Over the Line

by Steve Howell

  “So what do you suggest?” I asked, thinking they should have thought of this.

  “We’ll do it at one of our local stations,” he said. “Go to Maindee. It’s on the way into town. I’ll text you the postcode.”

  Megan was already pulling out. “No need – I know it for God’s sake,” she said.

  “I’ll call them,” I heard Richards shouting as I tapped the phone off.

  It took us only ten minutes to reach Maindee. It was an area with more empty shops than open ones, and Meg’s top-of-range Audi stood out badly.

  We found the police station, housed in a rambling redbrick building that looked like an old Victorian school. Outside were two uniformed officers. One signalled to us to pull into a bus stop across the road. He ran over. I lowered the window.

  “Hop inside with my colleague please, and I’ll park the car,” he said.

  The female colleague ushered us into the building, fussing over Megan like she was royalty. I followed, playing courtier.

  Our mini-procession passed through a small reception to an even smaller interview room with red bucket seats and a dark wooden table. The yellow walls were bare and shining under the glare of fluorescent lighting. It was about as far from the glamour of the Olympics as you could get.

  I had phoned the lawyer en route, and he was on his way in a taxi. The policewoman told us Inspector Richards would be here any minute. She asked if we wanted tea, and we both said yes, like it was the best offer we’d had all day.

  “So this is it,” I said when she’d gone.

  We were standing facing each other across the table. Megan looked nervous. We each pulled-up a chair and sat down. Our opportunity to talk properly about the interview had gone, but I thought I should say something if only to break the tension.

  “Meg,” I said, “you’re not here to protect Will. Stick to what you can actually remember, and don’t …”

  Megan nodded, but in a ‘yeah, yeah, shut up Liam’ way.

  She had a point. I don’t give last-minute advice to athletes on race days, so why do it now about something I know as little about as she does?

  “The lawyer will be here soon,” I said.

  But she shrugged like she didn’t care.

  We both stared in silence at different walls until the policewoman reappeared with a tray carrying a teapot and several mugs, looking sideways at Megan like she really wanted to ask for her autograph. She seemed disappointed when I thanked her and said I’d do the pouring. I didn’t want any distractions

  My mind wandered to the conversation in the car as we were arriving at Celtic Manor.

  “So what were you going to say about Gary before? About him having a hold over Will, I presume?”

  Megan shook her head. “I’ll tell you again,” she said and smiled. “I mean, another time.”

  I didn’t push it, but I was worried about Will and about what Graeme had said about him and how this Gary character fitted in. It felt like I was in a race where I didn’t know anything about any of the other competitors, on a track I’d never used before.

  The waiting dragged on, and it was all the more frustrating because wait was all we could do. I wondered if that was the point – if it was a device to unsettle Megan. “Let her stew for a while,” I imagined Richards saying.

  Eventually, Richards and a younger man in plain clothes burst in, Richards saying, “Good, you’re here,” and dropping a file on the table. I stood up out of habit. Richards and I shook hands, and he nodded towards Megan.

  The other man was introduced as DC Simmons. He was about the same age as Megan and – wearing a slick grey suit – looked as if he’d dressed in his best clothes for the occasion.

  “Your brief’s on his way, is he?” Richards said, more to Megan than me.

  “No need to wait,” she replied. “I haven’t even met the guy.”

  The inspector and I sat down. He was facing Megan and I was next to her.

  “Look, we’re going to do everything by the book here,” he said, lining a pen and pencil up next to a large notepad. “I have to tell you this is a very serious matter. It’s not every day we exhume a body.” He paused, as if wanting to let that sink in. I sensed Megan tightening next to me; not liking the implication that he doubted this was anything other than the most important thing in the world for her too.

  “And I know you must have other things on your mind,” he continued.

  I knew I had to stop this before Megan did far less tactfully.

  “Inspector, we’ve just come from seeing Matt’s father again,” I said. “Megan fully appreciates how serious this is.”

  Richards didn’t flinch. “Mr McCarthy, let’s be clear here. I’ll conduct this inquiry as I think best. I’m not a mind reader, and I need to be sure Miss Tomos understands that we are treating this as a suspicious death. I will be cautioning her just as soon as the lawyer arrives.”

  Megan touched my clasped hands resting on the table. “Yes, I do understand that, inspector,” she said.

  Richards turned to his colleague, who was still hovering by the door. “Simmons, pop next door to get another chair,” he ordered.

  Our lawyer, a trim man, probably in his forties, arrived just as Simmons was struggling back with another red bucket seat. After dancing round each other in the doorway, Simmons put the fifth chair next to Megan and resumed his seat next to Richards, leaving the lawyer standing and surveying the cramped room with what looked like a sneer.

  “I’m in the right place then?” he asked Richards, handing him a card. “Perhaps I could have a word with my client?”

  Richards stood up immediately and gestured to Simmons to leave the room with him.

  The lawyer, still on his feet, waited until the door was closed. He was blond, tanned and wearing a sandy-coloured flannel suit and a casual blue shirt open at the neck. Apart from the computer bag hanging from his shoulder, he could have been going on holiday. Maybe he was when Jackie phoned him.

