“Wait.”
“Yes?”
“There must have been lots of people coming and going. They can’t have interviewed everyone.”
“Not on that day.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember? The village was blocked off. There was a big storm and a giant chestnut tree that had blight was torn up by its roots and fell across the road. There was no way out and no way in. Apparently it took most of the day to clear it.”
“I didn’t know.”
“But you were there, Tabitha, all day. You must have known.”
“I didn’t know,” Tabitha repeated. She felt like the last fragments of memory were flowing away like water through her fingers. “I don’t know if I knew.”
“The police have a list of everyone who was in Okeham on the twenty-first of December. They also have your statement saying that you were in your house most of the day. They have statements from other witnesses, but I haven’t seen them yet. All we have at the moment is a police summary. I’ll get the rest later, well before the first court appearance.”
“The trial, you mean?”
“No. On the seventh of February you will be officially charged. That’s where you plead. You know, guilty or not guilty.”
“Isn’t there a chance they’ll realize that this is all wrong and let me go?”
Mora Piozzi gave a smile that didn’t look like a smile. “Let’s not leap ahead. I want you to tell me what you remember about the twenty-first of December. Take your time.”
Tabitha nodded. She closed her eyes and then opened them again. What did she remember? It was like looking into a night full of snow, a dizzying half darkness, when even up and down seemed reversed and the ground tilted beneath her feet.
“I woke up early,” she began. “But I don’t think I got up at once. It was cold outside, a horrible day. I remember it was half snowing and then it was sleety, with a hard wind blowing. I started to make myself breakfast, then I realized I’d run out of milk so I just put a jacket on over my pajamas and went to the village shop. I bought a paper, I think.”
“What time was this?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t looking at the time. Then I went home.”
“Did you go out again?”
“I had a swim. I always have a swim.”
“How?”
“What?”
“Where’s the nearest swimming pool and how did you get there? Remember, the road was blocked after ten, so you would have to have gone and returned before then.” She spoke with a warning tone.
“In the sea.”
Piozzi’s eyebrows shot up. “You went swimming in the sea, in the middle of winter, on a day you describe as horrible.”
“I do it every day,” said Tabitha. “It’s a rule. My own rule. I have to.”
“Rather you than me. You have a wetsuit, though.”
“I like to feel the cold water on my skin. It almost hurts.” She saw Mora Piozzi purse her lips slightly, as if Tabitha had said something she didn’t like. “People in Okeham probably think I’m mad. Anyway, I swam that day.” She thought she could remember the bitter splash of waves on her body and the sharp, icy stones under her feet, but perhaps she was making that up. She swam every day. How was she meant to tell one from another?
“What time?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember. In the morning? I think it would have been the morning. That’s when I normally go.”
“Did you meet anyone?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t think. I go every day, so things blur together.”
“And after your swim?”
“I went back home.”
“Did you leave again?”
“I think I did, but I don’t know for sure anymore. People have asked me so many questions that I can’t tell things apart.”
“What did you do in your house?”
“Not much. I can’t really remember.”
“Did you speak to anyone on the phone?”
“No.”
“Or send any texts, or use your computer—you have a computer?”
Tabitha nodded. “I didn’t do any of that.”
“Did you send emails?”
“I don’t think so. I might have done some work.” She knew she hadn’t worked. It had been one of those terrible days when she simply had to survive.
“So you have no clear memory of what you did during that day?”
“No.”
“But you remember Andrew Kane coming round?”
“Andy, yes.”
“Tell me about that. Be careful, take your time.”
Tabitha wondered why she kept saying that: “Take your time.” Anyway, it didn’t matter. She had so much time.
“He knocked on the door. I was in the main room and I opened the door. Or maybe he opened it himself. It was already dark and very cold. I remember the icy wind rushing in. He was all wet. He was dripping onto the floor.”
“Were you expecting him?”
“No. But he often just comes round.” She saw the questioning look on Mora Piozzi’s face. “He’s helping me with the house. It was a wreck when I moved in, back in November, and we’re doing it up together. I pay him by the hour and he fits me in between other jobs. We were going to lay some floorboards the next day and he just wanted to check on everything.”
She stopped and took a deep breath. This was where her memory became clear, like a shaft of light in the gloom.
“He went outside to the shed where the planks were stacked and I heard him call out. I don’t know what he said, maybe it wasn’t even words. I went out to him, and he was sprawled on the ground inside the shed, on top of something.” She swallowed hard. Her throat was tight. “I bent to help him and I felt something wet and sticky, it was everywhere, and I pulled him to his feet and he kept saying, ‘Oh God, oh God,’ over and over. I think he was crying.”
Tabitha stopped but Piozzi didn’t speak, just waited, her eyes narrowed.
“It was dark. We couldn’t see anything really. Andy got his mobile out of his pocket but dropped it on the ground and had to
