Chapters (49)
- Cover
- Table of Contents
- Also by Graham Hurley
- LIMELIGHT
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- AFTERWARDS
‘Yes, Ms Andressen.’ This from Bullivant. ‘When the time came to end it all. And that, of course, is where we get to the real nub of what happened. No one’s pretending for a moment that this wasn’t a deeply tragic situation. No one would deny that for a second. But the law’s the law and it’s our job to gather evidence when we think the law’s been flouted. Is this one of those occasions? We suspect it is. Might there be mitigating circumstances? Of course, but that’s not for us to judge. You might think that all of this serves no purpose, all our questions, the precise circumstances we’re trying to establish, but you’d be wrong. The reason we’re here, the purpose served by your arrest, is to try and tease out the truth. And once we’ve done that, it will be for you to have your say in front of a jury.’
This is like being back at school, I think, listening to one of those kindly lectures from the teacher who’s about to make your life a misery. I so want to have my say here and now. I so want to explain to these people just how wrong they are, but the fact that I can’t just makes me feel even more helpless.
I reach for Tony’s hand, shake my head, fight the tears. Not of pain but of frustration. Tony, bless him, asks for a brief recess, a private moment or two, and after an exchange of glances my tormentors agree to leave us in peace.
‘Ten minutes.’ Bullivant is at the door. ‘I’ll arrange for coffee to be sent in.’
Coffee is the last thing I need. Tony Morse is being stern, telling me to get a grip, telling me simply to obey orders for once in my life, but I barely hear him. Nothing computes any more. Not the setting, the airlessness of this hideous room; not the memory of the faces at Evelyn’s front door pre-dawn this morning; not even the knowledge that two grown-ups who should know better seem to believe I’m capable of murder. Just how do I draw this nightmare to a close? And what does this surreal script have in store when the curtain rises for the next act?
It gets worse. Bullivant and Leadbetter return. Leadbetter has the coffees, which she seems to regard as a peace offering, but I ignore them. Bullivant starts the recording machine again and announces the resumption of the interview. With a voice as flat and colourless as his, he’ll never make it as a DJ, but I expect he knows that already. In any event, he has a new word to table.
‘Fentanyl?’ he asks. This appears to be a question.
‘No comment.’