“I believe it is.” She paused, picking up a piece of paper. “This is a list of calls you’ve made to Mr. Elliott’s number, at all times of the day and night. There are over three hundred of them. He said that you were calling him at work too. We’ve spoken to the receptionists, and they’ve confirmed that.”
“I didn’t realize it was that many.” Embarrassed, I raised my head to look at her. “Isn’t it understandable in the circumstances? After he left me, my sister died. I needed someone to talk to. I thought he cared . . .” My voice faded to a whisper.
“Most of these calls were before you knew about Ms. Tyrell’s death. He also mentioned he hadn’t known you had a sister. Not until the day he came to your house to pick up his things, when you told him your nephew was staying. Was there a reason for that?”
It was of no importance that I hadn’t told Matt about Nina. Couldn’t she see that? But as DI Collins watched me, suddenly I saw how by adding in or leaving out the smallest fact, she could make my behavior sound the way she wanted it to.
When I didn’t answer, she went on. “He did also mention that he was concerned about your drinking.”
Again, I couldn’t help wondering if DI Collins had asked a loaded question or if Matt had volunteered the information. There was a world of difference, and I was fairly sure I knew what the answer was. Matt would never intentionally say something untrue about me. “Yeah . . .” I said it with sarcasm.
“You still haven’t told us why you didn’t tell him about your sister.”
“There was no reason to.” I folded my arms. Why wouldn’t she let it go? “Nina and I hadn’t seen each other for so long, we were no longer in each other’s lives. She moved about ten years ago, but she didn’t tell me where she’d gone. I suppose I should have tried harder to find her . . .” I let the sentence trail off, ashamed. Embarrassed again. “So often I’d wanted to find Nina, but too much time had passed. And she’d made it clear she didn’t want to be found.”
“We’ve spoken to Jude.” She paused. “He wouldn’t tell us much. He said he was hardly ever at her house.” Then she frowned. “What with her moving and not telling you, along with her eldest son’s absence from her home, what exactly was going on in your sister’s life, Ms. Roscoe?”
I rubbed my arm. My skin was prickling, as though I’d brushed against stinging nettles. Had I been stung? Yesterday? What happened yesterday? Why couldn’t I remember? A sense of panic started rising in me. It was as though yesterday had been erased. What day was it today? Hadn’t DI Collins just said? What was happening to me?
Suddenly I had to get away from them all, out of this stuffy, featureless room that had no air, go somewhere I could breathe. “I need the bathroom.” It was a lie. What I needed was a closed door between me and DI Collins, where no one could see me, so I could think.
As she stood up, I could tell she didn’t believe me. “I’ll take you,” she said shortly, pausing the tape. “We’ll carry on when we come back.”
I followed her, putting one foot in front of the other, my thoughts becoming more confused, as my sense of panic intensified. Then I felt as though hands were twisting my insides, the pain agonizing, excruciating. By the time I reached the toilet, leaning against the door as it closed behind me, I couldn’t even remember where I was.
“Ms. Roscoe?”
“Ms. Roscoe . . . Open the door, please.”
Still dizzy, I fumbled with the bolt on the door as I opened it to find DI Collins standing there. She frowned. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “I think so.” I felt strange, detached, light-headed. Light.
“We need to continue the interview.” She sounded impatient.
I nodded again, washing my hands and following her out.
Back in the interview room, I sat down, staring at the table, waiting for DI Collins to resume her questioning.
“I’m curious,” she started, “as to why you and your sister lost touch for so long. We have a witness who says that you used to spend a lot of time with her when you were younger. You lived in her cottage for a while, didn’t you?”
I stared at her. Who was the witness? “When I left home,” I said at last. “I stayed with Nina. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Where did she live?”
I was shaking my head. “I . . . does it matter?”
“Please answer the question, Ms. Roscoe.” It was the first time DCI Weller had spoken.
“She had a cottage in the countryside. In Hampshire. I couldn’t say where exactly—it wasn’t in a village.” I frowned. “I remember driving through South Harting. It was probably a couple or so miles from there.”
“And she lived there for how long, roughly?”
I tried to work it out. “About twelve years? Maybe thirteen?”
“And you went to live with her when you left home?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“How old were you, Ms. Roscoe?”
“Sixteen.”
“And what was your life like while you were there?”
I thought back. “Free and easy. Happy.” After leaving my parents, I’d felt free for the first time.
“And were you in a band at that point?”
I frowned at her. How did she know about the band? “Yes.”
“The Cry Babies. I looked them up. You were quite successful, weren’t you?”
“Almost,” I said quietly. “We had a hit record. But then everything fell apart.”
“I would imagine that was quite devastating.” I knew she wasn’t being sympathetic. “What did you do after that?”
“I was married at that point.”
“Yes—we have here that you were married to a Nathan Roscoe. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“And divorced two years later. He left you the house you now live in?”
I frowned. “Yes. He did.” Why did that matter?
“Tell me about your sister. Did she like Mr. Roscoe?”
I was about to protest, tell her how Nina liked everyone. Then I thought better of it. “Not really.”
“How long were you and Mr. Roscoe together?”
