Let Me In

by Alison Keane

  “Oh God,” I say, staggering against the nearest wall and subtly dropping the clothes on the other side. “It’s Steph, isn’t it?”

  The two officers exchange glances.

  “Please, just tell me. She’s my friend.” I’m very careful to use the present tense. “I recognised her apartment building on TV.”

  “This would be easier if you came to the station with us.”

  “I was just on my way home,” I say, as a whole fresh batch of worries starts to run around in my mind. Like why did they come here? How did they know I was here? “Do you mind if I come down later?”

  They look at each other again, and I get the feeling it’s some tactic they’ve been taught in police college. I feel wrong-footed by it. Why do they feel the need to play games with me?

  “Actually, it would help if you came now.”

  The other one nods. “Unless you’ve got something important on that can’t wait.”

  I shake my head. They’ve got me. What can I possibly have planned that’s more important than helping to find my friends killer? I can’t explain that I need some time alone to figure out why my new boyfriend has a picture of me from way back when we’ve only just met.

  Nathan.

  My blood runs cold.

  I see his promises in a new light now. What’s his game? Why was he so eager for me to believe he wanted to help me?

  “Can I go and let my boyfriend know I’m going with you?” I falter. Is that a weird thing to say considering I’ve already left his house? Even if it is, I’ve got to keep going with it now. He’s the last person I want to see, but this is important. How can I face their questions if I don’t know what Nathan is up to? “He was going to come and meet me at my place. I don’t want to leave him waiting.”

  They look at each other again. Why do they keep doing that? “You can text him from the car.”

  I force a smile as I walk towards the police car, but inside I’m a wreck. I can’t send what I need to say to him in a text.

  37

  Ellie

  I stare out the window, trying to appear calm and not let them know that I’m driving myself crazy trying to figure out what’s going on. I’ve been feeling groggy and disconnected all morning, just like I felt on Friday. That’s not helping, even though it is starting to make sense.

  Has Nathan been drugging me?

  I run my tongue along my bottom teeth, and try yet again to put what’s happened into some sort of order, but it’s a jumble of seemingly unconnected things.

  Dad lying to me about my mother and signing the company over to Steph.

  That guy Tony saying he’s my real father.

  The photo I found in Nathan’s flat.

  Steph.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Alright back there?”

  “Yeah,” I say, feeling rattled. So much for hiding my emotions from them. “I’m just struggling to take it in.”

  It didn’t seem real until the police came to take me to the station. Part of me hoped it was a mistake. I wanted to believe what Nathan said—that it was somebody else who lived in Steph’s building.

  Who would murder Steph? That’s what I can’t get my head around. And why would they choose last night of all nights?

  There are three possibilities that I can see.

  One, Steph’s murder was nothing to do with me and my messages to her were just incredibly badly timed. That seems unlikely—too much of a coincidence.

  Two, someone knew I went to see her and killed Steph to frame me.

  And three, the one that I just can’t get my head around: I did it.

  What if I’m being framed? I think of the photo in my pocket. Why did Nathan have a picture of me from long before we met? There’s only one reason I can think of: someone gave it to him. I always thought it was strange that a guy who grew up here in town could be so distant from everyone our age that he never heard Mikey’s rumours. I massage the back of my head trying to ease the throbbing pain.

  What if I wasn’t drunk? What if that’s just what he wanted me to think? He had so many opportunities to slip something into my drink last night. That would explain why I feel so weird today.

  A picture slowly forms in my mind. Mikey, biding his time and waiting until I’d stopped being scared of my own shadow; sending Nathan to get close to me and find an opportunity to destroy me.

  My eyes widen. Perhaps I was right before, that Mikey wasn’t pleased about my new relationship—I just got the relationship wrong. He was pissed off about my friendship with Steph, not my relationship with Nathan.

  It sounds absolutely mad, even to me. How can it be true?

  I stare out the window. I’ve got to face facts. Steph is dead. I’m in a police car on the way to the station. I’ve got to convince the police that I’m not responsible for this. But how? I know why they came to find me: they saw the messages between me and Steph. So they know I was probably there last night.

  I can’t rely on Nathan’s alibi anymore. Was he trying to lull me into a false sense of security?

  My skin crawls with the memory of his hands on me. To think I believed he was some sort of saviour who’d fix my broken life. I should have known no-one around here would be genuinely interested in me.

  We stop at a red light and I can see the police station up ahead. We’re almost there and even though I have a good idea of what’s happened, I have no idea how to deal with it. I can’t just tell the police the truth: last time I tried that I had a broken leg and bruises all over my body and they still wouldn’t believe me.

  I take a deep breath.

  “We’re almost there.”

  I ignore them. I’ve got to stay focused because soon they’ll be asking me questions. I need to be ready for them. There’s only one positive in all of this: I found that photo before I spoke to the police. I have time to prepare myself for what’s to come.

  Any bravado I felt in the car evaporates when I’m led into the station and come face-to-face with Detective Sergeant Hobson. Even though almost a year has passed, my heart begins to pound and my gut screams at me to get out. I force myself to meet his eyes. I’ve done nothing wrong and I have no reason to feel ashamed. That’s how he makes me feel: ashamed. I’ve never been able to understand why he hates me so much.

