‘The reason we’re here,’ I said, thinking that I really didn’t have a clue what it was, ‘is to update you on what’s happening with the inquiry, and let you know what’ll happen now that we’ve arrested someone.’
‘Who is the man who’s been charged?’ asked Mrs Fox.
I told her who he was and what his relationship was to their daughter, careful not to give away too many details. Pre-trial, police officers have got to watch what they say in case they blurt out anything that might prejudice a fair hearing for the suspect.
‘You think he’s the one, then?’ she said, when I’d finished.
‘Bastard,’ Fox added, with a violent snarl. Mrs Fox gave him a reproachful look, though she must have felt the same.
It was a good question. I was 50 per cent certain at best. Malik, from the conversation we’d had on the way down, was closer to 80 per cent. Like Knox, he couldn’t see any viable alternative, which made drawing conclusions easier for him.
It was Malik who answered. ‘We’re very sure it’s him, Mrs Fox. As sure as we can be. There’s substantial physical evidence linking him to the scene of the crime.’
‘Good. I don’t think I could stand an acquittal. Not on top of everything else.’
‘We can’t predict the future, Mrs Fox,’ I said, ‘or juries. We can only do our best. But I think the case is very strong.’
‘Bastard,’ said Fox again, still not looking at us. I think he meant Wells, but it was difficult to tell.
‘Mark Wells will spend a considerable part of the rest of his life in prison if he’s found guilty, Mr Fox,’ Malik told him. ‘And we’re going to do everything in our power to make sure that happens.’
‘It’s not enough. No prison sentence is good enough for him. Not after what he’s done.’
It was, I thought, amazing how socially liberal people like Labour councillors soon changed their tune on crime when it actually had an effect on them. At that moment, Fox looked to be only a couple of steps away from becoming a Charles-Bronson-type vigilante, although without the guns or the menace. Or, it seemed, the energy.
Mrs Fox looked across at her husband and gave him a brave smile. ‘Come on, Martin. We’ve got to stop trying to be so bitter. It doesn’t help.’
Fox didn’t say anything. I took a sip of my tea and decided to try to finish this interview as swiftly as possible. But before I could continue my spiel about how there was going to be a long wait for the trial and how we would keep in touch regularly in the meantime, Mrs Fox suddenly burst into tears.
Malik and I sat there respectfully. Fox continued to sit in exactly the same position he had been in for the previous ten minutes, staring at an ill-defined point somewhere in the middle distance. I thought he was being ignorant. I know he’d had an immense trauma, but sometimes you’ve just got to be strong.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘It’s just…’
I put on a stoic smile. ‘We understand. You’ve had a terrible loss. You’ve got to let it out.’
‘I know. That’s what the counsellors have been saying.’
‘Don’t worry about us,’ said Malik.
‘You know,’ she said, looking at both of us with an expression of disbelief, ‘it’s such an awful, awful waste. That’s the hardest part. When you think what she could have been. What she could have achieved if only she’d stayed here with us … people who loved her. Instead she ended up dying such a lonely and degrading death. Why?’ This was the second time that question had been asked this morning. ‘Why did she have to run away and leave us like she did?’
‘Leave it, Diane!’ snapped Fox, swinging round in his seat and fixing her with a rage-filled stare. Malik and I looked at him, surprised at the violence of his outburst, and his features relaxed a little. ‘Just leave it. There’s no point going over this again.’
But Mrs Fox clearly had matters to get off her chest. ‘Do you know, in the three years she’s been gone she never once tried to make contact with us? Not once. Not even a call to let us know she was all right. Nothing. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?’
‘We have evidence to suggest that Miriam was taking quite a lot of hard drugs,’ I said. ‘Sometimes that can take over a person’s life to such an extent that they lose track of what their priorities should be. Maybe that’s what it was like for her. It doesn’t mean she didn’t care. It’s just that the lure of the drugs may have been stronger.’
‘She could have called, Mr Milne. Just once. If not for our sake then for her sister’s. Chloe was only twelve years old when Miriam left. She could have contacted her.’
‘Leave it, Diane. Please.’
‘No, Martin. I’ve suffered as much as you. I should be allowed to say my piece.’ She turned to us again. ‘I miss Miriam terribly. I have done since the day she walked out of this door. I loved her more than anything I can describe, but that doesn’t detract from the fact that what she did was unforgivable. To put us all, the whole family, through three years of living hell. That was … it was so selfish. I loved Miriam, I really did. But she was not a nice person. I’m sorry to have to say it, I really am, but it’s true. It is, Martin. It’s true. She was not a nice person.’
‘Shut up! Just shut up!’ His voice reverberated around the room, the slack, hollow face now fiery red with emotion.
‘Calm down, Mr Fox,’ I said firmly.
