Her Sister's Lie

by Debbie Howells

  I nodded silently. “She did care. A great deal.” I broke off. Hannah, be careful what you say.

  “But . . . ?” DI Collins prompted.

  My sigh was shallow, fluttered in my throat. “She . . . she had a lot going on. People coming and going. She grew a lot of their food—it took up her time. And there were parties . . . I don’t think she gave the children what she’d set out to. That’s probably why she made that comment to her neighbor.”

  “When we first spoke, you denied that your sister had a drinking problem. Then yesterday, you suggested she was using drugs. Looking back at her life then, which do you think was the case?”

  I couldn’t understand why DI Collins seemed so disproportionately interested in Nina’s sobriety. “She didn’t.” I shook my head. “I mean, she did drink and take pills occasionally. But it wasn’t a problem.”

  “Did it ever get in the way of her caring for her children? For example, was there always enough food there? Were their clothes washed? Did she care for them?”

  “Of course,” I said hotly, rising to Nina’s defense. “Of course she cared.”

  “That’s not really what I’m asking, Ms. Roscoe.” DI Collins paused. “I’m trying to establish if their needs were being met. Try to think back for a moment.”

  I cast my mind back, for the first time seeing how it really was. Jude and Summer with their tangled hair and grubby clothes; how many times there wasn’t enough food and my arrival would be greeted by Nina’s exclamations of how chaotic she was, how wonderful it was that the children could run free, and could I nip to the shop and get a few things? How she’d pay me back. At the time, I’d thought nothing of it. She never did pay me back, but it didn’t worry me. Given the amount of time they spent outside, I’d simply accepted Summer’s and Jude’s voracious appetites as completely normal. At no point had it entered my head that they’d been starving.

  “I think . . . Nina maybe had money problems,” I said at last. “At the time, I didn’t notice. But I know life was difficult for her. It always had been. Our parents . . .”

  “About your parents . . .” DI Collins’s eyes bored into me. “What’s the story with them? It’s only a small thing, but that night you collected Abe and took him to live with you, you told me you would let them know about your sister’s death. Did you?”

  I shook my head. “No.” It stuck in my throat.

  “Did you ever have any intention of telling them?”

  I shook my head again.

  “So you lied?”

  I sat there, slumped. Should I explain to her that a part of me knew what was expected of me and was prepared to carry it out, but before I could, suddenly it was too much. I couldn’t act on my word. Did that make it a lie?

  “I didn’t intend to.” This time I looked at her. It was true.

  “Why were you and your sister estranged from your parents?”

  Just thinking of my parents was like a stranglehold, choking the air from my lungs. Fighting to control the violent cough erupting from me, I looked at her. “Whatever they might tell you, they were cruel. They used to beat Nina and lock her in her room without food. Then after she left, they did the same to me.”

  She looked surprised. “I’ve spoken to them. I told them about your sister. They sounded upset.”

  I stared at her, shocked that she’d spoken to them, but knowing how quickly they’d have forced the expected reaction to news of the death of one of their daughters. “Of course they did,” I said bitterly. “But guaranteed, they faked it. After everything that happened, they didn’t want to know. I don’t suppose they asked about any of her children?”

  From DI Collins’s silence, I took it that they hadn’t.

  “Why did you even try to find them?” My words held a ring of desperation. What had happened to me and Nina was best forgotten. Why couldn’t the police leave them out of it?

  “Your nephew found their address. A few years back, when your sister’s problems were getting worse, he contacted them. I suppose he was hoping they might help.”

  I shook my head. “He didn’t mention it to me.” But it was believable, that if he didn’t know his grandparents, that if he was desperate enough, he’d have tried anything. I could imagine what they’d have said to him, about his mother and his aunt, about how both of them had got what they deserved. They wouldn’t have helped him. Then I frowned. “But when I came to get Abe, he told you he didn’t know his grandparents.”

  “It wasn’t Abe who told us. It was Jude. Apparently, they didn’t want to know about your sister’s problems.” The DI’s eyes scrutinized me.

