‘No. No, it’s not true.’

‘I don’t know what kind of person could do that, press a pillow over the face of a little kiddie. Lie about it in cold blood.’

‘But I didn’t! I never hurt Madison!’ My voice was rising. Someone would hear, surely. But the sergeant was just outside, and letting this happen.

‘And now there’s another kiddie motherless. Because you cut his mum’s throat.’

‘I didn’t! God, what is this?’

She stepped back. ‘Seems you’ve got yet another chance. Like a cat, you are. Nine lives. But they’ll run out sooner or later, you’ll see.’

I didn’t understand. ‘I’m not being charged?’

‘It seems not. I pushed for it but – well. No one wants to take the fall for putting you through yet another wrongful charge. Assuming they aren’t both entirely justified, of course.’

‘But . . . the knife . . .’

She sighed. ‘Not Anna Devine’s blood. Not even human, it seems.’

What the hell? ‘What do you mean? Please tell me.’

‘Chicken, they think. It’s funny, isn’t it? You keep sliding free every time. Just know this, Casey – if there’s anything else to find, I will find it. And I won’t stop till you’re behind bars, where you belong.’

I was stunned. Both by this conversation, and the fact they were apparently letting me go again. How could it be chicken blood? Anna had kept chickens, of course. But how had the blood got on my knife, and my knife into the woods? I just didn’t understand.

DS Hope straightened her suit and pushed the door wide. Her tone changed. ‘You’re being let go for now, Rachel. The sergeant will read you the list of bail conditions. Any breach of those, any attempt to interfere with witnesses, you’ll be straight back into custody before you can draw breath.’ As she stalked out, behind her harsh words I heard something else – I had one more chance to work out what was going on. But only one.

Casey

Casey

JANUARY 2004

Despite Rhonda’s fatalism, I was determined something must be done to help her. I badgered the guards, who stonewalled me, or, when really pushed, threatened to stop my own lawyer visits. I wrote to the Innocence Project people, who diplomatically told me they only dealt with cases of alleged miscarriage of justice. I reached out to charities for postnatal depression, thinking there might be some support available. Surely Rhonda had not been in her right mind when she did it. The Rhonda I knew was kind and intelligent. To have drowned her three children, and attempted to die with them, that was the sign of serious derangement. I do believe that, in another time and place, in a less racist country, Rhonda might never have gone to prison. A secure hospital, maybe, to help her. She needed help, and instead they were going to kill her.