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‘Because this isn’tLine of Duty.’
‘Then I’ll ask you again,’ I continue. ‘Why did you kill Gwen?’
He entwines his fingers and stretches them out in front of him until the knuckles crack. ‘You had the pleasure of meeting my mum,’ he says. ‘It’s taken her eight years of decline to get to where she is now. But it’s still anyone’s guess as to how long it’ll be before she finally dies. Six months? A year? Two years? Who knows? Is that fair on her?’
‘It’s not fair on anyone in her condition.’
‘So then you understand, what happened to Gwen was in her best interests. You know first-hand what it was like for her – pissing herself, wandering the streets, the forgetfulness, her temper tantrums.’
‘There was more to her than that.’
‘They were no more than glimmers. Are you really going to tell me that her accident didn’t do her a favour?’
‘You don’t get to decide that.’
‘I shouldn’t, no. But until our laws on assisted suicide are overhauled to meet a modern viewpoint, there are some people who feel obliged to take matters into their own hands.’
My eyes narrow. ‘By some people, you mean you.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘So let me get this right. You’re saying that you’ve been killing women with degenerative mental conditions to spare them from future suffering?’
‘They’re your words, not mine.’
I sit back in my chair, my eyes burrowing into his. It wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. But then I’ve come to expect the unexpected with Paul. I take another sip of my water and consider what he’s just not quite admitted. Then I lean closer to him.
‘Bullshit,’ I say, slowly and carefully. ‘Absolute, one hundred per cent bullshit. You are no more of a moral crusader than I am.’
Paul tilts his head ever so slightly to one side as if he is hurt by my accusation. And for a split second, I wonder if I’ve got it wrong and he was being genuine. Then he emits a deep laugh. ‘Admit it,’ he says. ‘I almost had you there, didn’t I?’
He finishes off his beer and stands up. Is he leaving already? No, he’s going to the bar. He returns with a second bottle and a glass of red wine for me.
‘Merlot, right?’ he says. ‘You were drinking it the night that you, me and Gwenny had dinner together.’ I push it to one side. I don’t trust him not to have slipped something into it. ‘Incidentally,’ he continues, ‘why did you organise that car crash of a night? Did you really think all it’d take was an M&S Meal Deal and I’d tell you everything?’
‘Walter said I should give you the benefit of the doubt. He knows better now though.’
‘Oh does he?’ Paul asks. ‘I liked Walter. Living all alone like that, he seemed to quite enjoy the attention I gave him. Full disclosure, I’ve never been in a same-sex relationship, but there’s a first time for everything, right?’
‘He doesn’t fit your criteria,’ I say a little too quickly. ‘He’s as sharp as a pin. He’s not vulnerable or gullible.’
‘Not yet. But you know what the elderly are like. One funny turn can set the ball rolling, and before you know it, they’re at the mercy of a stranger.’
I shake my head but I don’t tell him that he disgusts me because I suspect it’s what he wants to hear.
‘So that’s it?’ he asks. ‘That whole charade with my mum and the pillow was to get my attention so that you can tell me what I already know – you want Gwen’s estate? Nice touch with the mice and cockroaches in her house, by the way.’
‘She left it to me in her will. It’s mine.’
‘Mine, mine, mine,’ he yawns. ‘Change the record, Rachel. What do you seriously think is going to happen today? That a pang of conscience is going to make me hand it over to you, just like that?’
‘If you don’t, I’ll go to the police and tell them everything I know about you.’
‘Which is . . . ?’
I say each victim’s name slowly. ‘Eliza Holmes, Lucy Holden, Alice McKenzie.’ I allow my words to hang there. Now it’s Paul’s turn not to lose eye contact with me, even when I take a sip of my water. Eventually he taps his cheek with his forefinger and breaks into a broad smile.
‘What can I say?’ He shrugs. ‘I’m impressed. But when you think about it, what have you actually got, aside from a handful of names and a crazy theory? I’m just a man who likes his girls on the more mature side. It’s no different to preferring redheads over blondes, curvy over skinny. I can marry whoever I want to because I enjoy being married. But being a widower is one of the pitfalls of my predilection. I volunteer to help the elderly in my spare timebecause I’m a good person. And unlike some,’ he adds pointedly, ‘I don’t have a criminal record for conning anyone out of anything. I don’t blackmail people. I haven’t stolen credit cards or robbed from the infirm on their deathbeds. So why would the police believe anything you have to say?’