  “They wouldn’t,” I said tightly, clamming up. I hadn’t realized the police had questioned Jude. “They didn’t care.”

  Slumped in my chair, I folded my arms tightly in front of me. I didn’t want to talk about my parents.

  “I’ve been along to the AA group your sister had joined. It seems she’d turned a corner as far as drinking was concerned. She’d been sober for weeks. Some of them said she was a real inspiration.”

  I looked up at her.

  “Does that surprise you?” DI Collins’s eyes were on me.

  I frowned. “Was she still taking drugs? And I thought she’d been drinking the day she died.”

  “She had.” DI Collins frowned. “Not heavily, but given what her AA group had to say, it was her first lapse since she’d been going there. Perhaps something difficult happened that day that she couldn’t cope with. Or maybe someone she didn’t want to see turned up. I think the empty bottle was supposed to distract us from what really happened.”

  It didn’t make sense. No one, least of all a murderer, would be stupid enough to imagine the police wouldn’t carry out tests. “But it’s obvious, isn’t it? That tests would be carried out?”

  DI Collins looked at me thoughtfully. “You’d think so—unless the murderer was either too naïve or too disorganized to think it through.”

  There was a short break, during which DI Collins stopped the tape and went outside with DCI Weller.

  I turned to the duty solicitor. “I want to go home. How much longer can they keep me here?”

  “It depends.” He paused. “If they don’t have any more evidence, then not much longer. We’ll find out soon . . .”

  He broke off as DI Collins and the DCI came back, restarting the tape before sitting down.

  “The problem is . . .” DI Collins broke off, then she sighed. “Ms. Roscoe, I don’t know what to believe. What you say one day, what you say a different day, what Abe’s told us, what Mr. Elliott’s told us—they’re all different things. Somewhere in it all, there’s the truth. But right now, I’m not sure what that is or how we get to it.”

  I was on edge. As I sat there, it was as though the walls were closing in. What had Abe told them? What else had Matt said? DI Collins leafed through the papers in front of her, then seemed to find what she was looking for. “Let’s talk about Cara Matlock.”

  I should have learned by now to expect the unexpected. A sinking feeling filled me as I thought about the content of her Facebook post; then I glimpsed a chance to prove the conspiracy against me—my escape route. “I’ve never met Cara Matlock.” Then I paused, frowning. “How do you know about her?”

  “Your nephew mentioned you’d been the subject of some vindictive Facebook posts. What were the posts about?”

  I shrugged. “It started with a bitchy remark—probably someone meaning to be funny. It had to do with my past.” I frowned, not sure why Abe would have told the police about the posts.

  “You’re saying you don’t know Cara Matlock?”

  “No. In fact, until I was told about that Facebook post, I’d never even heard of her.”

  “That’s not strictly true, is it, Ms. Roscoe?”

  I gasped. I wasn’t lying. “It absolutely is. I swear.”

  DI Collins looked at me wearily, as though she didn’t believe me. “She isn’t one of your students?”

  “No.”
For once, I looked directly at her. “Erin,” I said softly. She’d denied it, but after seeing Cara Matlock’s Facebook page on her laptop, I was still convinced there was a connection. But why?

  “Who’s Erin?”

  “A friend.” Only she wasn’t, not really. With everything that had happened, the way she’d spoken to me, she’d proved as much. It was clear now, Erin had lied to me. “She picked me up from the hospital and took me back to her house. She had Cara Matlock’s Facebook page on her laptop.” I stared at DI Collins. “She told me it was because Abe had been talking about it. But they’d obviously cooked something up between them. You see, it wasn’t me who told Abe about them. You need to talk to her. Don’t you see? She obviously knows something.”

  DI Collins looked confused. “Can you give us your friend’s full name and address?”

  “Of course.” I recited them, feeling hope rising in me. If I was proved right about this, maybe they’d believe everything else I told them.

  She looked at me questioningly.

  “That’s all, really.” But it was eating away at me. “Actually, what she wrote ended up costing me a number of students.”

