“Are you looking after yourself? Eating? Sleeping OK?”
Her concern brings tears to my eyes. “No, on both counts. But I’ll be fine. I had a meltdown yesterday, but it probably did me good.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She squeezes my arm on which her hand still rests. “You need to let it all out.”
“I’m trying to. Everyone’s been great around here. I’ve had bread and milk left on the doorstep, flowers, casseroles. I’m so glad to live amongst such good neighbours.”
“Everyone keeps asking about you – and Jack, of course. People just want to help.”
“I know, and I’m grateful. It’s just there’s so much - hang on, I’ll be back in a moment.” I rise as the doorbell echos through the house.
“I’ve got it,” Dad calls from the hallway.
I sit back down, ears pricked up in readiness for the identity of the caller. Probably salespeople at this time of day.
Moments later DI Green and PC Robinson appear in the conservatory doorway, with Dad behind them. I glance sideways at Christina.
“OK Fiona. We need to ask you some more questions. Under caution, this time.”
“What – what do you mean?”
Without responding, DI Green continues. “Fiona Matherson, we are arresting you on suspicion of causing death by dangerous driving. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“Death by dangerous driving?” Dad echoes. “What are you on about? You should be out there, looking for the real culprit who did this. You’re clutching at straws here.”
I catch Christina’s expression, a cross between shock and suspicion.
“We’re going to take you down to the station,” PC Robinson says. “We’ve got the car waiting.”
“You can’t do this. My daughter has done nothing wrong!” Dad steps towards us.
Christina stands and places her hand on Dad’s arm as though trying to placate him.
“Don’t worry love.” There is panic in his voice. “I’ll get a solicitor organised and pick Jack up later. You don’t need to worry.”
As we pass through the hallway, I grab my cardigan which is hung over the banister. Not that I’ll need it in that sweaty hell-hole. I’ve had one shower already this morning, but I’ll need another one after I’ve been in there. The filth of the place gets into the pores of your skin.
As I’m guided into the back of the police car, I worry about how long I’ll be there. They’ve actually arrested me. What evidence they could have gained, I do not know. Thank God Dad is around to sort Jack out. DI Green sits alongside me, and PC Robinson gets into the driver’s seat. I look back at the worried faces of Christina and Dad as they stand in the porch. Christina folds her arms and looks down at her feet as she notices me watching them. Innocent until proven guilty, I want to shout at her. I thought you were my friend.
It’s a whole different scenario this time around. I’m not ushered into an interview room and offered a cup of tea. Instead, I’m treated like a criminal; swabbed, fingerprinted, photographed, and stripped of my jewellery. My engagement and wedding rings are slipped into a polythene bag. Two rings, so carefully chosen, so significant, so loved, now meaningless. Rob never got me an eternity ring, despite me dropping hints more than enough times.
I’m led to a cell to await the solicitor. Dad’s hopefully sorting it. I ask the custody sergeant to double check before he locks me in.
There’s a clunk of the lock, then the sergeant’s footsteps die away from the door. I sink to the concrete slab topped with a skinny mattress and survey my surroundings. It’s no wonder people kill themselves whilst incarcerated in these places – it’s absolutely dire. I wrap my arms around my legs and curl into the foetal position, scrunching my eyes against the gloom of the cell.
My grandmother’s face swims into my mind. I can’t imagine what she would say if she could see me here. I was twenty-six when she died, still in the grip of my drink addiction, which I kept well hidden from her. She liked a sherry herself, so would welcome me joining her in one, without realising how much sherry I could get through when she wasn’t looking.
Grandma, Dad, and Jack are the only people I’ve encountered in life who have genuinely loved me. Certainly not Mum. Friends have come and gone, most of them drunken acquaintances, and as for Rob. I would have added him to the list of people who loved me, until these last few days, with all that is coming to light.
“Fiona, we’ve had a call from the solicitor’s office.”
I hoist myself up in response to the voice. For a moment I wonder where I am. I must have fallen asleep. It’s DI Green.
“Mr Wright has been held up in court.” Her voice echoes around the concrete of the cell. “When he spoke to your father earlier, he had expected to be here by now. He thinks he’ll be here in an hour, two at the most. He sends his apologies.”
“Two hours. I can’t sit in here that long.”
“Well, you have the option of proceeding without him. It’s your call.”
I’m no expert on this, but am sure that now I’m under arrest, I shouldn’t be answering questions without a solicitor to advise me. Not on a charge like this. But I can’t face staying in this cell another minute. I can’t imagine that I could fall back to sleep.
Plus, I want to find out exactly why they have arrested me. I know from all the thrillers I read, that I can say no comment if I’m not sure how to answer. Especially if they’re asking questions without proper evidence. That’s what I’ll do. It’s all recorded as well, so if there’s any later discrepancies, I’ll have some protection. I need to get out of here.
* * *
They must have found who or what they are looking for.
Perhaps there’s only me who knows for sure that
they are missing something.
Chapter 25
I feel woozy. I don’t know if it’s the heat in here, the stress I’m under, or because I’ve only just woken up.
