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Back False Witness
Chapters (100)
  1. Cover
  2. Title page
  3. Dedication page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
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  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
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  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. Acknowledgements
  97. DEAD GUILTY
  98. 1
  99. FALSE WITNESS
  100. Also by Michelle Davies

‘I’m sorry. Is there anyone else I can contact for you? Someone who can stay with you once we get you home?’

They were in the school’s Welfare Room, sitting on low, brightly upholstered chairs designed for small frames and legs shorter than theirs. Maggie’s back had stiffened in the hour they’d been sitting there but she wouldn’t move. She didn’t want to leave Imogen alone, not even for a minute.

‘I’m a good mum,’ said Imogen softly, as though she’d misheard Maggie. ‘We’ve been doing fine, just the two of us –’ She made a tiny choking sound and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut but still the tears spilled out.

Maggie moved across to sit next to her. With only a moment’s hesitation she put her arm around Imogen’s shoulders. You could never quite judge how someone might respond to physical contact and whether they would find it odd or inappropriate for a police officer to hug them, but Maggie’s instincts about Imogen were correct and she felt the woman involuntarily shudder as she relaxed against her, cleaving to the physical support as she continued to cry.

It was impossible not to be moved by the woman’s distress and it took every ounce of Maggie’s self-control, and a lot of blinking, to stop tears filling her own eyes. It wouldn’t help Imogen to see her mirroring her upset – what she needed from Maggie now was stoicism and a clear head to get things done. The poor woman was on the precipice of an indescribably painful process for which there was no definitive end. Her son was dead, he was never coming back, and there would be moments in the coming days, weeks and months when Imogen would barely be able to function, when even the simplest tasks like putting one foot in front of the other would be beyond her. She might even wish herself dead at times, asking herself what was the point of going on. Part of Maggie’s role as her FLO would be to ensure Imogen had support around her to pull her back from the brink should she ever reach that point.

Eventually the crying eased into sniffles. Then, with an exhausted sigh, Imogen sat forward.

‘There’s my mum to tell, but she should hear it from me,’ she said. Her voice was dull now, every inflection of emotion wrung from it. ‘And my brother. He lives in Somerset still. I’ll call him after I’ve spoken to her.’ Imogen cradled her face in her hands. ‘They’re going to be devastated. They love Benji as much as I do.’