  “Right, Miss Tomos” he said in a precise well-spoken way. “Jackie asked me to get myself down here to represent you. I’m Nigel Winters.” And, turning to me, he added: “You’re presumably Mr McCarthy.”

  “Yes – Liam,” I said. “I think we just need to get on with this.”

  “Yes, yes, I appreciate that, but we don’t want to be in such a rush we trip over ourselves, do we?” he said with a smirk and the weary look of someone who had heard all this before. “Megan, my job here is to stop them overstepping the mark. If I’m not happy, I will stop the interview. If you’re not happy, just say so or give me a kick. You don’t have to answer their questions, and you should definitely take your time. Do you understand?”

  Megan nodded. “Yep, okay – that’s fine.”

  “Before we start,” he continued, “is there anything you want to disclose to me? Anything I need to know over and above what Jackie’s told me?”

  “No, let’s just get on with it,” Megan said.

  Nigel nodded, untroubled by Megan’s abruptness. “Right, I’ll get them back in and we’ll see how we go,” he said.

  ***

  Once everyone had settled in their places, Richards took the lead again.

  “As I said earlier, Miss Tomos, Mr Winters – I will be doing everything by the book here. Mr McCarthy, I’ll allow you to stay as long as you don’t interfere. If, as we go along, I think you could be a witness in the case, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  I looked across at Winters, who was now sitting on the other side of Megan, and he nodded, so I did too and Richards continued. “Miss Tomos, I need to interview you under caution.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Nigel asked.

  The inspector looked irritated. “Indeed it is, Mr Winters,” he said. “I think it’s in everyone’s best interests, given the seriousness of the matter we’re talking about.”

  “I’m okay with that, Nigel,” Megan said quietly.

  Richards moved on, not giving Nigel a chance to argue. Sim
mons pressed a button on the recording machine. Richards stated his name and the date and time – 13.43 – and then asked everyone to identify themselves for the record.

  Richards picked up a sheet of paper from the table and read from it slowly: “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  I knew he must have done this a thousand times, but I suspected he didn’t always take this much trouble. From the formality in his voice, I sensed he was carrying not only his own expectations but also those of everyone in the chain above him – and who knows how high it went.

  “Now Miss Tomos,” he said. “Let’s start with your relationship with the deceased. Tell me how long you’ve known him and how you would describe your relationship.”

  Megan drew in a deep breath. “Inspector,” she said, “before I answer that, there’s something I want to say.”

  Nigel fidgeted but didn’t intervene. Jackie had said she would brief him, and we all knew Megan had to get this over with.

  “I was there when Matt died, inspector.”

  The words seemed to float across the table. Simmons, who was opposite me, wrote them down neatly on his notepad. The inspector’s eyes fastened on Megan with, I thought, a benign expression.

  “Thank you, Miss Tomos,” he said. “It has been alleged by others that you must have been there, and, fair play, I’m pleased to have established that at the outset.”

  “There is of course a technical point inspector,” Nigel said. “My client isn’t medically qualified and she can’t be absolutely certain her friend was dead when she left the flat.”

  Megan was visibly taken aback and looked at Nigel as if to say, ‘how would you know?’

  But Richards nodded. “Yes, I take your point, and we’ll come back to that. For now, we’ll take it that you saw Matthew Davies in a state where you thought he was dead, and you left before Will Driscoll called for help. Is that correct?”

  Megan nodded.

  “Miss Tomos, you will have to say your answers out loud for the record.”

  “Yes, I thought he was dead,” Megan confirmed, saying each word precisely but without surliness, and we all watched as Simmons meticulously transcribed them. When he’d finished, Richards looked across at Megan.

  “And then I ran away,” she said, sitting rigidly upright, only a slight quiver in her voice giving away the pain of her admission. “For the record inspector, I’m ashamed of my actions.”

  Nigel was looking anxious, but Megan seemed far more composed than I’d seen her all week, and I felt greater pride in her than I had for anything she’d achieved on the track.

  The inspector acknowledged her words with the shortest of nods.

  “Now then,” he said. “To return to my original question, tell me about you and Matt.”

  And Megan did just that. For more than half an hour, she talked about how they were friends from primary school and how close they’d been and what he was like. She explained how, when they were older, he’d unexpectedly asked her out and how things were never the same after that.

  “Would it be true to say then that there was bad feeling between you?” Richards asked.

  Nigel fidgeted and looked ready to intervene, but Megan seemed untroubled by the question, even though she must have known any truthful answer could be incriminating.

  “Yes, that’s true,” she said. “There was bad feeling.”

  “It’s alleged you despised him,” the inspector said, “and you blamed him for Will failing a drugs test.”

  Megan thought about that. “Despised is too strong, inspector,” she said. “I can’t explain it. He was like a brother, when we were younger, but to be honest, I was disgusted by how he’d let himself go – how he was ruled by drugs and alcohol. He was like two different people. One minute the old Matt, and then the next this monster. And it’s true, I did blame him for Will’s rugby ban because I thought he’d supplied steroids to Will.”

  “Thought?” Richards said, in a reaction time that would compare favourably with a sprinter. “Are you implying you don’t anymore?”

