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‘Yes, sir, loud and clear. I’m Detective Sergeant Triona Bradley and this is my colleague Detective Constable Bell. Can we start by saying that we’re very sorry for your loss, and sorry, too, that we have to do this.’
He flaps a hand. ‘It’s the job. I was law enforcement myself, I know the drill. What do you need to know?’
‘Could we start with why Robin was in the UK?’
He clears his throat. ‘Well, as far we knew she was on vacation. They wanted to do it for a while but you know what it’s like, something always seemed to come up.’
‘They?’ says Bell. ‘She was travelling with someone?’
But he’s already shaking his head. ‘No, no, it wasn’t that. I’m talking about Mack, Robin’s sister. She’s married to a Brit. Robin was over there visiting them – they hadn’t seen each other in a good long while.’
‘I see,’ says Bell. ‘Do you know if Robin was planning to meet anyone else while she was here? Maybe to do with her work?’
‘You’d be best asking Mack that. I’ll give you her number –’
‘Thank you.’
He’s fidgeting, building himself up to say something. ‘What I don’t understand is why she went back.’
Now they’re confused.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Bradley. ‘What do you mean, “went back”?’
He’s a little tetchy now, fiddling with a pen on the desk in front of him. ‘Well, first she was over there, and then we got the message saying she was coming home, and now you tell me she’s been found dead in England –’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Tierney, you’ve completely lost me. We have Robin arriving here on June 7th, but as far as I know she never left the UK again after that. And I’m sorry if this is upsetting, but the forensic evidence suggests that the body was buried in mid-June –’
But he’s shaking his head, categorical. ‘No, ma’am, pardon me but that’s not correct. In fact, if it weren’t for the dental thing and the damn tattoo I’d be telling you right now, you have the wrong person, because I know for a fact that my daughter was alive on June 29th.’
Bradley feels Bell stiffen beside her. ‘How do you know that, Mr Tierney?’
He puts his pen down and sits back. ‘Because my wife spoke to her, that’s how.’
***
‘But he didn’t speak to her himself?’
Asante has followed Bradley to the water cooler; he’s been giving the coffee a swerve ever since he arrived and she can’t say she blames him.
She shakes her head. ‘No, it was his wife. I tried, as subtly as I could, to tease out whether Mrs Tierney might just possibly have been –’
He gives a dry smile. ‘A little confused?’
‘Well, you can’t just come straight out and say “Does your wife have dementia?”, now can you? But he wasn’t buying it. He said it was a very brief conversation and the line wasn’t that great, but it was definitely her.’
Asante looks thoughtful. ‘So Robin was calling from beyond the grave.’
‘And there’s these too. Messages from Robin.’ She holds out a sheet for him to take.
He scans down. Emails, WhatsApps, family jokes, arrangements to meet up; all completely normal, completely routine, and, looking at the dates, completely impossible.
‘So,’ he says, ‘the last time she posted anything was July 23rd. That’s the same day –’
‘– the news broke about the grave, right. Don’t know about you, but I’m no big fan of coincidences.’
He glances up. ‘Neither is Fawley.’ He hands her back the paper. ‘So someone was impersonating her. Someone who not only had her mobile, but could make a reasonable fist of sounding like her on the phone.’
She nods. ‘Which means someone who’d talked to her. Maybe not in person, but an actual conversation, not an email or message.’