  “Really?” She reached into the bag on the floor beside her chair, then got out an iPad. “Would you be able to identify Cara Matlock?”

  I nodded, shame flushing my cheeks as I thought about the false accusations posted for anyone to read. After a couple of minutes, she turned the screen to face me. “Can you tell us which is Cara Matlock?”

  On the screen were a number of profile photos. I recognized her instantly. “This one.”

  “You’re certain?”

  I nodded, watching as she touched the screen and the Facebook page opened, flinching as I recalled Cara’s words, waiting as DI Collins scrolled down the posts. “How long ago did it happen?”

  “Just over a week?”

  Eventually she looked up. “There’s nothing here.”

  For a moment, I was relieved not to have to go through the humiliation of her reading the post. Then I looked at her in disbelief. “There must be.”

  “The last post was a month ago. She’s not very active. Are you absolutely sure it’s the right Cara Matlock?”

  “Let me see.” I pulled the screen toward me, staring at the girl’s face, her eyes seeming to taunt me. It was definitely her, but DI Collins was right. The last post was a month ago. I looked at her. “She’s deleted it.”

  Through the silence, I heard a whisper. No one believes you, Hannah. The police, your solicitor, they’ve all worked it out. They all know. You made it up.

  “Talk to Erin,” I said desperately. “And Abe.” Then I frowned, remembering something. “The mother of one of my students called me to tell me. She sent me a screenshot—by e-mail. It will be on my laptop.”

  “You can log in from here.” She gestured toward the iPad.

  I shook my head. “I think I deleted the e-mail. But I would have saved the screenshot.”

  “I see.” She paused again. “We’ll be talking to Ms. Bailey.”

  “Can’t you see there’s a pattern?” I said desperately. “The strangers, my crash, the Facebook posts leading to my students canceling, my dog being shot . . . It’s like there’s a conspiracy against me.”

  Nobody said anything. DI Collins leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I can see why you might say that, but the evidence isn’t exactly cut-and-dried. And the question is, Ms. Roscoe, why? Can you think of any reason why someone might want to cause you so much trouble?”

  I stared at her. There was a reason, one that had to remain unspoken—a promise to Nina that must remain unbroken.

  I followed it with the lie, as convincing as I could make it. “No.”

  Abe

  Everything’s changing, isn’t it, Hannah? The police have interviewed the boy—did you know that? At Erin’s house. How does that make you feel . . . the friend you suspect betrayed you, befriending the boy you don’t trust, both of them talking to the police?

  The policewoman sits there, writing with a cheap pen in her notebook with the black cover, as she listens to what Erin says. Erin’s honest about her concerns with your drinking. Erin, your friend, who might as well be stabbing you in the back, for all the favor she’s doing you. Then it’s the boy’s turn. He was half expecting it, ever since you were arrested. He’s ready for their questions, to hand over the letters to them, even though he can guess what they’ll make of them.

  It isn’t right to hide things. This is it. The moment that can make all the difference. The truth needs to come out. You committed a crime; you have to pay. That’s how it works.

  It’s the boy who tells the police about how he found the letters, how his mother had hidden them, how Hannah had read them. No surprise that they ask about Summer. The boy holds his breath. What to say . . . But he and Jude have discussed this. There have been too many lies for too long. They have to stop somewhere. And he still has one last letter. He stares at the police, watching the expressions on their faces, as he tells them.

  If only you’d been honest, Hannah, years ago, you and your sister. All of this could have been avoided.

  25

  Back in my room, I knew I’d done the right thing. When the police had asked me if there was anyone who might want to cause me trouble, I’d had to lie. But it wasn’t as if I could name anyone. It was just my speculation at this stage that it was someone who’d seen what happened to Summer and wanted justice, but it made sense. I couldn’t think of any other explanation.

  No matter what, it wasn’t right for anyone to judge what had happened in Nina’s life. They didn’t know how hard it had been for her. She’d made a decision to live unconventionally, but she was still a good person. She may not have lived according to the rules most people abide by, but she’d never intentionally done anything wrong. Still, there was too much I was holding back. One by one, I could feel the doors around me closing, until I was left with only one.

