‘And what if they confront Miriam and she tells them how she used to treat us?’ She lifted her hands, shaking them in front of the others, warding off any interruptions. ‘Fine, I know it sounds far-fetched, that she’d never admit what she used to do. But don’t forget that she’s a really sick woman. All the police need is an indication that not everything was right. And do you think that if she’s pushed into a corner she won’t retaliate? She won’t tell them what she suspects we tried to do? And all of a sudden there’s motive. And we’ll all be screwed.’
Sandra could see the beads of sweat forming on Bea’s upper lip. ‘For years we’ve kept this secret,’ Bea continued. ‘We haven’t told anyone about that house of horrors. At least most of us.’ She looked pointedly at Helen. ‘We’ve allowed everyone to believe that we had a great life with Miriam. Just to make sure that we’re not caught. We simply cannot let all that fizzle away because we want our day in court.’
‘What are you suggesting we do?’ Helen was twisting her hands together in her lap, round and round and round.
Bea closed her eyes for a moment. Sandra started feeling uncomfortable, unsure what to expect, what was going to happen next. ‘Let’s back out of the trial,’ Bea said. ‘We can tell DCI Hawkins that we don’t want to testify. That it is too painful for us to relive what happened back then. That we want to let bygones be bygones and move on with our lives.’
Sandra moved so quickly that she toppled the glass of wine that was perilously positioned on the sofa’s arm rest. It fell on the wooden floor, the red liquid spilling everywhere as the glass shattered in a million pieces. They all looked at the shards, the tiny fragments, scattered on the ground. ‘I’m sorry, let me clean it up.’ Sandra fell on her knees and started picking up the pieces of glass.
‘Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.’ John was next to her in a second, pulling her back to her feet, before heading to the kitchen and unfurling numerous sheets of paper towels from a roll. He carefully picked up the big pieces of glass and wiped the wine from the ground.
‘I’m so sorry, let me help.’ Sandra tried taking the towels from his hand.
‘It’s almost done, just sit down and I’ll bring you another glass.’
Sandra’s face was burning red. ‘I’ll pay for your glass, of course,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ He turned towards Bea. ‘So, you want us to stop helping the police who are trying to put Ronnie Moss away? The person who killed Sebastian.’
Bea closed her eyes, keeping them shut for a second too long, as if she was trying to keep herself from crying, forcing herself to remain strong. ‘It’s the only way to stop them digging into our past.’
‘But it’s not like they’re going to stop the trial.’ Helen’s face was flushed. ‘If all four of us tell them we’re no longer interested in testifying, won’t that intensify any suspicions they have? Make it look like we have something to hide?’
‘We need to convince them to stop the trial,’ Bea insisted.
‘You want him not to be tried? After what he did?’ Sandra could feel her blood boil with anger.
‘Think about it. What he did was awful. He hurt us all. He killed my brother. I will never forgive him for that. But Miriam was not without blame. She had become an awful driver. And that’s on us. We caused that. Ronnie Moss is really as much a victim as we are. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘It’s easy for you to say.’ Sandra was sitting at the edge of the sofa. ‘You went to a great family, had a perfect life. We weren’t all that lucky.’ She put her hands on either side of her head, using her middle fingers to rub her temples. Round and round and round, hoping to ease the throbbing in her head.
‘But look at you now,’ Bea said. ‘You’ve got a great life. A husband, children, nice things. Are you willing to give all that up if we’re found out?’
For some time they sat in silence, all wrapped in their own thoughts, the only sounds coming from outside. Cars going by, the odd bike bell, a random person calling out.
‘I’ve read about him,’ Bea continued. ‘About Ronnie Moss. He pulled his act together, built a new life, has a family. He gave us a second chance. Shouldn’t we give him one?’
‘That’s not our responsibility,’ John said. ‘Nor is it our choice.’
‘But what if it is? What if we’re able to rewrite history?’
Helen sat upright. ‘What are you saying? Do you want us to lie?’
‘Not lie, but perhaps amplify the truth. It’s the only way. We can finally see justice served with the person who hurt us the most.’
52
‘Are you ready for this?’ John pushed his chair back and stood up, draining the last of his coffee.
‘Yes,’ the other three mumbled in unison. There was a flurry of activity as they put their coats back on, wrapped scarves around their necks, picked up their bags, then followed him outside. They walked in silence towards the imposing building, each wrapped in their own thoughts.
‘We’re here to speak with DCI Hawkins,’ John said when they arrived at the police station.
They took seats in the waiting room. John was typing furiously into his phone. Sandra took a magazine out of her bag and started flipping through it, her eyes glazing over the pages, unable to concentrate on anything. She felt as if she were outside her body, looking from somewhere else at what was happening. Looking around her, she saw Helen focused on biting the skin around her nails, Bea just staring into space.
‘Are we sure about this?’ she whispered at last. Three heads turned towards her, three sets of eyes bored into hers. ‘No second thoughts, right?’
‘No.’ John’s voice was steady, unwavering. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m good.’
‘Let’s stick to what we discussed.’ He turned back to his phone, typing away until someone came to escort them to the meeting.
