I look at him anxiously. “It looks bad, doesn’t it?”
“That depends. You know they’re going to search your house?”
”Can they really do that?”
“Yes, they’ve got a warrant. So if there’s any chance they could find something incriminating, you need to tell me now.”
“I’ve already told you – I’m innocent!”
“Then why do you look so worried?”
I twist a loose strand of hair around my finger.
What will they find at my house?
“I wouldn’t put it past Alicia to plant something. I’ve caught her in my house before.”
“She broke in?”
“No – my friend gave her a key. I’ve changed the locks since, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t found another way in. Or she could have planted something the last time. That girl’s really got it in for me.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“I’ve dealt with these grudge cases before, though none quite as complex as this one. But in my experience, the source of the conflict is usually a man,” he glances at me uncertainly – “or a woman. Is there someone the two of you are fighting over?”
“Well, there is Deacon,” I say slowly, trying not to picture the two of them together. “But I don’t think he’s the source of the conflict. He’s just another pawn in her sick little game. I think this goes way back, to when Julio dumped Jody all those years ago. I can’t imagine why she would still want to get revenge, though. Or why she would be taking it out on me.”
Penney and Millrose return with cups of tea. I sip mine slowly and try to gauge how much trouble I’m really in.
Millrose looks me straight in the eye. “I’m going to give you one more chance, Isabel. Why don’t you tell us what really happened last night? Did you set fire to Robertson’s Superstore?”
“No!”
“What about the fire at Queensbeach Caravan Park, or the one at the Waterfront Gym last month?”
“I told you, I didn’t start any fires! And anyway - I thought the fire at the gym wasn’t started deliberately?”
I look to Penney for confirmation.
“New evidence has come to light. It looks like it might have been arson after all.”
Oh hell!
“Look, you have to believe me – none of this has anything to do with me. I haven’t started any fires, I swear!”
Millrose crinkles up her plastic cup and tosses it into the bin.
“Perhaps a few hours in the holding cells will change your mind about that?”
“No!” I look at her in horror.
“Unless there’s something you want to say?”
“Just that I’m innocent.”
“Penney, do you have any more questions?”
“No.” He looks at me with disdain. “Let her stew.”
Small, dark and disgusting, the cell still reeks of its last inhabitant. It is completely empty, bar for a mattress with a thin blanket on it and a toilet. All those stories you hear about prisoners living in the lap of luxury with PlayStations and televisions must be a load of rubbish. This is the scummiest place I’ve ever been.
I struggle to calm my nerves.
Instantly, I’m transported back to the scene of the fire. My heart pounds, my chest closes up. I remember the terrifying sensation of smoke seeping into the room, closing my airways.
I’ve got to get out of here!
I claw desperately at the bars.
“I shouldn’t be in here! You’ve got to let me out!”
A uniformed police officer peers in at me. “Are you OK, love?”
I can’t reply. My breaths are coming in slow, desperate gasps.
“First time is it?” he asks, not unsympathetically. “Here, drink some water.”
I take the paper cup he offers me and tip the liquid down my throat. It doesn’t help. I watch in horror as the word ‘FRY’ forms in blood-red letters on the wall in front of me. But the police officer’s expression remains the same, as if nothing is happening.
I’m the only one who can see it.
I watch with morbid fascination as the blood drips down the walls.
Drip!
Drip!
Drip!
Can’t you see that? Can’t you smell it?
“Here, have a paper bag.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“You breathe into it. It helps you to regulate your breathing.”
I do as instructed, for all the good it does. My brain is in overdrive. I’m living and breathing a full-blooded nightmare. I’ve had too much to take in, too much to process. Alicia is not in my cell. She can’t be. And yet the writing is on the wall all the same. I lick my lips. My mouth has that slightly metallic taste - the taste of blood.
This isn’t real.
I suck in a bloodcurdling scream, as without warning, the bloody letters burst into flames.
Fire! Fire!
But the police officer, who continues to watch me with interest, doesn’t appear to see a thing.
I am not going mad. I’m in shock, I’m tired, and I’ve been through a traumatic experience.
So why is it so hot?
I feel the warm glow against my body, feel it scorch my skin.
“Please! You’ve got to let me out!”
“Just keep breathing in and out.”
I concentrate on breathing into the bag, inflating and deflating it as I try to stem the panic. To my surprise, it actually helps. The sickness in the pit of my stomach eases and the flaming letters stop dancing around in front of me. I watch as they slide, one by one, to the floor, disappearing in a grey puff of smoke.
“Better?”
“Yes, thanks.” I shiver, cold now the flames have gone out. “I think I’d better go and lie down for a bit.”
“OK - there’s a call button if you need anything.”
He turns to leave, presumably to deal with another inmate further down the hall who’s been shouting obscenities all the while.
“Don’t worry, love – it won’t be forever. They can only detain you for 24 hours, then they’ll either have to charge you, or let you go.”