“The date is Friday June 12th, and the time is 12:05 pm. My name is Detective Inspector Diane Green, and this is my colleague,” she nods towards him.
“PC John Robinson.”
“We are here to interview - can you state your full name, please?”
“Fiona Mary Matherson.” My grandmother pops into my mind again. Mary was her name.
“Your address and date of birth, please?
“7 Orchard Mews, Otley, Leeds. 4th April 1985.” They already know this. Why are they asking again?
“Fiona Matherson, you are being interviewed following your arrest in connection with the death of your husband, Robert Lee Matherson, who was killed in a suspected hit and run incident on Monday 8th June. You have had your rights read to you, but I will go through them again.” She takes a deep breath. “We have arrested you on suspicion of causing death by dangerous driving. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say will be given in evidence. Do you understand your rights, or do you need me to explain them to you?”
“I understand.” Just get on with it! I want to scream at her. I don’t feel a hundred percent. I try to remember if I have eaten anything today. Half a slice of toast. No wonder I feel woozy. I only picked at the casserole last night as well.
“You have declined your right to legal representation. If you change your mind, we can pause the interview until representation is sought.” She looks at me, as if double checking I have made the right decision. I know it’s reckless to proceed without the solicitor, but I just want to go home.
“If the solicitor my father has arranged arrives whilst you’re interviewing me, can we stop and allow him in?”
“Of course. But for now, can you confirm for the tape that you will allow the interview to begin without legal representation?”
“Yes.”
“You have declined your right to have someone informed of your detention, and you have also declined your right to access a copy of the Police Code of Conduct. Is that correct?”
“Yes. My father knows where I am.”
Di Green raises her gaze from her notebook to me. “We’ve arrested you in connection with the death of your husband, Robert. Do you understand the charge?”
“Of course I don’t. I want to know why you’ve arrested me.”
“We’ve received information that implicates you in the incident. Before I begin with my questioning, is there anything you would like to tell me?”
“No, nothing.” My heart is hammering. I’m sure if I looked down at my t-shirt, I could see my chest moving beneath it. What the hell is she going to ask me?
“Where were you between 9am and 12pm on Monday 8th June?”
“I’ve already told you. I was at home, doing the ironing.”
“But as you’ve admitted yourself, no one can verify this.”
“I was on my own, so no.”
“We’ve had information from Hill End Garage in Ilkley, to say you presented your vehicle for repair at 11am on Monday 8th June. What have you got to say about that?”
“I know nothing about it. I was at home at 11am.”
“What if I told you we have evidence of your presence there?.”
“You can’t have.”
“For the benefit of the tape, I am now showing Fiona Matherson a receipt dated Monday 8th June, for the provision and fitting of a part-worn front nearside tyre.”
“That’s got nothing to do with me.”
DI Green pushes the sheet closer to me. “Can you confirm whether this is your name, address and registration number Fiona?”
“Well, yes it is, but…”
“The garage operative who worked on your car told us of a blown-out tyre. He remembers wondering how you’d driven any distance on the wheel, to even get it to a garage.”
“I don’t know what he, or you, are talking about.”
“Come on, Fiona.” She glances down at her notes again. “He gave a description which bears a remarkable likeness to you.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“It’s a coincidence, don’t you think, that your husband dies on Denton Road after being involved in a hit and run at ten thirty and your car turns up at a garage close by, for nearside repairs half an hour later.”
“I keep telling you. It wasn’t me. Put me in a line-up. They won’t pick me out.”
“We may well have to do that Fiona. But first I’d like to ask why you opted for a part-worn tyre? So that it wouldn’t look too new and out of place when we had a look at your car as we did on the day of your husband’s death?”
“No comment.”
“You’ve been a person of interest to us all week Fiona. We understand from Bryony, is it?” She glances down at her page again. “That you’ve gone to her house, asking questions and behaving jealously about her relationship with your husband.”
“I didn’t know about any relationship, until after Rob had died, so that’s rubbish too.”
“Now that’s not strictly true, is it? You caught them having a drink in a café together.”
“No comment.” I glance at PC Robinson, who’s busy scribbling things down. I want to take his pen and ram it where the sun doesn’t shine. I had thought they were on my side.
“Then there’s the financial trouble you’re involved in. You’re in it up to your neck Fiona. So desperate that you even colluded with your husband to rip off his firm.”
“I knew nothing about that.”
“That’s not what Mr Phillip Bracken believes. Or us. In fact, from our inspections of Robert’s computer, it seems the two of you were pretty desperate to lay your hands on a large sum of money as quickly as possible.”
“I’ve already told you about that.” God, this is a nightmare. “Can I have some water, please?”
She buzzes through to request some, then slides two pages from a folder and places them gently, one by one, in front of me. One is the loan document, and the other is the re-mortgage agreement. “Is that your signature Fiona?”
“Yes, but he’s forged it.”
“Who has? Robert?”