The same arrangement of flowers was still in the conference room. Fake, Sandra realised. Of course, it would be. She shuddered, wanting more than anything to get this over with, to be able to leave the police station, never to set foot in here again.
‘Good morning.’ DCI Hawkins walked in and sat down at the head of the table. ‘How are you all doing?’
There were murmurs. ‘Good.’ It seemed that John was the only one who still had the strength to talk. ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.’
DCI Hawkins’ shoulders lifted slightly. He looked at them but didn’t say anything.
Sandra caught John and Bea looking at each other. Bea nodded at him. John’s head made an almost imperceptible incline forward. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He took a deep breath and wet his lips with his tongue.
‘Since that first meeting at the station, we’ve had the opportunity to reconnect.’ He gesticulated at the others, sitting down, looking right at him. Sandra held her handbag even more tightly against her chest, barely breathing, waiting for this to be over. She saw Helen fiddling with the desk pad in front of her, taking the sheet of paper in and out of the leather corners. Bea just sat still. ‘We were, as you know, separated right after the accident. We didn’t have any idea where the others had gone. The only thing that we were told was that Sebastian had died.
‘We have, in the last weeks, met a few times. And we all agree that we cannot testify in Ronnie Moss’ trial.’
John sat back in his chair. His body seemed to deflate slightly, almost as if he had used all his energy to say what he just had. There was nothing left in him. He continued to look straight at the detective, his mouth set in a thin line, not breaking eye contact.
DCI Hawkins cleared his throat. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. His lips were pursed, his brows furrowed. There was a vein on the right side of his forehead that had suddenly popped out, making him look angry. ‘This is unfortunate.’ His words didn’t match his expression. ‘The four of you were affected by the actions of a drunk man and you don’
t want to help bring him to justice? Why is that? Why are you protecting him?’
The four of them looked at each other. Sandra opened her mouth to speak but John lifted his hand and shook his head. ‘We’re not protecting the person who was responsible for the accident. We simply do not believe that we can testify. We don’t want to testify.’
The detective looked at each one of them. Sandra felt his eyes on her and her hands started trembling. She wrapped her arms more tightly around her bag, not wanting him to see how jittery she was feeling. ‘And you’re all in agreement? Surely, not everyone wants to back off?’ He continued staring at Sandra. ‘What about you, Mrs Sullivan? Don’t you want him to pay for the scars on your face?’
Sandra’s hand flew to her cheek. Her fingers traced the too-familiar lines, the contours that she knew by heart. Tears threatened to form in her eyes as she remembered how horrible it looked, how she was laughed at by other children.
But then the faces of her family flashed in front of her. Louis snoring softly in bed. Alistair’s head bent over a book, his eyes riveted to the words. Amanda curling up next to her on the sofa, her long legs tucked under her, leaning her head on her mum’s shoulder. And Julia. Sweet, sweet Julia, so young, so vulnerable. She needed her mother more than anything else.
Sandra clenched her jaw and looked right at DCI Hawkins. ‘There’s no changing what happened. I won’t be testifying.’
The detective’s lip curled upwards. He held Sandra’s eyes for a few seconds longer before turning his head slightly, looking right at Helen. ‘You might not have had the worst of the injuries, just a couple of fractured ribs if I remember correctly. But surely, being taken away from everything you knew, suddenly finding yourself in a new home, living with strangers. Don’t you want to get justice for what happened?’
‘I’m good.’ Helen’s voice was strong, a contrast to her recent emotional wavering.
‘Tsk, tsk.’ DCI Hawkins turned towards Bea. Sandra’s heart started beating faster. What if Bea changed her mind, decided that she needed to avenge her brother? She thought she was about to pass out, right there, in that room as fear started to overcome her. She clenched her hands tightly together, her nails digging into the soft flesh, not caring that it might leave a mark, that she was pressing so hard that she might draw blood. ‘Miss Hinds, surely you can’t let this go. Your injuries were devastating. You still limp, I’ve seen it. And what about Sebastian? Don’t you want to see justice for your brother’s sake, if not for your own?’
Sandra saw Bea purse her lips, close her eyes, heard her clear her throat. This was it. ‘Ronnie Moss is not the one that should be brought to justice. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was just driving.’
‘What are you saying? The man was drunk.’
‘How do you know? Did you test his blood after the accident? No, because he was gone.’
DCI Hawkins shook his head, his eyes narrowed. ‘There was an empty bottle of whisky in the lorry.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything.’ John folded his arms and sat back in his chair. ‘It doesn’t tell you that he had been drinking.’
‘Look, I don’t understand why you’re defending him. The man messed up your lives, killed one of you, caused you to be separated, not to see one another for decades. And now you’re protecting him! Why? What is it that you’re hiding?’
Sandra put her handbag on the table in front of her and leaned forward. She looked at the others, one by one. Each of them nodded. They hadn’t practised this part. But she knew what she needed to say. ‘Because it wasn’t his fault.’ She swallowed hard. Her throat felt dry. She wanted this to be over. ‘It was Miriam. She swerved and slammed right into the lorry. It was her fault. The accident was her fault.’
