Left You Dead

90

Polly Sweeney met Rebecca Watkins in the Police HQ reception, a single-storey building by the entrance barrier which was also now the reception for the East Sussex Fire and Rescue Service HQ.

Rebecca wore a navy two-piece business suit, ice-white shoes and an even icier expression as she walked alongside her in the morning sunshine, clutching a classy handbag and studying her phone, ignoring Polly’s attempts at small talk as she escorted her up the hill towards the bland, red-brick building housing the Major Crime suite.

She followed Sweeney up the stairs to the second floor into a small, modern room that smelled of fresh paint and new furniture, where she was ushered to one of the four seats at the table.

‘Can I get you anything to drink, Mrs Watkins?’ Polly asked politely.

‘I’m hoping not to be here long enough to need anything,’ she replied tersely, glancing out of the window at the view across a car park. ‘I have to get to a meeting in Croydon for 11 a.m.’ She switched her focus to her phone.

‘We won’t detain you any longer than necessary,’ Polly assured her. ‘I’ll be back in a moment if you’d just like to make yourself comfortable.’

Rebecca looked disdainfully at the plain blue chair. ‘I take it that’s your poor attempt at humour?’

Ignoring the barb, Polly left the room and returned after a couple of minutes with Roy Grace. They sat down opposite her. ‘Thank you for coming in to talk to us, Mrs Watkins,’ Grace said.

‘Did I have any choice?’ she replied. There was frosty humour in her voice but not in her eyes.

‘Just to repeat what I told you last night, we need to interview you to see if you can help in any way with our enquiries into the disappearance of Eden Paternoster,’ Grace said calmly and politely.

‘Because you think I’m having an affair with her husband?’

Grace watched her face carefully. ‘Are you?’

‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘Quite a lot really, Mrs Watkins. Eden Paternoster has been missing — according to her husband — since around 3.15 p.m. on Sunday September the first. On the evening of Thursday August the twenty-ninth, the Paternosters’ neighbours heard them arguing loudly — not an uncommon occurrence, they have informed us. According to you and your work colleagues, Mrs Paternoster never turned up for work on Friday, despite there being an important meeting that had been pre-arranged, which she was due to attend. Is that correct?’

‘It is.’

‘Is that in any way characteristic of Mrs Paternoster?’

‘No, not at all.’

‘Since Thursday there has been no activity on any of her social media platforms, despite her posting regularly, normally — at least once, daily — on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. Nor has there been any activity on her credit cards. You are her line manager at the Mutual Occidental Insurance Company. How concerned are you that you’ve not seen her since last Thursday?’

Rebecca nodded. ‘Very. It’s completely out of character, as I just said. Eden was — sorry — is — a model employee. She’s hard-working, scrupulously punctual and brilliant at what she does. This makes no sense at all, it is totally out of character.’

Both detectives shot a glance at each other, clocking her momentary use of the past tense.

‘Do you think there is any possibility she has deliberately disappeared?’ he pressed.

‘Deliberately disappeared? Why on earth should she do that? She was up for promotion.’

‘I don’t wish to pry too much into your private life, Mrs Watkins,’ Grace said. ‘But as I’m sure you can understand, our priority is to discover what has happened to Mrs Paternoster — and as you are, from what it would seem, in some form of relationship with her husband, we are hoping you may be able to help us.’ He fell silent, waiting.

‘Of course, I’ll give you any help I can,’ Rebecca Watkins said. ‘But I really don’t know anything.’

‘So her husband, Niall, has said nothing to you about her disappearing? Nothing at all? Did he have any explanation for her not turning up to work on Friday?’

She took some moments, with Roy Grace watching her face closely all the time. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘He was surprised when I told him.’

Polly interjected. ‘Mrs Watkins, you told us that on Sunday afternoon, at around 5.30 p.m., September the first, you took your dog for a walk up on the Dyke. Was that all you did? Did you see anyone, talk to anyone?’

She hesitated. ‘Why are you bothering to ask me? You know who I saw there.’

‘Niall Paternoster?’ Grace asked.

‘Well, it wasn’t the sodding Pope,’ she retorted insolently.

‘Did Niall say anything about him dropping off his wife at a Tesco store to buy cat litter and then not reappearing?’

‘To be honest, we didn’t talk, that wasn’t why we were there.’ She tilted her head and gave a sly smile. ‘Prince Philip used to sail a lot, and had a friend, Uffa Fox, who skippered for him. Fox had a French girlfriend who didn’t speak English. One day, legend has it, Fox told His Royal Highness that he was getting married to this lady. Prince Philip asked him how on earth he could marry someone who didn’t speak a word of English, when he didn’t speak a word of French. Apparently, Uffa Fox replied, “There are only three things in life worth doing, eating, drinking and making love. Conversation adds little to any of these.” Wouldn’t you agree?’

Grace looked at her stonily, not rising to her challenge. ‘Did Niall Paternoster ever confide in you about marital issues with his wife, Eden?’

‘Of course he did, but I’m not a marriage wrecker. Eden confided in me, too.’

‘She wasn’t happy?’

‘As I just said, I’m not a marriage wrecker. I wouldn’t have done what I did — am doing — if I felt they had any future in their marriage. She’d told me on a number of occasions, when I’d seen her looking upset, that she was in a marriage she wanted out of.’

‘So,’ Polly said, ‘you stepped into the breach, a kind of support?’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Really?’ Grace said. ‘What exactly is it like?’

She looked at each of them for a brief moment, warily. ‘I’m afraid I’ve told you all I know.’

‘I don’t think you have,’ Grace replied calmly. ‘I think you know a lot more.’

She paused. ‘If I’m reading you right, you suspect that Niall and I killed — murdered — Eden?’

Grace leaned forward across the table, locking eyes with her. ‘Did you?’

She stood up abruptly. ‘I’m sorry, you asked me to come in to help you with your enquiries about Eden Paternoster being missing. You didn’t tell me you were going to accuse me of her murder. This interview is over. I’m not prepared to talk to you any more without a lawyer present. If you want to arrest me, go ahead — otherwise I’m out of here.’ She stared at both of them in turn, challenging them. ‘Are you going to arrest me?’

Grace shook his head. ‘No, we are not.’

‘Fine, goodbye.’

Scooping up her handbag, she turned her back on them and strode out of the room.