“Did you see who it was?”
“I don’t know what I thought. Andy said it was Stuart, I realized he was right.”
“Just to be clear, you knew Stuart Rees?”
“Yes, he’s my neighbor now.” She stopped. “I suppose I should say he was my neighbor. And years ago, he was one of my teachers.”
“So you knew him well?”
“What can I say? He was a teacher.”
“Were you on good terms?”
“We weren’t on bad terms. I didn’t really see him much, though, just to say hello.”
“What happened next?”
“We went back inside. Andy called nine-nine-nine. We waited. The ambulance arrived and the police and it all started. You know the rest.”
Mora Piozzi closed her laptop.
“So you see, it makes no sense,” Tabitha continued urgently. “Why would I have sent Andy outside to look at the planks if I’d just killed someone out there and left the body for him to trip over? Why would I kill Stuart anyway? It’s just crazy. You see that, don’t you?”
The solicitor glanced at her watch. “We’ve made a good start. I’ll be back quite soon, by which time I hope to have a more detailed knowledge of the prosecution’s case against you.”
Tabitha nodded.
“In the next few days you’ll have a medical assessment.”
“Why? I’m not ill. I might be small but I’m strong. It’s that swimming.” Her voice jarred. She tried to smile. She was cold and shaky and she didn’t want to go back to the central hall, where everyone watched her and shouts echoed, or to her cell, where she was trapped with herself. The day ahead seemed endless, but the day led to the night and that was even worse.
“It’s just part of the process. And I want you to write down everything you can remember that you think might be useful.”
“What kind of things?”
“Timings. People you saw or talked to. Give me a list of the people in the village you’re friendly with.”
“I only moved there a few weeks ago.”
“You should tell me anything you think might be helpful to your case, or relevant. I would much rather hear things from you than from the prosecution.”
Tabitha nodded.
“Make sure you arrange visitors. Family. Friends. Have you any of your things here?”
“No.”
“Get someone to bring them. Keep yourself occupied. Keep healthy.”
“And you’ll get me out of here? Won’t you?”
“That’s my job,” said Mora Piozzi. “I’ll do it as best I can.”
Tabitha watched her leave, the door opening and then shutting. She imagined her going through a series of doors, each one locked behind her, until at last she reached the exit and stepped out in the world, breathing in the fresh air, free.
Three
Tabitha couldn’t remember the last time she’d queued to use a public phone. Okeham had an old red telephone box but it didn’t have a phone in it. It was used to store secondhand books for people to borrow. Now she was standing third in the queue waiting for the burly woman at the front to finish an argument with what sounded like a feckless husband or boyfriend on the other end of the line.
Tabitha kept looking around nervously. It was nearly lunchtime. She’d heard that a warden might come and send them away at any time. She’d been told by the warden with the grim face, whose name, she’d discovered, was Mary Guy, that she needed to fill out a form and that each telephone number had to be recorded in advance and approved. She didn’t know anybody’s number, apart from her own. Her numbers were in her phone. How could she be expected to know them by heart? She asked Mary Guy if there was any way she could get access to her phone, just to get the numbers. That got a laugh.
She had no parents to phone. No other close relatives. She tried to think of friends, contacts, but she had been abroad for several years and lost touch with people. They had moved, drifted away. She had one number. The solicitor, Mora Piozzi. That was a start. But was there anyone else? She went through the people she knew in the village. Stuart’s wife, Laura. That wouldn’t be appropriate. It probably wouldn’t be legal. There was Andy. She could get his number from Mora. Who in the village did she actually talk to? There was Terry, the woman who ran the village shop. They used to chat a bit when she bought a carton of milk. But they weren’t exactly friends.
Then she had a thought: Shona Fry. Shona had been at school with Tabitha and had stayed on in the village after everyone else had left. Tabitha didn’t know Shona’s mobile number but she did know her landline number because it was a mirror version of her own: 525607.
When she got to the front of the queue, there was just five minutes before lunch.
“Tabitha! They told me you were going to call,” said Shona, who sounded breathless with excitement.
“I know.”
“They asked if it was all right. They wanted my permission, which is a bit odd, isn’t it? Obviously I said yes. You must know that because—”
“I’m sorry,” said Tabitha, interrupting. “I’ve got almost no money for the call and almost no time. I need to ask you a couple of favors.”
“Yes, of course. Anything at all.”
“First, can you come to visit me?”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely,” said Shona. “Yes, fine. I mean, of course I will, sure . . .” She didn’t seem to know how to end the sentence, so Tabitha cut her off.
“That’s brilliant. Could you bring some things for me?”
“Yes, yes. I suppose there are rules.”
“I need clothes.”
“I thought people in prison had a prison uniform.”
“No.”
“Right.
