In the back of my head as I walked into my cell, a voice laughed that Vince and I had the same taste in music.
I said some rude things to that voice.
Sisterly Love
I genuinely didn’t expect to fall asleep. The rigid, hard shelf that formed a bed was the only thing to sit on. It was far from comfortable, but I guess my eyes got heavy because the sound of the cell door opening woke me.
Looking in was an emotionless police constable in his forties. He had a thick beard with a few specs of white invading the dark brown and glasses that seemed to have been colour matched to his hair. Using two fingers, he motioned for me to leave the cell and then walk ahead of him. I got mostly single word commands telling me to, ‘Wait,’ or, ‘Turn right,’ until I found myself out of the cell area.
The constable said, ‘Stop.’ He had led me to a door marked Interview Room 2. Butterflies erupted in my stomach. I hadn’t been here long, just over an hour according to the clock on the wall, but wasn’t I supposed to be given a phone call and see a lawyer before I had to speak with anyone?
The bearded, bespectacled constable knocked on the interview room door, got an invitation to enter, and pushed it open.
Chief Inspector Quinn was inside. ‘Please, come in, Mrs Philips,’ he beckoned. ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea? I understand from Mr Slater that we arrived before you got a chance to eat your dinner Can I have someone bring you a sandwich?’
It felt like a trap, but my stomach rumbled audibly again which made it seem churlish to refuse. ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector. Tea and a sandwich would be most welcome.’
The constable at the door got a nod and closed the door, departing to fetch my snack and drink, I hoped.
Since Quinn was acting friendly, I chose to broach the subject of my arrest.
‘You don’t really think I had anything to do with whatever happened to John Ramsey, surely?’
He shuffled some paperwork on the desk to his front, refusing to make eye contact. ‘Take a seat, please, Mrs Philips.’
I did, staring at his head until he looked up and met my eyes.
‘Well? Do you?’ I wanted to know. ‘Because the idea is ludicrous.’
Sitting by his side was a sergeant. Tall, clean-shaven like Quinn but with ginger hair, he spoke next, talking to a computerised recording device to announce the interview and those present.
When his sergeant stopped talking, Quinn asked, ‘Is it ludicrous, Mrs Philips? You admitted to having a long history of ill-feeling toward John Ramsey. You went out of your way to ensure he was trapped at the Bleakwith residence earlier today and this evening you tracked him to his place of work and can be seen tampering with his car.’
‘I wasn’t tampering with it!’ I felt shocked at the repeated claim. ‘I was … I wanted to confirm it was his car. I was meeting Vince for dinner at The Wild Oak. You can check our reservation.’
‘I already did,’ the chief inspector replied. ‘You do realise that suggests this was premeditated?’
‘What!’ Each time he spoke, it was like another slap to the face. ‘I saw John’s car and was surprised. I thought you would have him in custody still and I wanted to check it was his car,’ I was getting flustered and repeating myself. ‘And then I saw something on his passenger seat and …’
‘Yes,’ Chief Inspector Quinn encouraged.
‘Well.’ I knew I was opening a trap door with what I was going to say next. ‘It looked like it might be a clue.’
The sergeant sniggered. A small laugh escaping his lips. The chief inspector didn’t laugh.
‘A clue,’ he repeated. ‘To what exactly, Mrs Philips?’
Okay he had me there. ‘To whatever is going on,’ I hazarded, not even managing to convince myself. ‘Look, I don’t know what is happening, but when Vince and I were inside Orion Printing, we overheard someone talking about erasing evidence. If John Ramsey pushed Derek Bleakwith over his balcony, why did he do it? Something is going on and I think you should be trying to find out what it is, not hassling me. If you hadn’t let him go, I wouldn’t have seen John Ramsey’s car and we wouldn’t be sitting here now.’
The chief inspector let me finish, steadfastly allowing me to run my idiot mouth which should have been clamped shut, I suddenly realised. Why hadn’t I demanded to have a lawyer present? Why had I spoken at all? I bet myself Patricia Fisher wouldn’t have said a word.
Leaning forward in his chair to get his face closer to mine, Chief Inspector Quinn said, ‘So you admit to breaking and entering the premises of Orion Printing?’
My cheeks flushed bright red. ‘I want to speak to my lawyer.’
‘Do you have a lawyer?’ Quinn asked.
‘Um. I can get one,’ I tried to sound confident but didn’t think I achieved the level I was aiming for.
‘Your rights were read to you at the time of your arrest, Mrs Philips,’ he stated calmly. ‘Would you like to make a phone call?’
I am such an amateur. Blabbing on and on, telling the chief inspector everything he wanted to know instead of using my head. Now I was probably in deeper than I had been when they first arrested me.
Who on Earth did I call though? Escorted from the interview, which was terminated pending my return with legal representation later, I found myself jittery with nerves. I needed someone to swoop in to save me from this mess.
It was the monosyllabic bearded constable who came back to get me.
