Page 72 of Child's Play

He shook his head. ‘No point. Whatever you’ve got to tell me couldn’t be used in any evidential capacity. Not a jury in the land would believe a word you’ve got to say,’ he said honestly. ‘And if you want honesty, I’m not sure I would either.’

After her performance the previous day and her changing story she could admit to anything and a jury would shake their heads and dismiss her every word.

‘I lied,’ she whispered, laying her hands on the table.

‘Well, we know that, Mrs Nuryef. We’re just trying to work out which time,’ he said, coldly.

She nodded her understanding.

‘I know you’re angry because of what I said yesterday but I can’t tell these lies any more.’

Penn regarded her objectively. She looked tired; her hair was back to its straggly state. She wore no make-up at all. But her physical appearance wasn’t the biggest change. It was her eyes. For the first time, he saw fear.

‘Go on, Irina,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you’ve come here to say.’

She wrung her hands and swallowed deeply. ‘He was with me that night. My husband was definitely at home.’

Penn tried to keep the agitation out of his voice. ‘Why are you saying this?’

‘Because it’s true. And people are dying. My neighbour…’

‘Was murdered, Irina, and we don’t even know why. But how can I believe you now?’ he asked, frustrated. ‘And how do you explain the tee shirt in the shed, which we found after you changed your statement?’

She shrugged and then bit down on a thumb nail.

‘Aside from that, why did you lie about him being gone?’

Again, she shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I can’t explain but I’m telling you the truth now.’

‘How the hell am I supposed to believe you, Irina?’ he asked, as the confusion mounted in his brain.

She fixed him with a stare that although full of fear was naked and sad.

‘Because I swear it on my children’s lives, that on the night of the murder my husband was at home with me.’

Penn sighed heavily and looked away.

God help him, he really believed her.

Fifty

Stacey sat back and stretched her neck, suddenly aware that the tune being whistled was a different one.

‘Got anything?’ Stacey asked, mainly to shut the girl up. Please save me soon, boss, she silently prayed.

‘Not a dickie bird other than Belinda’s photo and bio on the college website, which isn’t really a biography at all, it’s very strange. I’m looking for birth records now as a starting point.’

Yes, that’s exactly what she would have done.

‘I mean I wouldn’t expect to see them all over social media cos they’re like, too old for that, but—’

‘Hey,’ Stacey said. ‘Our victim may have appeared too old for many things but it didn’t stop her doing them. Don’t underestimate folks because of their age,’ she warned, wondering when being taught to respect your victims had been missed from the training curriculum.

Tiffany smiled doubtfully. ‘Okay, cool. Anyway, I can’t even find anything in education, so whether or not they moved around a lot or…’

‘Keep going,’ Stacey advised, realising she probably preferred the show tunes.

But she had to admit that the lack of information on the sisters was indeed strange. In this day and age it was growing more and more difficult to avoid a digital footprint. Especially as archives were uploaded all the time.