“I don’t know.” I looked from her to DCI Weller. “I can’t remember.”
“It was the day your sister died. I can’t believe you don’t remember every minute of what happened.”
I shook my head, numb. “When I went to meet Matt, I was early,” I said at last. “I stopped for something to eat. That’s where the time went.” I’d found a pub just around the corner from where Matt worked, where I ordered a sandwich and a gin and tonic. While I’d sat looking out of the window, across the street I’d caught a glimpse of his profile as he walked back toward the office. Getting up, I’d rushed outside, stopping in my tracks when I saw he wasn’t alone.
I could remember the acid rush in my throat, so that I’d turned to find somewhere to vomit. When I looked up again, he’d gone. A waitress had come running after me at that point, but I’d never intended not to pay. I’d gone back to the pub, where I’d ordered another drink, then after settling my bill, I left.
I waited across the road from his office, hoping he’d come back out for lunch, devastated when he didn’t. In the end, I’d been forced to give up and start for home.
As I walked away, I thought of the woman I’d seen Matt with. She looked young and pretty, smartly dressed. Jealousy had raged through me, then the most desperate sense of loneliness had filled me and, with it, a longing for human comfort. In a world that had set itself against me, there was only one person I could turn to.
I knew what DI Collins would ask if I told her that. Could I have started making my way toward Nina’s house? In the digital age, isn’t it possible to find anyone if you look hard enough? What if I’d found her address? Then DI Collins would twist my words again and make them mean what she wanted them to mean. Her blood was up. She was on the scent of a murderer.
“There’s a problem, Ms. Roscoe.” DI Collins spoke quietly. “Because every time we speak, your story changes. Nothing you say matches anything anyone else says, plus it’s obvious you’re hiding something. I’m going to suggest you be assessed by a psychologist, because it’s almost impossible to treat anything you say as reliable.”
A psychologist’s assessment? What was going on? I was trying to answer her questions, but it was difficult when I was having trouble remembering.
She hesitated. “One other thing . . . In the time you’ve been here, it’s been noted that you’ve shown no concern about your nephew’s well-being. Have you thought about where he is and who’s looking after him? Or how traumatic this is for him after losing his mother?”
Had I thought of Abe? He was central to everything, but her words pierced the last of my defenses. As they were peeled away, suddenly I felt myself, my past, everything I’d tried to keep hidden, exposed.
“He’s with Erin,” I muttered.
“Yes. After you asked her to look after him that first day, Ms. Bailey has very kindly agreed for him to stay there as long as necessary.”
“What do you mean? I’m going home.” I had to. If they didn’t let me go today, I would have to tell her everything. But more than ever, I couldn’t. “You’ve nearly finished, haven’t you?”
“Not exactly.” The DCI’s voice filled the room.
“But I’ve told you what I know.” My eyes flitted from DI Collins’s face to the DCI’s. “This is ridiculous. I want to leave.” I started to get up.
“Ms. Roscoe, you’re not going anywhere.”
26
I faced another night in the small room where I’d been since my arrest. I sat on my bed, my head buzzing with too many questions. How had Matt found out I’d been pregnant? Who told him? And why? The police were supposed to be investigating Nina’s murder, yet somehow the focus had turned to me. I couldn’t understand why.
After the last interview, I’d wanted to speak to my solicitor, alone. After the police officers left us, I’d asked him, “Why are they so convinced that I’m connected with this when I’m not?”
His eyes were cold and uninterested as he looked at me. He was going through the motions, no more than that. “Is there anyone from the past who might have an ax to grind? Like from your days in the band?”
But I’d already thought about that. “There’s no one. The only thing I can think of is that for a while, I’ve been sure there’s some kind of conspiracy against me. So many things have happened—you heard about the Facebook posts, but before that, there were these strangers hanging around. Then my dog was shot . . .”
He’d raised his eyebrows. “But this isn’t new. You’ve already told the police all of this.” He’d paused, then added, “It doesn’t help that they suspect you have a drinking problem. I’ll be honest with you. When you start talking about conspiracies, you run the risk of sounding paranoid. I’m afraid . . .”
“What?” I stared at him. “You’re supposed to be helping me. I’m not an alcoholic, and I’m not paranoid. I’m telling you this is what’s been going on.”
“Ms. Roscoe . . .” He held up one of his hands. “Please, take my advice and do as I suggest. At the moment, they believe they have evidence, and until they’ve finished questioning you, there’s not much I can do. Any solicitor would tell you the same.” Then he added, “As I’ve already said, if you really have nothing to hide, your best course of action is to answer their questions truthfully.”
I nodded, then looked away, realizing how pointless it was to expect him or anyone else to understand what I was going through. No one had any idea how impossible my situation was. Nor could I tell them.
* * *
The next morning, I was taken back to the interview room again. I’d lost track of how many times I’d been in here. I didn’t have to wait long. DI Collins and DCI Weller were right behind me.
“Your nephew told us there are letters,” DI Collins said after we’d sat down and she’d started the tape.
Oh no, Abe, no . . . Why? Can she see my heart hammering inside my rib cage? My face was a mask. “I’m sorry?”
