The police hadn’t brought her meds along. They had been left at the house, which was a blow, because in times of severe stress, she relied on them. Without them she knew from experience that her anxiety would escalate. The panic attacks would start—the warning signs were already there and she knew she could expect one soon.
She had no idea how long she’d be kept prisoner here or what the next step was. She guessed it would be a court appearance. By tomorrow, she’d be in pieces—anxiety played havoc with her memory. There would be no way she’d be coherent on the witness stand and she might well end up giving a different version of events and contradicting what she’d said today. Her own confusion would seal her fate.
Perhaps it would be better to confess. To flesh out the scene she’d so powerfully imagined about pouring the poison carefully into the wine glass, and stirring it slowly so that no trace of the residue remained.
They’d believe her in an instant if she told them that. There would be no doubting or second-guessing her story. After all, there was nobody to contradict her version, so perhaps she had.
Tears stung her eyes as she thought about the bad choices that had landed her here.
Then a rattle at the door startled her out of her despair.
She looked up, hoping it would be the friendly constable from the front desk, because maybe there was a way she could fetch Cassie her meds from the house—if she pleaded that they were prescribed medication, it might be possible.
Her heart plummeted as she saw it wasn’t the constable.
It was Parker, and he looked livid. His jaw was clenched and she could see a vein pulsing in his forehead.
He spoke, and it was clearly an effort for him to keep a normal tone of voice.
“Come with me,” he snapped.
Cassie wanted to ask why, but was sure he wouldn’t tell her. What could it be? Only more trouble for her, that she was sure of. Perhaps her court date was today and they were going to take her there in a van. If so she should probably ask to use the toilet first, but she couldn’t bear to do that in front of Parker because what if he didn’t look away?
Her legs felt wobbly, and when his hand clamped around her arm she was grateful for the support.
She did her best to keep pace as he marched along.
When Cassie reached the front desk she nearly fell over from shock.
Trish was there.
She was busy signing a sheaf of official-looking forms, and barely looked up when Cassie walked in.
The friendly constable gave her a sympathetic smile but Cassie was too nervous to acknowledge it.
What was going on? Had Trish come up with more evidence that would convict Cassie immediately?
Bruton provided the answer.
“Ms. Vale, Mrs. Ellis has kindly offered you bail. We have decided to allow it, subject to certain terms. We are permitting bail because at this point, we do not have sufficient evidence for a conviction. However, we are continuing our investigation, and if or when additional evidence comes to light, you may be rearrested. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”
She nodded, although her head was spinning and she was starting to wonder if this might be a realistic dream that her anxious mind was conjuring up.
Dream or no dream, Cassie was certain that Parker had opposed the decision, but been overridden by the more senior detective. That would explain his angry demeanor.
Bruton continued. “You must remain at the Ellis family’s premises. You are not to leave the premises unless accompanied at all times by at least one adult, and even when in the company of an adult, you are not allowed to leave the village. You will cooperate with further questioning at all times. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, realizing her voice was so faint it was almost soundless.
“You will be required to check into the police station every Friday, between the hours of four and five p.m. Starting from this Friday.”
“I will,” she said.
“And we are holding your passport,” he concluded.
Parker stepped forward.
“Ms. Vale, breaking any of the bail conditions will be immediate grounds for your rearrest.”
“I understand,” she whispered.
Her hands were shaking so badly that she could hardly sign in the places where Parker was indicating.
Trish squeezed her shoulder.
“It will be all right,” she said.
Cassie looked up, astounded by the unexpected kindness.
“I’ve parked round the back. Can we leave now, Officers? I’ve a lot to get done today.”
“Certainly, ma’am,” Bruton said.
Cassie walked with Trish, but as she rounded the corner, in her nervousness, she dropped her jacket and fumbled to pick it up.
Behind her she heard a heated conversation at the front desk.
“She’s a flight risk!” Parker was almost shouting.
“We have her passport. There was no reason to deny bail,” Bruton said, in a more level voice.
Then the desk constable spoke in impassioned tones.
“Parker, please. If you find she’s innocent, promise me one thing. Promise that you’ll try as hard to help her as you’re trying to go after her now.”
Cassie didn’t hear any more. She hurried after Trish and out the door into the cold, fresh air.
She climbed into the car feeling numb with shock, and decided her best course of action was to keep quiet, because she didn’t know what she would babble out if she started to speak. Why was Trish helping her? Was Trish even helping her, or did she plan to get her revenge and then dispose of Cassie in some untraceable way?
Cassie’s mind was spinning as she considered the possibilities.
“I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” Trish said as they drove away.
She glanced at Cassie as if expecting a response, but she had no idea what to say. Trish sounded normal, just the same as she always