  I didn’t hurt Steph—I know I didn’t. I’ve got to cling to the facts to get me through this.

  But the facts don’t reflect well on me, do they? The messages I sent to Steph last night were filled with such rage and hatred I don’t know how I can possibly spin them to make me look innocent.

  The police station is busier than I’ve ever seen it. I’m led through a door in reception and along a corridor to an interview room. I think it’s the same one as I was in before—the last time. I spent so much time here this time last year. First when I tried to get them to take me seriously that someone from the club was trying to intimidate me and then again after Mikey attacked me.

  “Thank you for coming in to talk to us, Ellie. I’m DC Stevens.”

  I nod at the female detective sitting beside DS Hobson. She looks professional in a neat black suit jacket with the sleeves rolled up over a crisp white shirt.

  “And you know DS Hobson, I believe.”

  I try not to make a face. How could I forget the man who made my life a living hell last year?

  “Let’s get started,” she says. “How did you know Miss Price?”

  Should I ask for a solicitor? It was different last time—I was the one reporting a crime, they just made me feel like a criminal. But they’ve not arrested me this time—not yet, anyway. I don’t want to ask for a solicitor in case they use it against me.

  I blink a few times, trying to clear my head. What I really need is a strong coffee, not a grilling by a man who hates my guts for some reason known only to him.

  “She’s my friend.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  “At yoga. We got chatting after class and started meeting for c
offees.”

  “I see,” she says. “When did you last see her?”

  I swallow. I wasn’t expecting that so quickly and I haven’t figured out yet what I want to tell them. “Wednesday evening,” I say, and my voice comes out as a pained wheeze that reflects my indecision. Shit. Why didn’t I say I called over yesterday? They’ve seen our messages: they’re going to know I’m lying. “I went to her place last night but there was no answer.”

  My heart races. Do they know I’m lying? Can they tell? I try to relax. For all I know I’m telling them the truth. Sweat breaks out on my forehead. I still haven’t thought of a way to explain those nasty things I said to her.

  “Can you tell us some more about that? A planned get-together, was it?”

  I take a breath. “No, not exactly. I found out during the week that she was involved with my father. I wanted to talk about it.”

  The detectives exchange looks.

  Did they already know? Is this news to them?

  DC Stevens clears her throat. “Were you angry?”

  I nod. It goes against every instinct I have, but it’s the right thing to say. If they don’t already have our messages from WhatsApp, they will soon. “Yes. He’s my dad. She’s my friend. They didn’t tell me and that hurt.”

  “How did you find out if they didn’t tell you?”

  “I saw them together.” I don’t elaborate.

  “That must have made you mad?”

  I sigh. “More sad than mad. If they’d just come to me, I’d have given them my blessing. Steph’s…” I lower my head and close my eyes. I feel like a horrible person for hamming this up, but what choice do I have? I did everything by the book last time and look where that got me. I clear my throat. “She was a lovely person and my dad has been alone for as long as I can remember. He deserves to be happy.”

  Those last words stick in my throat, but I don’t think they noticed. I’ll tell them whatever I have to tell them to get them off my back. They should be out there looking for the real killer.

  It flashes through my mind that the simplest explanation is that I did this, but I brush that thought aside. I can’t afford to dwell on it right now.

  DS Hobson opens the plain brown folder in front of him and shuffles through the printed sheets inside. He pulls one out and clears his throat before he begins to read.

  I try to keep it together when I realise he’s reading out the message chain between me and Steph from last night. I knew the police would get those messages, but it’s still a shock to hear them being read aloud. I cringe as he deliberately makes a big fuss out of trying to understand the later messages—the ones that even I struggled to decipher when I saw them earlier.

  He puts the sheet back in the folder. “You sounded incredibly angry to me. And drunk.”

  I flush despite my best efforts not to. I make myself count to three before answering. The worst thing I could do right now is fly off the handle. That’s what he wants.

  I need to sound plausible.

  “I’d had a few glasses of wine,” I say as calmly as I can. “And I decided to go over there and confront her.”

  “What happened?”

  “She didn’t answer the door. I pressed her buzzer a few times and then gave up.”

  I do my best to steady my nerves. It doesn’t help that they’re both watching me impassively and I have no idea what they’re thinking. Was it a bad idea to say that? I don’t know what evidence they have from Steph’s building, but they can’t have anything too incriminating because they would have arrested me. Wouldn’t they?

  “You didn’t try to call her?”

  Damn it, why didn’t I anticipate that question? I shake my head and hope they can’t see how stressed I am. “No. We used WhatsApp mostly. Like I said, I’d had a few drinks. I wasn’t feeling very sharp. I was starting to sober up and get sleepy. I just wanted to get home.”

  “So what happened then? Where did you go?”

  “Home. Well, back to the guy I’ve been seeing’s flat.”

  “What did you do then?”

