1952, died 17 August 2015.

Father Walsh hadn’t made a mistake. Why did he pretend he had? And why was her aunt colluding in this lie? The story of Phil leaving her and living with another woman was total bullshit. Her uncle died a decade earlier, in Norwich of all places.

If Father Walsh knew Phil was dead, then Melody must too. Or had she lost it? Was she going through some sort of delusional breakdown because she couldn’t handle the truth? Jane checked the address details of where he died. Something about it was familiar, pulling at a memory.

Sitting bolt upright in her chair, Jane suddenly felt sick. She recognised the postcode. How was this possible? Typing fast, holding her breath, she gasped as the Google search results came on screen. There it was. A picture of the building where Phil had died, the name clearly written in big letters: HMP Norwich.

Jane felt her heart hammering her ribcage as a hot, stabbing pressure built behind her eyes. Scrambling to find her personal phone, she dialled a number she knew well. A woman’s voice picked up.

‘I knew you couldn’t keep away from us,’ said the articulate voice. Jackie Michaels was sixty, a lifelong police officer, from Jane’s time back in the Met. She had worked with her for a decade, the two women from such different backgrounds becoming very good friends.

‘Jacks, I need your help,’ Jane said, her words tripping over each other.

‘Jane, what’s wrong? What can I do?’

‘I need access to a file. Off the record.’

Jane knew Jackie, who was a custodian of knowledge and information across multiple teams, would find a way to make her search look legitimate.

‘Yes, sure. I’ll send what I find to your e-mail.’

‘The Met one?’

‘I kept it live. Hoping you would see sense and come back one day.’

DS Johnson knocked on her door.

‘Warrant to search Kangna Kandasamy’s place for stolen goods came through, ma’am. The team are on their way now.’

Chapter 37

Under the harsh interview room lights, Jane watched as Kangna Kandasamy meticulously fixed her hair. Placing a loose strand behind her ear, she smoothed down the rest into a knot at the back of her head. Grey streaks were visible against the jet black, and despite the youthful-looking skin, Jane noticed deep sunken bags under her eyes.

‘Do you recognise these objects?’ DS Johnson asked.

He slid pictures across the desk, removed from his colour-tagged binder, showing items recovered from Ian Matthews.

‘No,’ said Kangna.

Her brief, a young brunette called Nadia, looked at her as though she was going off-script.

‘Strange, because we got them from your fence, Ian Matthews,’ DS Johnson said. ‘He claims you sold them to him. Look carefully at some of these engravings. Do you know Iris and Hugh?’

Kangna shrugged.

‘Is that a yes or no?’ he asked. ‘And what about this one? Esther. Who is she to you?’

‘I told you I don’t recognise these items.’

DS Johnson turned pages in his binder again, showing Kangna an analysis report.

‘You were very careful, Kangna,’ he said amiably. ‘I’m guessing you used latex gloves when handling these goods? What you didn’t realise though is that you got a strand of your hair caught in one of these items. We had that hair analysed and do you know whose DNA it matched?’