*
The earlier rain had stopped as the four stepped out of the police station. A couple of rays of sunshine had managed to escape through tiny gaps in the thick clouds. Sandra looked towards the sky. Her heart felt heavy.
‘What if we did the wrong thing?’ she asked nobody in particular.
‘It’s done now. Let’s all go home and put this behind us.’ John’s hands were in his pockets, his shoulders hunched.
‘Do you think the police will investigate our story? Try to find out whether we’re lying?’ Sandra asked.
‘I’m sure they will.’ John shrugged. ‘But they’re never going to find a way to discredit our version of events. We were there, we’re the most reliable eye witnesses they can find. What reason would we have to lie?’
‘What about Miriam?’ Helen had not said anything since they’d stepped outside. She was shaking like a leaf, her whole body quivering. ‘She’s going to deny it was her fault.’
‘They’re not going to believe her.’ John put his arm around his friend, held her tight against his body. ‘Bea was right, this was our only option. Everything ends here.’
‘But what if she tells them her suspicions…’ Sandra lowered her voice ‘… and they go looking for the poison?’
John let her go and put his hands back in his pockets. ‘Well, I didn’t say anything because we all had so much on our minds. But I had someone come in and dig out the whole garden. The sandpit is empty – there’s nothing that we should be worried about.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ Sandra hunched forward as relief washed over her body.
They stood in silence for a few moments, each of them wrapped in their own thoughts.
Sandra’s eyes burned. She blinked rapidly. Was this it? Were they saying goodbye in the middle of a busy London street? ‘Shall we remain in touch?’
‘Are you kidding me?’ John’s mouth remained wide open and Sandra cringed under his incredulous stare. ‘Of course we’re going to remain in touch! I’m not letting you three out of my sight again. Ever.’
53
The clanging noise startled Ronnie Moss. He opened his eyes and for a moment didn’t know where he was. He felt the hard surface under his body, the cold metal under his head, the rancid smell of pee.
Dread filled his heart as realisation washed over him. He got up from the hard bed and looked towards the door of his tiny cell. A guard was standing there, waiting, his lip curled up in a smirk. ‘Let’s go,’ he told him in a gruff voice.
‘Where are we going?’ The guard just scoffed and Ronnie put his hands between the bars to be handcuffed.
Ronnie followed the guard through the long corridor. ‘Child killer,’ someone shouted as he walked past their cell. Ronnie didn’t even want to know who it was. He didn’t care any more. For a week he’d been in this cell. The dampness he had not missed hurt his bones. He’d only met the duty solicitor once, a young woman who kept dropping her papers and forgetting his name. He had no faith in her but couldn’t afford to pay for someone else. He’d begged her to get him a call with his wife, so he could hear Tanya’s voice, try to reassure her.
The solicitor was sitting down, twirling her long hair around her fingers, when he was shown into the small room. ‘Turn around,’ the guard said and removed his cuffs. Ronnie rubbed his wrists. The metal dug into them and cut into the dry skin.
‘Good morning, Miss Pierce,’ he said.
She turned and smiled at him. ‘Sit down, sit down, I have good news.’
‘Tanya? Did you get me a call with Tanya? When can I speak with her?’
‘No, it’s not that. Come on, sit down.’
His heart was beating. He wanted to know what was happening. Right now. It had been a long time since anyone said they had good news for him. He quickly lowered himself in the seat across from her. ‘What’s going on?’
She leaned closer to him and smiled, her lips parted showing perfectly white teeth. ‘They’re dropping the charges. All of them.’
Ronnie was sure he had misheard. Or else he was still asleep. Yes, that was it, this had to be a dream. It was too good to be true. The last weeks had been hell. From being dragged out of his house to prison, then the heart attack, then being flown out of the country without be
ing allowed to speak to his wife. There was no way that his luck was turning now.
‘Ronnie, have you heard what I said?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that’s it? No reaction? Aren’t you going to at least smile?’
‘No.’
‘Ronnie, what is happening? Why aren’t you happy? This is great news.’
He shrugged but remained seated, his hands clasped in front of him, looking right at her.
‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’ Her eyes were narrowed.
‘What’s the point? In a few seconds I’ll wake up and this will be over.’
‘What are you talking about? What will be over? This is not a dream, Ronnie. You’re not asleep. You’re sitting with me and I’m bringing you good news. Your nightmare is over.’
He looked up at her, and for the first time a ray of hope started filling his heart. Could it be true? He dug a fingernail between the nail and the skin on another finger and almost yelped in pain. He had to be awake. ‘What is happening?’
‘The children in the van, they told the truth. They told the police that the accident wasn’t your fault. That it was the van driver who swerved into your lane. The accident was her responsibility. They didn’t say anything until now because they felt like they owed her for taking care of them, but they finally came forward. They’re letting you go. You can go back to St Lucia and be with your family.’
‘Bu… But, why would they do that?’
‘Because it’s the truth, Ronnie. You’re innocent.’
‘And I’m going to be let go?’
‘Yes, we’re arranging a flight back, hopefully tomorrow. You will have to spend another night here until the paperwork is finalised, but then you’re going home. You don’t even need a police escort this time.’
We All Fall Down Page 30