“About three years—since the band started playing around the country.”
“You didn’t have children in that time?”
I shook my head. “No. It wouldn’t have worked with our lifestyle.”
“No. I can imagine.” DI Collins paused. “But you’d known him longer than that?”
I frowned. “I suppose. I don’t exactly remember how long. Four, five years maybe.”
“When your marriage ended, I imagine you would have needed your sister’s support—emotionally, I mean. But that was when you lost touch, wasn’t it?”
“About that time.” I nodded.
“And since then, you hadn’t spoken. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” I glanced at the solicitor sitting next to me, as a wave of nausea came over me. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. Could I have a glass of water?”
“Let’s take five minutes.” Getting up, DI Collins went over and paused the tape, then fetched me a glass of water. While I drank it, she and DCI Weller turned their backs, talking in low voices.
I turned to Julian Hill. “How much longer?”
“Hard to tell.”
“Can I go home?”
“Not yet.” He paused. “If you’re really not feeling up to it, I could ask them to stop, and they can carry on tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I was horrified. I couldn’t spend a night here. I knew I’d been arrested, but I assumed that after answering their questions, they’d realize their mistake, everything would become clear, and I’d be free to go.
DI Collins turned to face me. “Are you ready to continue?”
I stared at her. I genuinely wasn’t feeling well, but if I wanted to get this over with, I didn’t have a choice.
23
Interrogators are like killers, stalking their prey, waiting for a moment
of weakness before they pounce.
DI Collins restarted the tape. “Going back to before your sister moved to London, when she had this idyllic country life you described to us just now, why did she move?”
“I don’t know.” One of my shoulders twitched. Why were they asking this? “She didn’t say, and I never had the chance to ask her.”
I used to think DI Collins was sympathetic, but I knew now she wasn’t. “I don’t understand. Two sisters, who to all intents and purposes were close . . .”
I nodded. “Yes.” Perhaps the word would have less impact if I mumbled it.
“She took you in, shared her home with you . . . Then out of the blue, she moved away without telling you why. She didn’t tell you where and you didn’t go looking for her. I have to ask . . . Why?”
I knew what she was doing. I wanted to stop her, but instead I was forced to listen to the sound of metal on metal, as the handle turned, slowly opening the can of worms. Then she added, “Or am I missing something?”
I flinched. “I don’t think so.”
“Tell me more about your relationship with your sister.”
“Nina and I . . .” I stopped. How much should I tell her?
“Nina and you what, exactly?”
“We were close. But we didn’t agree on everything.” I stared at my hands, clasped on the table in front of me.
“Such as?”
“I didn’t agree with her way of parenting. Her children needed to go to school. To make friends and pass exams and . . .” I floundered.
“So before she moved, her children weren’t at school?”
“No.”
“Go on . . .”
“She wanted to homeschool them, but she was too busy. She didn’t really have enough time. There were all these other things she had to do. It wasn’t fair to them. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t hear it . . .”
I couldn’t tell where the voice in my head came from, full of scathing contempt. Pathetic, Hannah. Lies, lies, and more lies. You didn’t even think about the children going to school. You were too wrapped up in yourself.
It took all the restraint I could muster to stop myself from putting my hands over my ears. “It was too late for Jude by then.” I had to stop myself from mentioning Summer. “But there was Abe. I suppose she got fed up with me talking about it. It was easier for her to cut ties with me. Of course, she was using drugs by then, which didn’t help . . . Nina wasn’t good at facing things.” I’d no idea where this was coming from. Why was I lying to the police? Perverting the course of justice? That’s a crime, Hannah. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?
“Mr. Elliott told us something quite interesting. He found out—not from you—that at some point, you’d been pregnant. When was this?”
Matt knew about that? I was flabbergasted, but even before she’d finished speaking, I was shaking my head. “It isn’t true.” Then I swallowed. Lie carefully, Hannah. “I mean, I was pregnant. But I lost the baby.”
“You had a miscarriage?”
Wasn’t my solicitor supposed to intervene at moments like this? Beside me, he shifted slightly in his chair but made no attempt to speak. I nodded numbly. A head movement could be misinterpreted. At some point, I’d be able to look back and tell her, I never actually said “yes.”
“How old were you when you miscarried?”
I stared at her. Why did she have to ask? “Young. Too young . . . God, I was in the band at the time. I must have been no older than eighteen. The miscarriage was probably best for everyone. I was a child . . .”
“Even so, it must have been traumatic. How far along were you?”
My lips were dry. “I can’t remember exactly, but not far. Four months? Roughly?” As I looked at DI Collins questioningly, a heaviness came over her face.
“Ms. Roscoe, we have a photo of you. I’m not an expert, but it looks as though you’re in the latter stages of pregnancy.”
“I couldn’t have been.” I denied it hotly. “I’ve just told you when I lost it. You can’t tell from just a photo.” I was searching for a way out.
But she just leafed through the papers on the table in front of her, then silently passed me a photograph.
