Dead Famous

DAY FORTY-SIX. 4.00 p.m.

Dervla’s lip quivered. She was trying not to cry. “I thought if I told you I knew the scores you’d suspect me.”

“You stupid stupid girl!” Coleridge barked. “Don’t you think that lying to us is probably the best way to engender our suspicion?”

Dervla did not reply. She knew that if she did she really would cry.

“Lying to the police is a criminal offence, Miss Nolan,” Coleridge continued.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would matter.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

“It was only between him and me, and he was on the outside! I didn’t think it would matter.” Now Dervla was crying.

“Right, well, you can start telling the truth now, young lady. You were, I take it, aware at all times of your standing with the public, and of Kelly’s?”

“Yes, I was.”

“What would you say was Larry Carlisle’s attitude towards Kelly?”

“He hated her,” Dervla replied. “He wanted her dead. That was why I tried to stop him sending me messages. His tone changed so completely. It was vile. He called her some terrible things. But he was on the outside. He couldn’t have…”

“Never you mind what he could and couldn’t do. What we’re concerned about here, my girl, is what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Coleridge stared at Dervla. He thought of his own daughter, who was not much older than the frightened girl sitting opposite him.

“Are you going to charge me?” Dervla asked in a very small voice.

“No, I don’t think there’d be much point,” said Coleridge. Dervla had not been under oath when she had given her statement and she had been under stress. Coleridge knew that any half-decent brief could make a convincing case that she had simply been confused when she gave her evidence. Besides, he had no wish to charge her. He knew the truth now and that was all he was interested in.

And so Dervla went back into the house.