We walk to the lift in silence, PC Page beside me, the younger officer slightly ahead, silence that’s maintained as the doors open and close. Even when we reach the ground floor and walk to the car, I don’t speak. Around me, the Brighton I walked through just minutes ago, where the future felt filled with hope, doesn’t exist any more. If I’d objected to their request, they would have arrested me in front of my colleagues. Of that, I’m in no doubt. That I’ve avoided it by the skin of my teeth is of little comfort.
At the police station, I’m led into a small interview room. The younger officer stays with me, while PC Page disappears for a few minutes. When she comes back, she nods towards him. ‘That’ll be all. The DI’s on his way. When he gets here, can you show him in?’
At the mention of the DI, my heart sinks further. ‘Can I ask what this is about?’
Her voice is short. ‘You’ll find out in a few minutes, Ms Rose.’
As she finishes speaking, the door opens and DI Lacey comes in. Looking directly at me, he pulls out a chair and sits down.
‘I still don’t know why you’ve brought me in, Detective Inspector.’
‘Before we go any further, we have one or two more questions about Mr Roche.’ He pauses. ‘From what we’ve learned, it looks as though he subjected Ms Reid to a form of emotional abuse known as gaslighting. Are you aware of what that is?’
I nod. ‘Yes. I’ve had clients who’ve been exposed to it.’
‘So you would recognise it if someone tried it on you? Even though it begins in ways so subtle they’re barely detectable?’
‘I think I would.’ When it comes to relationships, at the first sign of any sociopathic tendencies, I walk away. And usually I spot them a mile off. ‘But I take your point.’
‘You weren’t aware of Mr Roche behaving in this way towards you?’
I frown. ‘I don’t think so. I often felt he had the upper hand – but that was because of the situation. My understanding of emotional abuse is that for all kinds of reasons, some people are more susceptible than others.’
Until now there’s been a kind of mutual respect. But this time, as DI Lacey speaks, I know I have every reason to be very worried. ‘If you require a solicitor, Ms Rose, now might be that time.’
Suddenly I’m rigid, playing for time as he glances at PC Page. ‘We need to question you about the murder of Kimberley Preston. The matter of the herbal potion designed to make her fall out of love with her boyfriend. The boyfriend you wanted for yourself. Except at the last minute, you added a substance that killed her.’
It’s as though every last drop of blood has drained out of me, leaving me lightheaded. ‘I … I’d like to call Bill Merton.’ Even my voice sounds different. ‘I used to work for him. He’s a partner at Dentons – in their Cobham branch.’ Bill’s hardcore, used to defending serious criminals. Once upon a time, he and I had a brief dalliance, one I’ve no wish to resurrect, but right now, he’s my best hope.
Clearly his reputation precedes him. ‘You haven’t been arrested, Ms Rose.’ DI Lacey looks surprised.
Folding my arms, I stand my ground. ‘I have the right.’
‘I’ll see to it.’ Glancing at the DI, PC Page gets up and heads for the door, leaving me alone with him.
‘As I told Ms Reid, the truth always comes out.’ Speaking quietly, he sits back, his eyes resting on my face, as if waiting for me to speak.
I refuse to be drawn. Then I’m thinking of the anonymous letter again – how the police now have both Amy and me. Is this what the writer of the letter wanted? Staring back at DI Lacey, we’re adversaries, our accounts conflicting; suspended in the air between us, the truth.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Two hours pass before Bill arrives, the small room growing stuffier with each passing minute, DI Lacey long replaced by a junior officer. My eyes scan my surroundings, observe every mark on the wall, imagine the conversations that have taken place here. ‘Could I have a glass of water?’
When he goes out, I lean forward, resting my head in my hands. Amy’s cracked. How else could they know about the potion Kimberley took? But I know she’ll have told them her version of events, saying whatever it takes to save her own neck, not caring for a second what will happen to me.
A wave of rage floods over me as I think how her life has been. No-one’s ever disowned Amy, or washed their hands of her. Compared to what I’ve been through, she got off scot-free. If I’m not careful, it will happen again. I’m the only person who can make sure justice is served. Amy deserves to suffer.
When Bill eventually walks in, he looks fraught. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get here earlier. I got caught in terrible traffic. What’s going on?’
As he sits down, I start talking. ‘It’s unbelievable, Bill. It’s to do with something that happened twenty-three years ago. It’s a long story. I was at my friend’s grandmother’s house in the summer holidays, with her older sister. My friend’s name was Emily. She changed it to Amy subsequently, for reasons which become apparent.’ I go on, telling him what happened and how Emily and I played this prank which went horribly wrong. ‘We were kids, Bill. Emily was hopelessly jealous of her sister. Kimberley was beautiful and had everything Emily wanted – especially her boyfriend. We cooked up an idea to create a love potion, so that Kimberley’s boyfriend might fancy Emily. Childhood games. Her gran had all these bottles and a book of recipes – she dabbled as a herbalist. We cooked up something to make
