My yes to Bella Bliss’s visit came from a place of loneliness, and was perhaps also a reaction to my mother recently dropping by. Bella’s currently doing research for her dissertation, which is about works of fiction with a female protagonist who is a murderer. Her letter, like Theo’s, didn’t read as if it’d been written by a mad person, and so in a moment of my own madness, I agreed. The only visitor I get is my husband, and my mother’s was the disaster I’d known it would be. My old housemates from university have been to see me once too. I appreciated their effort but told them not to come again. I can’t bear their pity, or their horror.
The custody officer knocks on my cell door, unlocks it and enters.
‘Change of plan,’ he says. ‘Bella Bliss is here, but there’s also a detective waiting to speak to you.’
‘A detective?’
‘DI Alison Greenwood. She’ll be seeing you in the room where you meet with Don.’
I want to ask if I have any say in who’s allowed to interview me, but think better of it and don’t even bother asking what this is about.
So instead of walking immediately to the visits hall to meet Bella Bliss, we take a detour to Don’s therapy room.
A woman is standing by the small window. DI Alison Greenwood is tall; her hair is short and straight, strawberry blonde, a perfect bob that oozes efficiency. She gives me a wide smile, and despite the impromptu arrangement, I like her immediately. She has an honest face.
‘Mrs Marlowe. Thank you for agreeing to see me. It’s good to meet you.’
I don’t mention that I had no choice in coming here; she’ll know that anyway. ‘It’s nice to meet you too, DI Greenwood.’
She pulls a notebook from her pocket, takes off her coat, hangs it over a chair and sits down, indicating I should do the same.
‘This is all pretty informal, Mrs Marlowe—’
‘Call me Rose.’
She nods. ‘I followed your case and hearing with interest.’ She pauses. ‘I’ll be direct. It’s come to my attention that you were in a relationship with Abe Duncan’s father, Daniel Deane, during the early 1990s.’ She finds my eyes. ‘This did not come out at your hearing.’
My fingers find the edge of a thumbnail and I start picking and pulling. Alison Greenwood flinches as a bead of blood leaks from my cuticle.
‘It was irrelevant.’
‘I don’t think it was.’
‘Why are you here, DI Greenwood?’
‘I’m here to try and understand more about the Mount Clinic, a private establishment in Nottingham that Daniel Deane was heavily involved with during the 1990s, at the same time as he was the manager of Bluefields private hospital. Any information you might have about the Mount Clinic and Daniel Deane…’ she pauses, and an expression of real distress appears on her face, ‘during the period of your relationship would be very helpful.’
She sits back in her chair, more comfortable now she’s got all that out. She tugs at her brown fitted skirt; she doesn’t look like a woman who would wear a skirt. Perhaps it’s her rebellion in the male-dominated world of the police.
‘I’ve never heard of the Mount Clinic.’ I study her well-structured features. ‘I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you. I really don’t.’
Alison Greenwood attempts to muffle an exasperated sigh. ‘I’ve tried to locate the records and notes made during your admission to Bluefields Hospital in January 1992. It’s something you should have shared with the judge at your hearing. At the very least with your barrister.’ She takes a breath. ‘It would perhaps have had an effect on the severity of your sentence.’
I dip my head. ‘My records have gone, I’m guessing?’
‘They have, though it appears many records have disappeared from that period, not just yours. You were a medical student at the time; did you ask to see them?’
‘I did. They were in order.’
She clears her throat. ‘Did you have any reservations about your experience at Bluefields, before, during or afterwards?’
‘No. Of course I didn’t.’
This isn’t strictly true, because towards the end I did have concerns, although not about the hospital.
‘There is nothing I can tell you, Detective,’ I finish.
She closes her notebook and smooths a hand through her tidy hair. ‘You took the life of a completely innocent man, Rose. Why?’
She’s looking at me intently now, and I try to erect a mental barrier between us. I’m glad it wasn’t Alison Greenwood who led my case, because the woman sitting in front of me has an intuition the detective who did lead it lacked. I think of the Deanes, and a cold sweat breaks out over my entire body. It’s too hot in this room.
She carries on. ‘You’d never seen Abe’s mother – Daniel Deane’s wife – before you met her at Queen’s Hospital, where she was visiting her son. Is that right?’
Automatically my hand moves to my stomach. The hollow pain is still there.
‘No, I hadn’t met her before.’
She scrapes back her chair and stands.
‘In the time you spent with Daniel Deane, did you meet any of his acquaintances, anyone we might contact in connection with our investigation?’
I think of the people I met more than twenty years ago, but I can’t give their names to Alison Greenwood. It will open everything up again, within me and around me. I think of my husband. I say nothing.
After a beat of silence, I stand up myself. ‘No, I don’t remember anyone.’ I watch her. She doesn’t believe me.
She walks to the door and opens it, but then turns. ‘Is there something you’d like to tell me, in confidence?’
‘No, but thank you for being kind.’
She nods and leaves, closing the door behind her. I hear the guard outside locking it, and then the detective’s heels