These words bring little comfort. What if they charge me? What then? Will I have to go to court? And then – the thought explodes in my head – prison?
Is this how I’m going to spend the rest of my life - stuck in a stinking cell, blamed for a crime I didn’t commit, for a reason I don’t even understand?
I lie down and let my eyelids droop as the world whizzes around me. How did Alicia and Jody plan something so complex, so elaborate? Did they set up a criminal organisation just to frame me? Why go to so much trouble, when I could so easily have died in the fire? Was this their back-up plan, just in case I survived? How could they be so evil, so calculating? What terrible thing did I do to them to make them hate me so much?
*
I cast my mind back, as I’ve done so many times over the last few months, to that summer at Camp Windylake. I try to remember Alicia and Jody, but there were so many young campers and so many play leaders. I remember there was a group of little girls who were particularly keen on the arts and crafts tent, which I ran. They would hang on every word I said. Some of them even tried to dress like me, clonking around in their big sisters’ high heels and carrying little handbags. Kate and I thought it was hilarious at the time. But what if Alicia was one of those little girls? And if so, how did childish adoration turn to such deadly hate?
I try to remember Jody, but I really can’t. Julio has had so many girlfriends, each one completely different from the last. At first, I used to try to make friends with them, but after a while I learned not to grow too attached. It would all be over in a matter of weeks, if not days and then he’d be on to the next. It was different with Kate, of course – she was my best friend first and still is – no thanks to my brother.
My thoughts return to my overwhelming guilt about Holly. Despite Kate, despite everything, I can’t he
lp liking her. Can’t help hoping that against all the odds, things might work out between her and Julio. But how terribly I’ve failed her! Why couldn’t I convince the police she’s in trouble? They have the resources to find her. They could trace her car and her phone. They could arrest Alicia and Jody and take them in for questioning. This would all go so differently, if only I had the police on my side.
As my breathing becomes more steady and rhythmic, I am transported back to a time when everything was so much simpler. When I was eighteen and carefree and I worked as a play leader at Camp Windylake.
*
I am in the arts and crafts tent, clearing up after a messy day’s play, washing down paint-splattered tables and picking dried glue out of my hair, when a small child appears at my side.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there!” I exclaim. I find her sudden presence a little unnerving.
“Did you want something?” I prompt, when she says nothing.
“Are you going to put those in the kiln now?” she asks, pointing at the day’s assorted pottery creations.
“Yes, but shouldn’t you be getting to dinner?”
“I want to watch.”
She looks up at me with eyes as round as saucers as I load the clay into the hot oven. Her face is pallid and ghostly. No wonder the other kids call her Wednesday Adams. In fact, if I’m honest, so do most of the play leaders – just not to her face.
She’s a very odd little girl, full of strange ways and tall stories. One time I heard her boasting to the others that she can drink any of them under the table, including the boys. Not a claim that she’d be likely to have to put to the test – she’s only ten, after all.
Towards the end of the summer, I ask the children to paint pictures of their families - a task they take up with relish. Wednesday’s initial outline is really rather good. She draws her dad, her big brother, her big sister and herself, all smiling and standing in front of a large square house. No mum, I notice - rumour has it, she died in a house fire when Wednesday was just a baby.
But the next time I look, the painting is streaked with red paint – they’re all still smiling, but they have red in their hair and on their faces, even their clothes are streaked with red. At first I think she’s had an accident with the red paint, but as I watch, she dips the brush in again and adds red streaks to the roof and the windows. This strikes me as rather peculiar but then, the little boy opposite has painted a robotic dog, and his family car appears to be a space rocket. So I just put it down to the children’s over active imaginations and tuck it to the back of my mind.
On the last day of camp, Wednesday approaches me with a rather solemn expression on her face.
“Isabel, can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” I say, patting the stool next to me for her to sit down. She does not do so. Instead, she fiddles awkwardly with her plastic apron. So I sit there expectantly, waiting to hear what she’s got to say. Wondering what kind of yarn she’s going to spin.
*
I am distracted by the sound of keys in the lock. A female police officer throws back the cell door.
“Please come with me.”
I try to tune her out, fight to stay in the dream. Except, it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore. I’m on the verge of remembering something - something crucial. But it’s no use, the police officer’s voice cuts right through to my consciousness. I sit up and blink.
Alicia is little Wednesday Adams!
That’s why I didn’t remember her. I didn’t know her as Alicia. Nobody called her by her real name. But what was it she wanted to talk to me about that day at camp? It was something important, I know it was. Oh, why can’t I remember?
I get up and follow the police officer.
“Why have I been sent for?” I ask, as she leads me through the maze of corridors. “Have they made a decision?”
“I don’t know,” she says, striding so fast I struggle to keep up with her. “They just asked me to come and get you.”
“Do you think they’re going to charge me?”
“I really don’t know - I don’t know the details of your case.”