  Megan wriggled slightly in her seat, enough to nudge me. “That’s what Will told me, and I believed him – why wouldn’t I?”

  “But you don’t have any evidence it was true either, do you Miss Tomos?”

  Megan shook her head, and the inspector pointed towards the recording machine.

  “No, none,” she said.

  Nigel’s concern now seemed to be approaching panic. “Is there much more, inspector?” he asked. “I think my client needs a break.”

  The inspector looked at his watch. “It’s 15.08. We’ll resume at three-thirty with some questions about the night of the death.”

  ***

  Nigel used the break to spell out to Megan the scenario Richards was building: a picture of circumstances that would make manslaughter or worse seem plausible – but Megan was adamant that she had nothing to hide.

  “I’m trying to answer his questions as best I can,” she said. “I’ve been running away from all this for two years, thinking it would go away, and it didn’t. I need to face it now, for everyone’s sake.”

  Nigel looked unimpressed. “You won’t be saying that if you end up being charged,” he said.

  “Charged with what exactly?” I enquired.

  “Anything from perverting the course of justice to murder – what do you think?” he said.

  “So what do you want me to do? Lie to him?” Megan said, her composure giving way to irritation.

  “But Meg,” I said. “After what Graeme said this morning, you must have your doubts?”

  “What do you mean?” Nigel said.

  Megan shook her head but I pressed on. “Graeme Davies – Matt’s dad – thinks Will was more involved in the steroid scene than he’s letting on. He blames Will for Matt’s steroid problem.”

  “He would though, wouldn’t he?” Megan said. “It makes it easier to accept if he can blame someone else.”

  “Look Megan, let’s get this straight,” Nigel said. “I may not be up to speed on all this yet but one thing needs to be clear – I’m not here to help you protect Will, or whatever it is you think you’re doing. You’re my client, and my job is to keep you out of prison. Don’t speculate or give opinions. Just stick to the facts. You don’t need to get drawn in to his agenda. And remember, you’re under caution, so ask for a break to discuss things with me if you have the slightest doubt what you should say. Understood?”

  It was 15.30. Richards and Simmons swept back into the room, giving Megan no time to respond.

  “Right you are,” the inspector said. “Let’s get back to business.”

  He sat down, looked at his watch and said: “Interview resuming at 15.31.”

  Chairs scraped as Simmons took his place next to the recorder and the three of us pulled our chairs into a line facing Richards across the table.

  “Now, I want to talk about the night in question,” he said, “and may I remind you you’re still under caution. Miss Tomos, from your statement at the time, and I’m assuming you aren’t disowning most of that?”

  “No. No, only that I left before Matt turned up,” she said.

  “Okay, so take me through the evening.” And when Richard’s said that, he meant every detail. We spent the best part of the next hour going through the names of everyone who came to the party, what time they arrived, what sort of relationship they had with Matt, how long they stayed, and who left with who. Megan wasn’t allowed to skate over any aspect of it or dismiss anything as boring. She was pressed to be specific. As she answered their questions, both Richards and Simmons were checking them against lists and notes they pulled from the file.

  Nigel seemed relaxed about all this, but for me, as a newcomer, it all seemed irrelevant to the main issue. I thought how tedious TV dramas would be if they were anything like this.

&nb
sp; Richards stopped proceedings again at 16.30 and left with Simmons, saying he would be back in ten minutes.

  We spent the break pacing around the tiny room, making small talk and checking messages. I sent a text to Mimi saying we were still with the police and I’d call later.

  It was nearly half an hour before the two of them returned. Richards was clutching some notes, which he tucked into the file on the table. Simmons pressed the record button again.

  “Right,” Richards said. “Thank you for your patience. Interview resumed at 16.57. I’d like to talk now about Matt’s arrival. What time that was, and what sort of state he was in? We know from the autopsy that he’d had a lot to drink and there were traces of steroids and amphetamines in his blood, but was he in a bad way when he arrived? Do you remember what time it was?”

  Megan was beginning to look jaded now, grey shadows forming under her eyes. She was shaking her head.

  “I really don’t know for sure,” she said, sounding brittle. “Maybe two or two-thirty.”

  “Okay, let’s do it this way,” the inspector said. “Matt was declared dead at the scene at just after four-thirty.” I felt Megan wince. The inspector saw it too and softened his tone. “Working backwards,” he continued, “allowing for the time it took the paramedics to arrive, and the condition of the body, we estimate he died sometime between three and three-thirty. So how long had he been there when it happened?”

  “Not long… not long at all,” Megan said, haltingly, choking on the words and breaking into gasping sobs for the first time. I put an arm around her, and she lifted her head to face Richards. “I don’t think he was there for… for much more than half an hour before it happened. He was in a terrible state. Will had to practically carry him up to the flat.”

  “You weren’t with them at that point?” Simmons said. “You didn’t go down with Will to let him in?”

  The inspector looked taken aback and raised his eyebrows in Megan’s direction to reinforce the question.

  “No, I waited in the kitchen,” she said, sounding composed again.

  “And what happened when they got to the kitchen?” Richards asked.