Chapters (66)
I’ve just caught my solicitor playing Candy Crush on his mobile phone out of the corner of my eye. I’m going to prison for sure. At least I’m not hungry. They delivered a microwave bolognaise pasta dinner, still in its beige tray fifteen minutes ago. It was lukewarm and I’m sure it contained as much meat as a tofu salad. I’m not one to complain though. I’ve been a waitress; I’ve seen what happens when food is sent back to the kitchen. I had counted one hundred laps of my cell when Jamie brought it in. I had no idea it was even dinner time.
He seems nice, a friendly face, a bit of blond bumfluff on his chin. He’s younger than me I think, early twenties. But he doesn’t speak, just smiles. He must be part of the custodial officers, perhaps a junior? Tasked with moving people around, delivering food and the like. Making sure none of us are tempted to escape.
The door opens, and Becker comes into the room, followed by Hicks, who won’t meet my gaze. Will he interview me? He should be reprimanded for his interrogation methods. I can’t understand what he’s so angry about. I’ve done the world a favour. It’s a safer place now. He’s the one that’s supposed to catch the criminals. He looks like he couldn’t even catch a cold.
‘Eve, we wanted to give you one last opportunity to tell us anything you may have overlooked from last night,’ Becker says, once she has set the recorder. She doesn’t look quite so immaculate now. Her hair is starting to frizz out of the bun, the hairspray no longer holding, and there’s a coffee stain on the cuff of her blue shirt. I bet they can’t wait to get me out of here.
‘I’ve told you everything.’
‘We’ve had some more information come in and that’s not quite true is it.’ Hicks speaks this time. It isn’t a question.
I remain silent. My solicitor gives me a sideways glance. Perhaps this is the time to start exercising my right not to speak?
‘This will be your last chance to get on record what happened. Because changing your story later will not be viewed favourably in court,’ Becker continues, emphasising the ‘not’.
I will myself to keep still, any fidgeting will give me away. What do they know? Is she bluffing? I can’t be sure. Now is the time to hold my nerve. I briefly glance at the door. I can’t help it. It’s a knee-jerk reaction to seek an escape route; and I see him, fleetingly, passing the door.
I feel a numbness cascade through my fingers. Why is Ben here?