Above her head officers assembled and, as the picture of the two women chained to the walls of the squalid space meshed in with the rank smell of the basement, a storm gathered in Riley’s heart.

121

10.43 am

‘Where’s Francesca Christie?’ asked Clay.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Norma Maguire, her hands flat down on the table in front of her in Interview Suite 1.

‘Is she still alive?’

‘How would I know?’

‘Because you’re responsible for her disappearance. Your accomplice is Edgar McKee.’

‘I don’t know Edgar McKee.’

Clay watched Norma Maguire closely, witnessed the mounting desolation in her eyes.

‘I’ll return to Fran later. Do you want the bad news or the bad news?’

‘I want to go home.’

‘The bad news is that information’s coming in thick and fast about you. The bad news is that it implicates you heavily in these very serious crimes.’

In her hands, Clay held three photographs and a folded piece of paper.

Clay turned over a picture of Cecily Levin, a copy from the framed portrait on Norma Maguire’s office desk.

‘Who’s this? Remind me?’

‘Cecily Levin, my mother.’

Clay turned over a second photograph.

‘Look at it, Ms Maguire. What you’re refusing to look at, is a photograph of a grave in Springwood Crematorium,’ said Clay. ‘The headstone reads: Catriona West, 1940–2001, Wife and Mother, Stolen in an Instant.’ Clay waited. ‘Seeing as you’re insisting on looking at the wall behind my head, I’ll describe the picture to you.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to look at the picture, Ms Maguire?’ asked her solicitor.

‘No.’

‘The second picture. Does the name Catriona West mean anything to you? Catriona West, stolen in an instant by a hit and run driver in 2001.’

Clay turned over a close-up image of the dead woman from the table and presented it to Norma Maguire.

‘This is a picture from the gravestone when Catriona was middle-aged.’

Norma Maguire’s eyes dipped to the table. Clay pointed to the picture of Cecily Levin and said, ‘Young.’ She indicated the next picture on the table and said, ‘Middle-aged. Anything to say on that one?’

Clay unfolded the green paper.

‘Want to see what we found in your mother’s scrapbook?’

She made a show of examining it closely before placing it in front of Norma Maguire. Clay looked up and saw beads of perspiration forming on her top lip and forehead.

‘You’re sweating, Ms Maguire. Please help yourself to the water on the table.’

Clay pointed to the name of the bride.

‘Catriona West was your mother’s maiden name, her real name. Cecily Levin was your mother’s stage name. Why didn’t you make that distinction clear to me?’