  After the break, I was led back to the interview room.

  “Ms. Roscoe,” DI Collins paused. “Going back to the Facebook posts, your nephew found out about them when he heard rumors going around his class.”

  “Are you sure?” I glanced away from her. It was what he’d said to me, but I was certain he’d been lying.

  DI Collins leaned forward. Her eyes were merciless. “We’ve spoken to your friend, Erin Bailey. She confirmed his story. She told us what she’s already told you. The night you called her from the hospital and she went to check on Abe, he told her about the Facebook posts. Then when she remembered, sometime later the next day, she looked up Cara Matlock. She says she hardly uses her laptop. In fact, she said she was sure her laptop had been switched off. She said you must have turned it on . . .” She looked at me questioningly.

  “I did.” I cast my mind back. “My phone was dead. I’d gone to her study to use her phone to call the police about my car. But I hadn’t got the phone number with me, so I turned on her laptop to Google it. I suppose I should have asked her.”

  “I see.”

  Did DI Collins believe me?

  Did I believe Erin?

  “Ms. Bailey did express her concern about you.” DI Collins went on. “She said that you’re finding it difficult looking after your nephew. I had a word with her as we walked outside.”

  I nodded. “I am. He’s quite aggressive sometimes—and he won’t talk to me, about anything.”

  “Apparently, he told Ms. Bailey he was worried about you. She was going to talk to you about it, but she said she was concerned about having the conversation—she knew you’d be angry with her.”

  “Angry? Why would I be angry?” Inside, I was seething. How dare Erin tell the police that? Calm, successful, confident Erin who was so believable, who was everything I wasn’t. I spoke as neutrally as I could. “And I’ve no idea why Abe should be worried about me.”

  “Ms. Roscoe, it seems apparent to everyone we’ve spoken to that you have a problem wi
th alcohol. A problem you yourself seem oblivious to. But surely, if you’re honest with yourself, you must be aware of it?”

  As she spoke, I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous. Surely you must see that? How would any of them know? Abe spends the evenings outside, and I hardly ever see Erin.”

  “I thought Ms. Bailey was a friend?”

  I was silent for a moment. “Not really. We used to walk our dogs together now and then. That was about it.”

  DI Collins made no attempt to hide her exasperation. “Ms. Roscoe, a few hours ago, you described Ms. Bailey as your friend, and now you’re telling me she isn’t. Which of these is correct?”

  I stared at her helplessly, dammed if I lied, dammed if I didn’t. I struggled for a word. “I should have said acquaintance rather than friend.”

  She went on. “It wasn’t just your nephew and Ms. Bailey who expressed concern about you. There’s also your ex-partner and a number of people in the village.”

  “What?” I felt my face grow hot. “Who’s been talking about me?”

  “Ms. Roscoe, it doesn’t matter who. Suffice it to say, enough people have seen you walking your dog apparently the worse for wear. Then there’s your accident.”

  “It’s all hearsay. You have no proof of any of this.”

  “Not until your blood results come back.”

  “Talk to Curtis. He’ll tell you how wrong you are.” I lapsed into silence.

  “Curtis?”

  “He’s a friend. He’s known me a long time—longer than Matt and Erin. He’ll tell you the truth.”

  She looked at me. “Maybe we should. Can you tell us how to contact him?”

  “His number’s on my phone.” Which the police had taken. “His name is Curtis Dalton.”

  She wrote it down. Then turning to DCI Weller, she mumbled something I couldn’t hear, before continuing. “We’re still going through CCTV footage in the area where your sister lived, from the day she died. But also . . . we checked the cameras where you allegedly parked your car. For some reason, it wasn’t caught on the way in to the car park, but it was on the way out. At four-thirty that afternoon. If, as you say, you were waiting outside Mr. Elliott’s office at lunchtime, some three hours must have lapsed between your leaving Mr. Elliott’s office and driving out of the car park. Where were you during that time?”