A Question Of Identity Part 20

'What, you mean gla.s.ses and a big black beard?'

'Bit obvious.'

'They were divorced, him and Lynne. She didn't ask for that, though I know she'd have got round to it sooner or later she just got a letter telling her it would happen and then not long after she got the decree thing through the post. So she isn't his wife now but she was his wife for thirteen years and I just think it's human decency to let him know. Not that Alan knows what human decency is himself. But it is.'

'Hilary, have the doctors given you any idea how long Lynne has to live?'

'They hedge their bets, don't they? But I managed to get something out of one . . . he said he thought a month or so . . . not more than three, probably a bit less. That was what made me decide I had to find a way of letting Alan know.'

'Did Lynne agree?'

'I haven't told her. I haven't told anybody. I thought I'd find out how the land lay and get some advice from the police first. She wouldn't want to see him though, I'm dead sure of that.'

'She wouldn't be able to see him. Now, let me get you some tea.'

'Coffee would be nice, thanks. Milk, one sugar.'

'I'll be back as soon as I can, when I've had a word with the DCI. You won't want to spend much time with our coffee.'

Rose was not long. The reply was brief and conclusive. There could be no contact on either side and no further information would be given.

'So that's it then?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'Right . . . Goodbye then.'

She was about to go through the doors of the station, but turned round on an impulse, and hugged the policewoman. She had no idea why. But she was full of emotions which bubbled up and spilled over, so that her eyes filled with tears, for her sister's miserable marriage and lonely years since, her illness, the fact that she would die soon, and for herself, because a nail of guilt had gone into her one night ten years earlier, and was still painfully there and could never be removed. The tears were of anger and frustration too, and grief for the women Keyes had murdered, and their families who had never been able to come to terms with any of it and more so because of his acquittal. It was ten years ago and it was yesterday and today, and it would be tomorrow.

The only person she did not shed a tear for was Alan Keyes. Or whoever he was now.

Thirty-one.

MATT WILLIAMS WAS recognised at a builders' merchant's in Plymouth. Forty minutes later, a car was on its way to pick him up. By seven o'clock, he was in Interview Room 1 at Lafferton Police HQ.

'Present, Acting DI Ben Vanek, DC Frank Gilmore, Matthew Kevin Williams and Mr Iain Ferguson, Duty Solicitor. For the benefit of the tape, will you please give your full name?'

'Matthew Kevin Williams, and the first thing I need to say is I've been brought here against my will.'

'All right, you'll get your chance to protest, but for now, you'll answer some questions please.'

'I haven't been arrested.'

'No, you haven't.'

'Or charged with anything.'

'No.'

'So if I want to get up and walk out of here you can't stop me.'

'No, I can't.'

Matt stood up and pushed his chair back.

'Sit down please.'

'I'm not under arrest, I can go. You said. So I'm going.'

'Listen, if you stay here and answer all my questions, so that I'm happy to let you go, that's in your best interests, Mr Williams. Because if you go now, I can tell you, your action will be saying something about yourself and you'll become the subject of even closer police interest than you are now. In fact, you'll be back in here before you know it.'

'You'd have to charge me.'

'We'd think of something, don't fret. I think the Plymouth officer said he'd noticed the tax disc wasn't correctly displayed on your van.'

'Nothing wrong with my tax disc. Nothing wrong with my van.'

'Glad to hear it.'

'So I'm out of here.'

'And you put up a bit of a push and shove with him when he asked you to go with him from the store. Made his arm ache. He said.'

'Now listen '

'Just sit down, answer the questions, get it over with, we can all go home.'

'I've got nothing to hide.'

'Then you've got nothing to fear, have you?'

Matt Williams glanced at the solicitor. The solicitor nodded to the surface of the table.

'OK, get on with it.'

'Good. Right decision there, Mr Williams. Now, I have some questions to ask you about the day before yesterday, 28 February. You were working at d.u.c.h.ess of Cornwall Close, is that right?'

'Yes. Been working there for weeks. It's new-build bungalows.'

'Have you been working alone or with a team?'

'Plenty of other tradesmen. Well, obviously.'

'Other electricians?'

'Two. But I work on my own, I'm not with a firm.'

'So sometimes you'd be working on the electrics by yourself in a house, or a flat, other times you might be there with what? Another electrician? A carpenter? Tiler?'

'Could be anyone. Chippies. Ps and Ds.'

'Did you get on all right with them?'

Matt Williams shrugged. 'Some.'

'But not all?'

'Same every time. I can't stand the skivers . . . sit about drinking tea and reading the racing pages half the day then have a mad rush for the last couple of hours. I can't stand the ones who want to talk all the time either. Or the ones with loud radios.'

'Seem to be a lot of people you can't stand then.'

'Some.'

'What about Nick Flint and Piotr Sikorski?'

'What about them?'

'You've worked with them?'

'Yes.'

'You get on with them? Or can't you stand them?'

'They're all right.'

'But you picked a fight with Flint and you were so violent Mr Sikorski had to intervene and separate you, try and calm you down.'

'I don't pick fights.'

'So what happened?'

'Nothing much. Bit of a disagreement, that's all.'

'What was the disagreement about?'

Matt shrugged.

'Are you married?'

Matt looked up in surprise. 'I was once.'

'But not now? What happened to Mrs Williams?'

'What's that got to do with all this?'

'Answer the question.'

'Divorced.'

'Do you have a mother?'

Silence. Then, 'No.'

'Father? Uncles and aunts?'

'I've a brother in New Zealand.'

'So both parents have pa.s.sed away?'

'They're dead, if that's what you mean.'

'How long ago?'

'Good few years.'

'What five, ten?'

'Mother died when I was seven. Dad when I was twelve. If it's any business of yours.'

'It might be. So who brought you and your brother up? What's his name by the way, your brother?'

'Gran did.'

'Your brother's name?'

'Mark.'

'And how was it? Your grandmother bringing you up?'

'How do you think?'

'I don't. I'd like you to tell me.'

'She looked after us. Fed us and clipped us round the ear and sent us to school. Did what she had to.'

'Did you love her?'

Matt shrugged.

'Did she love you?'