“We were talking to him earlier today. When you went back to your sister’s house, he found some letters that were written to his mother. He brought them back with him to your home. We’re sending someone around there to pick them up. Did you know about them?”
“Not really.” I paused, filled with dread. “I did notice something in his room that could have been letters. But I didn’t want to go through his things.”
She frowned. “You haven’t mentioned them before. Why not?”
All I could do was tell another lie. So many lies . . . One more would make no difference. “Like I said, I didn’t even know they were letters. I wasn’t in the habit of going through Abe’s belongings. They have nothing to do with me.”
“No.” She paused. “Of course not. It was just that he did say he thought you may have read them.”
My fists were clenched as I tried to stop the rise of heat through me. I shook my head. “Why would he think that?”
“Abe told us the letters were from his older sister, Summer. Clearly you must have known about her. Why haven’t you mentioned her before?”
At the mention of Summer’s name, I froze. I couldn’t understand why Abe would have brought her up. I paused, trying to buy time to think, then muttered the only thing I could think of. “She wasn’t around.” I paused. “There was an accident.”
“Your niece was in an accident. Can you tell us what happened?”
The memory welled up inside me. A memory I could mold, or even stop, right now; but once it was out, I could never take it back. I nodded miserably, at my betrayal of Nina, of Abe’s privacy. Of myself. “I’m not sure exactly what happened. Nina was devastated. It was a long time ago. Abe was too young to remember Summer. I can’t understand why he would have kept her letters.”
DI Collins glanced at DCI Weller. “So when I asked you about the comment your sister made to her neighbor, about the others, is it reasonable to assume she meant Jude and Summer?”
I was silent for a moment. Then I said quietly, “I suppose so.”
&n
bsp; “In other words, you lied.”
“Not really,” I started. “You asked if it was possible that Nina had another child who might have gone to live with its father . . . I said it was . . .”
DI Collins interrupted. “Ms. Roscoe. It must have entered your mind that your sister was talking about her daughter. So why didn’t you say so?”
I felt rigid, yet somehow I contained the panic rising in me, so that my shrug was barely perceptible. “It was years ago. It didn’t seem relevant to what happened to Nina.”
She frowned. “Maybe not, but it seems that you’ve gone to great lengths to hide the existence of your niece. Presumably there’s a reason for that.”
I stared at her. “It wasn’t intentional. It’s just . . . it was distressing. Like I said, there was a tragic accident. Summer died. Dragging it up now doesn’t change anything. All it does is bring back memories of the most horrible, upsetting time.” I broke off, the words sticking in my throat.
“How long ago did your niece die?” She paused for a moment.
“It was June 30, 2007,” I said quietly. Whatever else I couldn’t recall, it was a date that was carved into my memory.
“How old was she?”
“Almost fifteen.”
“Can you tell us exactly what happened?”
They were firing questions at me. I stared at my hands, clasped in front of me. As I spoke, my voice shook. “She and Nina had a fight. Summer was the angriest I’d ever seen her. They had a horrible row, during which she attacked Nina. Nina pushed her away, and Summer fell. She hit her head . . .” Hot tears pricked my eyes. “It was terrible. We sat with her for hours.” My voice broke as I was transported back to Nina’s cottage, the two of us beside ourselves as we knelt at either side of Summer’s body. “Nina was out of her mind—with grief, and guilt. She felt it was her fault . . .” I shook my head.
“It sounds as though it was,” DI Collins said matter-of-factly.
“It was an accident.” I stared at her. “She didn’t mean to.”
But DI Collins ignored me. “What happened next?”
“A friend of Nina’s was staying that night. He carried Summer’s body away and buried her in a clearing in the woods. It was really beautiful there . . .” Tears were streaming down my face as I recalled going there with Nina the following morning. If Summer’s life had leached Nina’s vitality from her, her death had drained what little had remained, leaving Nina a shell.
She looked disbelievingly at me. “So no one was notified? The police weren’t called? There was no death certificate?”
I shook my head, numb.
“And you and your sister were OK with that?” This time, it was DCI Weller who spoke. He sounded incredulous.
“What were we supposed to do?” I sobbed. “We couldn’t bring her back. All Nina wanted was for Summer’s body to be laid to rest somewhere beautiful. Nothing else mattered. It was a horrible accident. There was no one who’d care about what happened—except us.”
“In other words, she was invisible.” DI Collins spoke calmly.
“I suppose she was. It’s what the rows were about. Summer wanted more. Nina had tried to give her children the kind of life she thought was best for them. She couldn’t bear that Summer hated it.”
“There were no neighbors, or anyone who’d have missed her?”
Tearful, I shook my head. “Summer and Jude knew other people, but they weren’t nearby. Nina’s neighbors were at least two miles away, so they wouldn’t have seen the children often. Then she moved . . .”
“And no one missed them,” DI Collins said quietly.
DCI Weller spoke. “The friend who was there the night Summer died—what was his name?”
“Sam.” I paused. “That’s all I know about him.”
“I suppose you’ve no idea where Sam lived?”