“Yes. I found copies of these documents in his desk the other day. And I knew nothing about them. It was the first time I’d seen them. Nor did I know about him being suspended from work for fraud. I’ve only found out since he died.”
“Unfortunately, that doesn’t add up Fiona. Not when we sit it side by side with the recent text messages, you’ve sent him. Thanks Sarge.” She smiles at the man who brings in a jug of water and three plastic cups. “She sets another piece of paper down in front of me. “For the benefit of the camera, I shall re-read them,” she says.
Twelve days ago - 30th May. So what about this money then?????
And this one from 11th May, one month ago. Have you paid it in yet? This could change our life.
“You can’t tell me you weren’t colluding in your husband’s financial dealings when you were sending text messages of this nature to him?”
“I’ve already admitted to giving him some of my money to invest. But that’s where my involvement ends.” I rub at my temples. My migraine is getting worse. Great.
“What do you have to say about the fact that the money embezzled from his employers was in your joint account?” She pours water into the cups, passes one to me and one to PC Robinson.
“I know absolutely nothing about it. And it’s not there now.”
“Do you know someone called James Turner?”
“I know a large sum of money, some of it mine, has been paid to him. I thought he was some sort of intermediary for the two share opportunities Rob told me about.” Just talking about James Turner sets my teeth on edge. “But I’ve contacted him, and he says he knows nothing about it. In fact, he wouldn’t even speak to me. He’s the man you should look into.”
“What did Rob tell you about these share opportunities?”
“All I can remember is that one so-called opportunity was to do with a Chinese company, a block chain thing. The other was a shopping centre that’s opening in Harrogate. He told me that anything I put in would be multiplied tenfold. I’ve already told you this.”
“Which explains why you would want to lay your hands on as much money as possible.”
“Why do you say so-called opportunity Fiona?”
“Because, as things stand, I do not know where all my money is. In fact, you’ve no idea how stressed out I am about it. It’s James Turner you need to be questioning. Not me.”
“We’ve been told you’re a recovering alcoholic.”
I see distaste swimming in her eyes. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I imagine it’s cost you a lot over the years. Eaten away at your inheritance. No wonder you wanted to get your hands on some easy money.”
“Has Bryony told you about my past drink problem? Which by the way, is in the past.” My voice is strong and steady, but inside, I want to weep. How much has Rob told his bloody ex about me? He’s laid on a slab in a hospital mortuary, well by now, he might be at the chapel of rest, and he’s managing from wherever he is, to take me down. Why? “I’m not saying anything else to you without a solicitor present.”
“That’s fair enough. That’s about all we’ve got to ask. For now, anyway.”
“So I can go then?” The tension in my shoulders sags as I contemplate getting out of this hellhole.
“Not just yet. I’m sorry.” She doesn’t look sorry at all. “We must return you to your cell whilst the Crown Prosecution Service decides whether formal charges will be brought against you.”
“Charges for what?”
“Murder, or manslaughter. Causing death by dangerous driving, fraud, embezzlement. Quite a list for starters, don’t you think?”
Sarcastic cow. I regret saying a single word to them without waiting for a solicitor to be present. I thought it would get me out quicker. I can’t believe I’ve got to go back in that cell.
They return me to a different cell, this time it’s one that reeks of urine. I perch on
the edge of the concrete slab. “It’s disgusting that you are treating me like this,” I shout at her. “You won’t be getting away with it. This is a violation of my human rights. Have you smelt it in here? You can’t lock me in here!”
She half smiles as she closes the door. I can’t believe what is happening. I’ll be sick if I have to stay in here for long. I close my eyes and bring my t-shirt over my nose. Breathing deeply to calm myself, I try to take myself out of where I am, if only just inside my mind. But the problems won’t stop swirling. My head feels as though it is being squeezed in a vice. I can’t cope.
I don’t know how long I sit there, still as a rock, too numb to cry, too shocked to process what is happening. Eventually, there is a click as they release the door.
“You’re free to leave Fiona,” a different police officer says.
“Free?”
“We’re releasing you on police bail.” She’s a young woman, petite and pretty, making me even more aware of my unkemptness.
“I’m not being charged?”
“Not yet. That doesn’t mean you won’t be though. Your case is pending enquiries. DI Green and PC Robinson have a few more people to talk to.”
“Like who?”
“It’s their case, so I’m not sure. I wouldn’t be able to say, anyway. I shouldn’t tell you this but I understand some analysis is due to be carried out on an old tyre that was taken into a garage. So once that comes back, they may want to speak to you again.” She steps further into the cell. “Gosh, it doesn’t smell too fresh in here, does it?”
“I’ve already complained. It’s not fit for a dog.”
“I’ll make sure it gets sorted. Anyway, my advice to you would be to get yourself some legal representation. Like I said, you’re on police bail and you’re required to report back here a week from now.”
“Why?”
“It’s the condition that has been set. You’ll be notified in the meantime if they lift bail, or alternatively, you could be rearrested.”
I will not argue. I sign to accept the bail conditions and am grateful to also have my phone returned to me.
Hit and Run Page 13