  I shrug and force a smile even though my heart is pounding. I thought Nathan was my knight in shining armour. Instead, he kept me close so he’d know exactly where I was at any given moment. “I snuggled up to him in bed and fell asleep.”

  “What time was this at?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. Around nine? I didn’t check the time on my phone and he doesn’t have a clock in his bedroom.”

  A uniformed officer comes in with a sheet of paper and hands it to DS Hobson, who glances at it and frowns. My heart skips a beat but I try my best not to show it. They’re trying to trip me up, I tell myself. I’ve got to rise above it.

  As soon as the door is closed, Hobson leans his elbows on the table. “Tell me, Ellie. Why would you dump a set of damp clothes in a neighbour’s garden?”

  38

  Ellie

  I do my best not to panic. I should have chucked them in Nathan’s bin. How was I to know that the police were already on their way?

  I take a breath. I could lie and say I have no idea how they got there, but what if the police car had a dashcam? The last thing I need is for them to catch me in a lie. This is all starting to look very bad for me. “Nothing dries in Nathan’s house. I was taking them back to my flat to put them in the tumble dryer. I got a fright when your officers pulled up. I must have dropped them.”

  “And why were you going back to your flat?”

  “To pick up some fresh clothes. To shower.”

  “To hide the murder weapon?”

  I snort as if that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, but inside it sets off a panic. Why didn’t I think of this? Whoever did this won’t just rely on me incriminating myself because I was drunk last night and told Steph I was going to her place. They’ll have done something else.

  I have got to get to my flat and search the place from top to bottom.

  “No, of course not. I’d have it now, wouldn’t I? You can search me if you want.” I stop talking. Did they ask me that to see my reaction to being falsely accused? I need to keep my interactions with them limited. I look Hobson in the eye. “I came here because your officers asked me to. I don’t think there’s anything I can say that will help you find who did this to her, but I feel bad about sending her those awful messages. I’m sure you can appreciate that this isn’t a good day for me. Can we move on to the questions about Steph so I can get out of here and go check on my father?”

  At first I think I’ve won; that I’ve put him in his place and he’s going to start asking me the questions he should be asking me.

  But then DC Stevens looks at him strangely and I realise I haven’t beaten him, he’s just so angry he can’t speak. His nostrils flare. “Your father? What do you care about your father?”

  I flush. I expected him to treat me unfairly, but I wasn’t expecting hostility like this. I turn to DC Stevens. “I came here to do what I can to help you find Steph’s killer. Not to be abused. I’m leaving.” I turn to Hobson before I can stop myself. I’m so angry I have no control over what I say anymore. “Perhaps you should look a little closer to home. Like your precious rugby team for a start.”

  “Excuse me?” Hobson’s voice is dangerously quiet, but he’s pushed me too far. I can’t stop myself.

  If he set out to push my buttons he’s succeeded in doing just that.

  I reach into my pocket and throw the photo of me on the table. “I found this in Nathan’s house. Someone is setting me up for this. I’d bet everything I own that it’s Mikey Grant. Nathan claimed he didn’t know me when we first met, but this picture is from ages ago. I wouldn’t expect you to believe me, though. I’m not your rugby mate.”

  I start to get up but freeze when I see the look on Hobson’s face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so angry.

  Well I’m angry too. I’m sick of people thinking they can treat me like shit and expecting me to take it.

  “You’re a bloo
dy sociopath,” he snarls.

  DC Stevens snaps her head around. “Sir.”

  “You didn’t see it, Linda. I’ve had enough. Just enough. It was bad enough that she wriggled out of it last time without this. The poor lad can’t even feed himself and you’re coming in here suggesting that he’s behind—”

  “Sir,” DC Stevens says again.

  He doesn’t even hear her. “Your father got you out of trouble last time, Ellie, but I doubt he’ll be so eager this time—not if what you told us about their relationship is true.”

  All of the warmth leaves my face. What does Dad have to do with what happened? “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t pretend.”

  “Sir, I think we should move back to the case at hand—”

  “You don’t know what it was like,” he says. “That poor lad. She ruined him. But there was nothing we could do. His mother said she’d go to the press and call it a miscarriage of justice if we pressed charges.”

  “Yeah,” I snap. “Because how could she? He put me in hospital and tried to claim he was the victim.”

  “He claimed nothing, Ellie.” He gets up and goes to the door. “Keep her here, I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. I want to tell her that they have no right to stop me from leaving if they aren’t arresting me, but I don’t. It could be a trick, but even so, I’m intrigued by what he’s saying.

  No-one’s ever actually come out and told me what I’m supposed to have done to Mikey that’s so bad and who could I ask? I only found out this week that Dad had heard the rumours too. The truth is I didn’t really want to know. His story must have been terrible if it turned all my friends against me—do I really need to hear the details of what I know is a lie?

  But that doesn’t explain DS Hobson’s reaction. It’s been nearly a year. Why would he even remember me, much less be angry? He’s a police officer—he must have seen some terrible things.

  DS Hobson storms back into the room and throws several folded sheets of paper on the table. “I know exactly what happened even if there’s nothing I can do about it.”