*
The custody centre has white walls and a cheap blue carpet. Inside, I’m led into a small room where they take my fingerprints and a DNA swab. Forcing myself to stay calm, I tell myself it’s only a matter of time before they realise their mistake. Her eyes avoiding mine, PC Page waits with me, while the custody sergeant completes the necessary paperwork, then I’m asked to hand over my personal belongings. When they ask me for my phone, suddenly I realise I haven’t brought it with me. ‘I need to call someone – a lawyer.’
PC Page nods. ‘As soon as we’ve finished the paperwork.’
‘This is so fucking ridiculous.’ I know I’m not helping myself, but a cocktail of anger and helplessness fuels me as I imagine the police in my home, going through my things, even picking up my phone, scrolling through my calls, putting their own interpretation on my personal messages. As a suspect, even though I’m innocent, I have no privacy. ‘I haven’t done anything. I shouldn’t be here.’
‘I understand you’re upset.’ As PC Page speaks, for a moment, I look for a hint of compassion. But there is none. ‘Do you have someone in mind?’
It’s the million-dollar question. I’ve never needed a lawyer before. Shaking my head, I shrug. ‘I don’t know anyone.’
‘We can arrange a solicitor if you need us to.’ PC Page’s voice is matter of fact. ‘This quite often happens.’
Nausea sweeps over me, as I hear myself casually referred to as similar to any other suspect. ‘I need a glass of water.’
For the first time I notice another uniformed PC near the door, as PC Page glances towards him. ‘Could you fetch a glass of water?’
I’d thought about calling Dominic, but as I think of Jess, I know he isn’t the right person to tell her. ‘If I’m allowed to make a call, I need to speak to my daughter. She should hear what’s happening from me.’
PC Page nods, passing me a phone. Taking it, I start dialling Jess’s number with shaking hands, then changing my mind, I call Cath.
*
An hour later, apart from the CCTV camera monitoring the cell I’m being held in, I’m alone. Calling Cath was the right thing to do. When I spoke to her, after she got over the initial shock, she took charge, immediately offering to drive down to Falmouth to see Jess. In Bristol, she’s closer to Jess than Dominic is. She’ll also be more supportive. I’d imagined Jess’s reaction if I called her, the shock that she wouldn’t have been able to hide from her fellow students – for all I knew, she might have been in the middle of a lecture. I don’t want her painted as the daughter of a suspected criminal, especially when I’m completely innocent.
Knowing Cath will make sure no-one overhears, that she’ll protect Jess, is some comfort. On the narrow bed, I wrap my arms tightly around myself, thankful that she is on her way to Jess. At last away from everyone, tears scald my face, as the indignity and injustice of what’s happening to me close in.
Only now that it’s been taken away do I appreciate the basic liberty that freedom is. As my tears subside, an urgency grips me; to demand to be heard. To be told how long I’m being held here. But then a cold, logical part of me takes hold. The police clearly have enough evidence to convince them I’m a suspect. I have to stay in control, keep my wits about me, in order for them to realise that I’m not.
Sitting in the cell, I scrutinise everything I know about Matt, trying to imagine what someone might have told the police. Maybe something Lara said; what evidence may have been planted, as I take in the unfamiliar sounds around me. Briefly raised voices, the opening and closing of doors, footsteps coming closer, but not close enough, knowing twenty-four hours of this could lie ahead of me, though unless they find evidence that proves my innocence, it could be longer.
If you’re suspected of a serious crime, you can be held for up to ninety-six hours. The thought of ninety-six hours feels interminable, as words keep repeating in my head. Serious crime. Matt. Matt’s disappearance.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alone, I lose all sense of how much time passes before I’m escorted to the interview room. As I sit at the small table, I imagine those who’ve sat here before, echoes of their fear, desperation and anger rebounding off the dingy walls. They’re tangible, seeping into my skin, then into my blood, tainting me with their crimes; unwanted, when I’m innocent.
Consciously, I steel myself as the solicitor appointed to me, Andrew Nelson, sits down. Short-haired and clean shaven, he wears a middle of the road suit and polished shoes. Catching sight of the time on his expensive watch, I’m shocked to see only two hours have passed.
Across the table from me, PC Page sits beside DI Lacey. ‘Amy, I’d like you to tell us what you did the day that Matt disappeared.’ There is no trace of her former friendliness. Instead her voice is matter of fact, her blank eyes those of a stranger.
‘I drove to Brighton to deliver some orders. Then on my way back to my car, this old woman called after me.’ I stop suddenly, frowning. ‘I told you about her. I think she was some kind of a clairvoyant – at least, that was what she wanted me to think. She told me that Matt wasn’t who I thought he was. Then she told me I was in danger. I dismissed it at the time.’ But however implausible it sounds, she was right – about absolutely everything.
‘Ms Reid, could you start again from the beginning, and take us through exactly what you did when?’ DI