I stared at it, feeling the years, one by one, peel away, until I was back in Nina’s cottage, with a group of people whose names I couldn’t remember. We were at one of Nina’s parties. I could date it by the silver glittery tiara on Summer’s head that I used to wear on stage, along with my skintight leather jeans and a tightly laced corset—all black, of course. It had been deliberate, an ironic gesture. Innocence corrupted, I’d thought at the time, liking how it sounded. The innocence of my childhood had been the iron bars of a cage. I’d thought of corruption as representing freedom.
Of course, DI Collins would have had no idea who Summer was. As I stared at the photo, I picked out Nina. That smile . . . There were others standing around her, and right in the middle was me. But I’d changed since then. Fifteen years had passed. It was easy to imagine it was someone else.
DI Collins read my mind. “It may be a long time ago, but it’s definitely you.” She paused, long enough for me to register that she had no doubts.
I started to feel dizzy; then my hands started to shake. I dropped the photo on the table. Then my whole body seemed to go slack as the light around me dissolved into holes and faded to black.
* * *
When I came around, I felt detached, as though I was coming out of a dream. I couldn’t make out my surroundings. Where was I? Then it slowly came back to me. The faces hanging over me came into definition, and I felt the churning inside me start again as I remembered.
“I think my client has been through enough for one day.” It was my solicitor’s voice, coming from somewhere above me.
“Yes, I think that’s fairly obvious, Mr. Hill.” DI Collins sounded irritated; then she spoke more quietly. “Ms. Roscoe? Can you sit up?”
Slowly I pulled myself up, feeling more and more nauseous. “I need the bathroom again.”
She nodded, taking my arm and helping me to my feet; we got only a few feet along the corridor before I was violently sick.
24
As I lay on the narrow bed in my cell that night, I thought of my house, empty and dark, then of Abe, in Erin’s warm, cozy home. After this was over, I wondered how many students I’d have left. When I imagined what people would be saying about me, the blankness came back, so that I was aware only of sounds coming from other cells, the echo of footsteps as people walked past my door, the coarseness of the blanket under which I was curled into the fetal position, trying to keep warm. But nothing more.
* * *
I wasn’t aware of my tears, soaking into my pillow, my hair, just felt myself drifting, wanting to be back in Nina’s fairy tale, in our own little world where we were safe.
* * *
The next morning, I was aware of someone shaking me, then a distant voice. Thinking of Nina again, I pulled the blanket higher over me, and my head filled with memories of the early days in her cottage, when life had seemed so free and easy. Nina’s world was where I belonged. It always had been.
“Ms. Roscoe?” The voice intruded into my thoughts. “Ms. Roscoe?”
“Yes?” Still thinking of Nina, I murmured the word through a smile.
“You need to wake up.” The voice was too loud. I opened my eyes. “There’s some breakfast over there.” Opening my eyes, I blinked in the daylight. I wasn’t at Nina’s. The room was too small, bare. Looking across at the tray with a mug of tea and a couple of slices of toast, the full horror of yesterday caught up with me.
* * *
“How are you feeling today, Ms. Roscoe?”
“Not very good.” I hadn’t been able to eat the breakfast that was brought to me. I felt weak, light-headed, detached from reality.
“Are you happy to continue, or would you like us to organize a doctor to see you?”
I shook my head. “I’m OK.” A doct
or would only delay things further. The sooner this was over, the better.
“Let us know if you want to stop.” The DI glanced at me. “I’d like to begin with a comment made by one of Ms. Tyrell’s neighbors. You told us earlier that you and your sister disagreed on the matter of her children’s schooling. Well, it sounds as though she had a change of heart. It was something Ms. Tyrell said recently, about how she wished she’d sent them to school. She was talking about her children. When the neighbor reminded her that Abe was attending the local school, apparently Ms. Tyrell said, not Abe, the others . . .”
I felt my insides tighten. You slipped up, Nina. It was here. The moment that was never supposed to happen, that Nina and I did everything we could to prevent. The blood in my veins turned to ice.
“Ms. Roscoe, do you know who your sister was talking about? One of them was obviously Jude. I wondered if the other could have been you, but of course you’d left school by the time you went to live with your sister.”
I frowned at her, trying to work out what to say.
“So, there was clearly someone else your sister was concerned about. Do you know who that was?”
I tried to look puzzled. “It must have been before I moved there. Maybe another child lived with them for a while. Nina was always taking in waifs and strays. It could have been a friend of Jude’s.” I seized on the idea. “In fact, I’m sure that’s what it was. Come to think of it, I remember her mentioning him . . .”
DI Collins didn’t look convinced. “But whether the friend went to school or not would hardly have been your sister’s responsibility.” She scanned the piece of paper in front of her, then looked at me. “Is it possible she had another child? Obviously, I’m guessing, but perhaps one who left and went to live with the father?”
I swallowed. “It’s possible.” It isn’t a lie, Hannah, not exactly . . . It’s perfectly possible. Even though you know it didn’t happen.
DI Collins leaned forward. “Don’t you think you would have known?”
In the silence that followed, I didn’t answer. She went on. “You and your sister were close, weren’t you? She didn’t do what most people did. Instead, she fought against convention to give her children the childhood she believed was best for them. It couldn’t have been easy. It rather suggests a mother who cared deeply for her children.”
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