‘Can anyone corroborate what you’ve told us?’ PC Page’s voice is sharp.
‘Only Allie.’ I pause. ‘But she won’t. She’s convinced herself that it was me who did it, to the point that she believes her own lie.’
‘What about the boyfriend? Maybe he saw something.’
Shaking my head, more tears roll down my cheeks. ‘He may have found out from my grandmother. They spent a lot of time together in the weeks after Kimberley died.’
DI Lacey glances at PC Page. ‘I think we need to find him and bring him in for questioning.’
‘Oh no …’ Wiping my tears away, I stare at them. ‘Oh, God. You don’t know, do you? After Kimberley died, Charlie killed himself.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘When did this happen?’ PC Page’s voice is sharp.
‘I’m not exactly sure.’ My memories are sharp, but not the timing. ‘But Charlie hung himself. In my gran’s garden … My garden. From the apple tree – it’s still there.’ I wasn’t there when it happened, but every day, when I look at the tree, it’s impossible not to think of him. ‘It happened about a couple of months after Kimberley died. He didn’t want to live without her.’
The DI is silent for a moment. ‘You’d have saved us all a lot of time if you’d been honest.’ Glancing at PC Page, he speaks under his breath. ‘We need to find Ms Rose and bring her in for further questioning. We may well have enough evidence to reopen the investigation into Kimberley Preston’s murder.’ He turns back to me. ‘We will get to the bottom of this, no matter how long it takes.’
‘So what happens now?’ I’m still clinging on to the most fragile of hopes. ‘I’ve been held for ninety-six hours. Surely I can leave?’ But my words fade. Knowing they think I’m involved in the death of my own sister, that whatever I say I can’t be trusted, the churning feeling in my stomach grows. It’s the look on their faces, in their eyes, telling me they think I’m the ultimate unreliable witness.
‘Apologies.’ The DI fidgets in his chair. ‘I got somewhat sidetracked. We were talking about your house. And actually, there is one more thing, Ms Reid.’ Under his scrutiny, I feel myself shrink. ‘When we found your notebook, there was a carrier bag buried in the ground next to it. Inside, were some of your clothes – an orange sweatshirt with a flower print on the front, a pair of faded jeans, patterned socks … We’ll need you to identify them, but I’m fairly sure they’re yours?’
As he describes the familiar clothes, I’m speechless.
‘All of them stained with blood, Ms Reid.’ Sitting back, he looks smug. ‘Obviously we’re testing it, but I imagine it’s of the same type we’ve found everywhere else. There was a wallet, too, containing bank cards in the name of Matthew Roche.’
Silent, I stare at him in disbelief as he goes on. ‘We’ve been making enquiries into local taxi companies near Beachy Head, to see if anyone picked up a woman and took her to Steyning that night. We spoke to a John Angel. Does that ring any bells?’ Seeing my frown, he goes on. ‘He remembered that night very well, as he received a call from a woman looking for a taxi from Beachy Head. It was in the early hours and he was about to turn in, but she sounded distraught. Being the good sort he is, he went to pick her up. When he got there, he said she was freezing cold and clearly upset. He couldn’t get out of her why – she didn’t want to talk. Once he got her into the taxi, she asked him to take her home. When he asked where that was, she said Steyning.’
As he pauses, I’m terrified of what’s coming next.
‘The woman was wearing a silver jacket.’
I gasp out loud. I’d looked for that jacket only recently, but it hadn’t been hanging where I usually left it, with my other jackets.
He goes on. ‘The only other item of note he could remember, was the orange sweatshirt she was wearing underneath. It had a flower print on it – he noticed as she got into his car. He gave us quite a clear description of her – in her late thirties, with fair hair. Most interestingly, he noticed her ring, because it was unusual. He said it reminded him of one his wife bought, in Morocco – dull gold, with a green stone. He saw it clearly while the lights were on inside the taxi when she came to pay him. When she’d called him initially, she’d given her name as Amy. He dropped her just off the High Street.’
In shock, I stare at him, trying to imagine a woman who looks like me, wearing my silver jacket, my orange sweatshirt that was later found buried in my garden, stained with blood. A woman who wasn’t me. ‘She may have looked like me, but I swear it wasn’t me. I’ve told you, so many times, I was at home.’ But as piece after piece of false evidence stacks up, I know I’m sinking. Going down for a crime I didn’t commit.
‘There’s also the fact that you and Fiona Rose claimed not to know each other, when the truth is, you go back a very long way, a fact both of you have avoided talking about.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Strange too, that both of you hook up with the same man.’
I look at him, utterly aghast. ‘That both of us know Matt was a coincidence. You have to believe that.’
‘It’s a little unlikely, even by your standards.’ The DI leans back in his chair. ‘You both had very
