Dead Famous

DAY FORTY. 8.15 p.m.

Trisha had gone to see Sally’s mother, a nervous, worried woman, who had been expecting her. “I wondered how long it would take you people to get to me, and after what Sally said on the telly I knew you’d be here this morning.”

“Tell me about Sally,” Trisha said.

“Well, you obviously know that my late husband and I were not her birth parents.”

“Yes, we knew Sally was adopted.”

“Ever since the murder happened I haven’t been able to sleep,” she said, staring down at her teacup. “I know exactly what Sally will be thinking, I know it. She’ll be worrying that people will think that it was her, because of… But you can’t pass mental illness on, can you? Well, it isn’t likely anyway. I’ve asked doctors, they’ve told me.”

“What was wrong with Sally’s mother?”

“Paranoid schizophrenia, but I don’t really know what that means. They seem to use these terms so often these days. Sally found out two years ago last Easter. I don’t think adopted kids should be allowed to find out about where they came from. They never used to be. Adoption meant a completely new beginning, your new family was your family. These days they act as if adoptive parents are just caretakers. They’re not real, they’re not birth!”

“Is that what Sally said to you?” Trisha asked. “That you weren’t a real parent?”

“Well, she loved me, I know that, so she certainly never meant to hurt me. But she used to talk all the time about wanting to find her birth mother, her blood, as she put it. It broke my heart. I’m her real mother, aren’t I? That was the deal.”

“So she found out that her mother had been a mental patient?”

“Well, I told her. I thought better coming from me than from some bloody librarian at the Public Records Office.”

“Is that why Sally was adopted? Because of her mother’s mental instability?”

“You really don’t know, do you? You actually don’t know.” Mrs Copple was surprised.

“We don’t know much at all, Mrs Copple. That’s why we’ve come to you.”

“Oh dear. I don’t want to tell you. If I do you’ll suspect her, but you can’t inherit what that woman had, at least it’s not likely. I’ve talked to doctors. I’ve looked it up on the net.”

“Please, Mrs Copple, I’d much rather talk about this here with you now, at your home.” It was a gentle threat, heavily veiled but effective.

“Her mother was in prison. She killed someone… with a knife. That’s why Sally was put up for adoption.”

“What about the father? Couldn’t he have had her?”

“It was Sally’s father who her mother killed.”