“You haven’t heard anything?”
“No.”
Maybe, suggests a tiny voice at the back of my mind, maybe they’ve realised their mistake? Maybe they’re going to let me go?
But the minute I see Penney, any hope I had evaporates. He has a look I can’t quite place - self-righteous, smug. He knows something. He thinks he’s solved the whole crime. Never mind that the truth doesn’t fit.
“It seems your brother reported Holly missing first thing this morning,” he tells me.
“So she’s still missing?”
Those awful words still ring in my ears,
“You have till four AM, or Holly burns.”
“No – we found her half an hour ago.”
“You found her!” I resist the urge to throw my arms around him.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!”
I look round at the sombre faces at the table, troubled that no one appears to share my elation. “Is she…OK?”
Penney looks me straight in the eye.
“You tell me. She was found in your garage.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Is she all right? You have to tell me!”
“She’s in a critical condition in hospital.”
“Oh god! What…”
“The garage was locked and there were no signs of a breakin. Whoever did this had a key.”
“It wasn’t me!”
My garage is just a repository for all my junk. I hardly ever go in there. I never even park the car in there. Alicia – or Jody, must have taken the key from my key ring. Is that what Jody was doing on the night of the concert, when she stole my bag and gave it back to me?
I turn to my lawyer for help, but he is busily scribbling notes on the pad in front of him.
“It must have been Jody and Alicia,” I insist. “Just ask Holly – she’ll tell you.”
DCI Millrose folds her arms in front of her.
“Holly’s in no position to tell us anything right now. She’s sustained a severe head injury.”
“Oh, poor Holly!”
“Poor Holly, indeed. We’re looking at a very serious assault here, Isabel. Maybe even attempted murder.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe they did this just to get at me!”
“So you’re saying you had nothing to do with it?”
I stare at Millrose.
“Why would I hurt Holly, let alone try to kill her? She was trying to help me! And she’s my brother’s fiancée, for heaven’s sake.”
Millrose curls her lip. “Didn’t your brother used to be married to your best friend, Kate?”
“Yes, but…you can’t think Kate has anything to do with this!”
“How did you feel when he left Kate for Holly?”
“Well…I…”
“Were you happy about it?”
“Of course not!”
“So how did you feel – annoyed, let down?”
“I felt…sad, for Kate.”
And maybe a little guilty, too. He’s my brother, after all. I should have known that he’s incapable of being faithful and that it was never going to last.
“And what were your feelings towards your brother?”
“Well, of course I was angry, at first.”
“Isn’t it true you refused to speak to him for several months?”
“Well…yes, but I forgave him eventually. I couldn’t stay angry with him forever.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“I don’t know – he came to see me and I just couldn’t stay angry with him anymore. Not when I was faced with him in person. It was one thing to ignore his texts and emails, but I couldn’t ignore him when he turned up on my doorstep. I missed him.”
“Would you say you get on well with Holly?”
I colour slightly, thinking of the recent past. “I really like Holly
. She’s great.”
“Hmm. But isn’t it true that with Holly out of the way, there’d be a chance your brother might get back with Kate?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But there’s a chance?”
“I really don’t…”
“Did Kate help you, or were you acting alone?”
“Kate had nothing to do with this!”
“So you were acting alone?”
“No! I wasn’t acting…I wasn’t…didn’t do anything.”
I cling to the edge of the table like a limpet.
How do I stop all this craziness?
They’re twisting everything I say, everything I’ve done.
“Please…just talk to Julio. He’ll tell you all this is nonsense. He knows I’ve got no reason to hurt Holly. And he knows what’s been happening with Alicia and Jody. He’ll back me up.”
“Are you OK, Isabel?” My lawyer butts in. “You’re awfully pale.”
He looks pointedly at Millrose. “I think my client needs a break.”
Millrose looks a bit irritated, but she doesn’t refuse.
Penney and Millrose get up. As the door shuts behind them, I stare at the cold, blank walls.
“What happens next? When will all this be over?”
My lawyer scratches his beard. “In all likelihood, they’ll have to interview Alicia and Jody to get their side of the story.”
This news should cheer me up but it doesn’t. Alicia is a very, very convincing liar. What if she implicates me further?
My lawyer has no such qualms.
“If they’re lying, Millrose will get to the bottom of it. That’s what she’s trained to do.”
I wish I had his confidence.
“In the meantime, it would really help if you could try to figure out why they started this vendetta. Without motive, it’s hard to prove.”
“I’m trying.” I drain the rest of my drink and scrunch up my paper cup.
I’m sure there’s something – stuck in the recesses of my mind, just waiting to be dislodged. If only I could remember. I stare blankly at the wall but it doesn’t come to me. My mind’s all clogged up with worry and anger and fear.
*
Some time later, the door opens to admit Penney and Millrose.
“Are you ready?”
Reluctantly, I nod.
Fry Page 18
