After a quick meal for Poppy, and a microwave dinner-for-one for me, I put Poppy to bed and go back downstairs to continue tidying the kitchen. I managed the lounge and hallway within half an hour of getting home; the utility and the rest of upstairs are next on the list. As I slide paperwork back into the drawer set aside for utility bills and other important post, I realise some bank statements are missing. We have a joint account, but Tom also has another separate one. He’s always had it, and although I closed mine when we married, we kept his to use for emergencies. As far as I am aware, the last time it was used was when I bought the kiln for Poppy’s Place, as I’d run out of money thanks to some unexpected rewiring. I don’t see how recent statements, which probably don’t even show any transactions, would be of any help to the police for something that happened eight years ago.
A knocking at the door jolts me out of my thoughts.
Chapter 18
BETH
Now
Maxwell is sitting opposite me, elbows resting on the kitchen table, his large, amber-coloured eyes trained on mine. My hands are gripped together in front of me, my fingers turning red as I squeeze them while I wait for him to ‘bring me up to speed’.
‘The police have been granted an extension, I’m afraid, Beth. I warned you this might be the case, and of course I fought against it, but after the search warrant, I was expecting it.’
‘I don’t understand, Maxwell.’ I shake my head, then lower my chin into my cupped hands. He’s not giving me the full picture, I know it. What isn’t he telling me? ‘I thought after tonight, they’d release him, and he’d be back home.’
‘Yes, I know, I’m sorry.’ He looks weary; it’s been a long day for him too, no doubt. ‘It’s not ideal. It’ll be reviewed in the morning then, if they want it, a further extension for the full ninety-six hours will have to be sought from the magistrate. Anyway, DI Manning and DC Cooper will want to question you, Beth. So you should be prepared.’ He’s using a gentle voice – no doubt reserved for distressed relatives and distraught spouses. People like me.
My mouth dries and my tongue sticks to its roof. I take a sip from my glass of water. I’ve made Maxwell a coffee, but I couldn’t face one myself. Even though the caffeine hit might be welcome after this impossibly long day, it would mean I’d be awake all night. ‘Right,’ I say, recovering from the initial bad news. ‘That’s fine. Although, I’m not sure what they think I can add. Surely he’s given them everything?’
‘They’ll ask what you know about Katie Williams: things Tom has told you.’ Maxwell sweeps over my question and I wonder just what Tom has told them. ‘They’ll also want to get a feel for what Tom is like as a person. Answer their questions with as little detail as possible.’
‘As little? Why? Wouldn’t it be better to be as detailed as I can be?’
‘No. The more info you give them, the more rope they’ll have to hang him.’
I sit back hard against my chair, my mouth slack.
‘Oh, sorry,’ he says quickly. ‘Poor choice of words. You know what I mean. Just give them yes and no answers where possible and keep any description succinct. If you waffle on, it’s more likely you’ll say something that could possibly incriminate him.’
‘Really? Like what? I don’t get this, Maxwell. If he’s innocent, nothing I say will land him in it.’
‘That’s not necessarily true. They believe Tom is involved in Katie’s disappearance – and suspected murder – so the things you thought were inconsequential will suddenly be looked at under a microscope. In retrospect, something unimportant can look like the most significant fact. It all depends on the angle the investigating team want to put on it. Do you understand?’
‘I suppose,’ I say, not really understanding at all.
‘Think of this. In a recent criminal case a couple were suspected of killing their baby, which they both strenuously denied. They said they’d found him in his cot in the morning and were unable to rouse him. During the police interview, the mother talked and talked, and in trying to give a full account, she said too much. Things she thought were usual actions, like the fact she regularly gave the baby Calpol for teething pain. The detectives – and later the newspapers and social media – started to suspect she’d overdosed him. She was accused of accidentally killing her baby and trying to cover it up.’ He pauses for breath. ‘You see? She gave a long-winded story, believing she was being helpful, and that’s what happened. Something entirely innocent on its own was taken apart by police. They made her statement fit the angle they wanted to take – that she was guilty of manslaughter. In your case, it could mean Tom being charged with murder. Don’t elaborate, Beth. Answer with brevity and clarity. It’s easier to remember what you’ve said, too.’
I shoot him a confused look. ‘You’re making it sound like I’d be lying.’
‘I’m not implying that,’ he shakes his head. ‘But you have to be careful. If you want Tom out and back at home with you and Poppy after their time is up, you need to think about what you’re telling the police.’
‘Do you believe Tom had something to do with it, Maxwell? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?’
‘Of course not. Although it’s not my job to believe