I shook my head. It was the truth.
“And then your sister carried on living the life that was so important to her.”
But I was shaking my head. “She couldn’t. She fell apart. It was not long after that she moved. After losing Summer, the dream was over.”
DI Collins frowned at me. “This cottage in the middle of nowhere, is that what it really was? Her dream? Because it sounds like a strange environment to bring a family up in, if you cared about your children getting an education, making friends, having a future?”
“You don’t understand.” I hesitated, not wanting to explain further about my and Nina’s childhoods. “She honestly did what she thought was best. And in so many ways, it really was wonderful . . .” That was how I’d always seen it, as the opposite of our own childhoods. “She didn’t want them to suffer the way we did.” After what we’d been through at the hands of our parents, I could only admire her actions.
“You’ve said very little about your parents, Ms. Roscoe.”
I nodded. “I know. Oh God . . .” I couldn’t help the shudder that ran through me. Suddenly, I needed her to understand even slightly, how it was for us. “They were cruel,” I said simply, watching her face. “Our parents expected us to be the good children, and when we weren’t, we were punished. If we did something they didn’t approve of, they thought nothing of locking us in our bedrooms without food or water—for something like a school grade that wasn’t high enough or having a friend they didn’t like. We’re talking days—Nina was once left for four days. If we didn’t do what my father wanted, he used to threaten us. He’d beat us when he was drunk. He used to beat our mother too if she didn’t go along with him, but she was weak. Too weak to leave him.”
DI Collins turned to the DCI and murmured something. Then she frowned. “You didn’t tell anyone?”
“When you’re a child, who do you tell?” There had been no one Nina and I could have turned to. “It’s always the problem, isn’t it? Maybe now, someone would listen, but not fifteen years ago.” I shook my head. “People who didn’t know him liked my father. And he was always so believable. My mother was just too frightened to speak up against him.”
DI Collins changed the subject. Was she doing it on purpose? Trying to catch me out? “Abe told us the letters are behind his wardrobe in your home.”
My heart quickened. Then I remembered the tape recording my every word. I tried to remember what I’d said about them before. “I wouldn’t know. To be honest, I’m still not sure what they have to do with anything.”
“Without reading the letters, it isn’t possible to comment. Wouldn’t you agree?” If DI Collins had guessed I’d read them, she wasn’t saying. “I take it you know where they are, as you’ve already said you thought you’d seen them.”
I swallowed. I was giving myself away—I had to be more careful. “Yes.”
“Where was your niece buried?” DI Collins’s tone was sharp.
I frowned. Her questions were jumping about again. “In a clearing near Nina’s cottage.”
She looked incredulous. “I can’t believe neither of you thought to report her death.”
I spoke under my breath the truth I’d told myself for years, a whisper that was barely audible. “It was an accident.”
“Ms. Roscoe, your niece died as a direct result of your sister’s actions. Had the police been informed, she would have been arrested and, on the strength of what you’ve told us, quite possibly charged with your niece’s murder.”
I sat there, shaking my head, staring at the table.
“If we drove you to where your sister used to live, would you be able to point out where your niece was buried?”
I was still shaking my head. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“I’m making a note that at some point this is something we need to do. Ms. Roscoe, is there anything else you should tell us about?”
At last, a question I could answer truthfully. “No.”
I was growing more uncomfortable as each minute passed, hating the way DI Collins was tainting the past. Even now, years on, the time I’d spent with Nina was the most real my life had ever
been. Yet progressively throughout the interview, I’d started to feel like an onlooker, as though I was someone else sitting there, listening to DI Collins pulling Nina’s life apart.
But soon she’d be reading the letters, putting more pieces of the puzzle in the wrong places. I dreaded to think what lay ahead.
* * *
“I haven’t had a chance to read the letters yet.” The interview had resumed after a break for a lunch that I couldn’t eat. “We’ve arranged for you to see a psychologist in the morning.”
As I stood up, Julian Hill was muttering at me to sit down. “What do you mean? I can’t stay another day. I have to go home.”
“Ms. Roscoe, I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere just yet.”
“I want a better solicitor.” My voice shrill, I stood there, trembling. “I have rights, don’t I?”
“Ms. Roscoe, please sit down. This isn’t helping.”
I turned on Julian Hill, suddenly frustrated beyond belief and grabbing him by his lapels. “You’re supposed to help me.” I knew I shouldn’t be doing this, but I couldn’t help it. The unfairness of it all was catching up with me.
DI Collins stood up. “Ms. Roscoe, please sit down.”
But I ignored her. “You’re supposed to help,” I shouted, lowering my face closer to his. “You’ve done fuck all.” Letting go of him, I turned to face DI Collins, utterly exhausted. “I demand a different solicitor.”
The room was silent as she hesitated, then nodded toward Julian Hill. He looked ashen. “I’ll see what I can do.”
27
Even without the delay I’d caused, I faced another night in the cell, but when I was escorted to the interview room the next morning, to my relief I was met by a different solicitor. Surely, he couldn’t be any worse.
Her Sister's Lie Page 22
