From the yard, I am taken straight to the toilets so I can wash my hands and face. My skin is crawling. The smell of incarceration lingers, turning my stomach. Thinking about the bath I will have at home motivates me. I must leave here today.

When done, I am delivered to the interview room, where Terry, my solicitor and Detectives Hicks and Becker wait. It’s surreal, everything looks the same as the day before except for Becker’s outfit. Yesterday she wore a crisp white shirt, today it’s blue. Hicks has returned in last night’s clothes, I’m sure of it. It must be him I can smell.

The atmosphere is charged with something and I sense I’m in trouble, which is laughable considering I’ve been arrested for murder. How much worse can it get? Despite this, I resort to chewing my nails.

‘Your full name is Rose Evelyn Harding, yes?’

I nod. I try my best to look oblivious, but I’m very much aware of what they’ve found.

‘But you go by Eve?’ Hicks raises an eyebrow and pauses for effect before continuing. ‘Last September you were indecently assaulted in Grove park. When you gave the police a statement, you did so under the name Eve Harding. Why was that?’

‘I go by Eve, I have done for years, since high school; I told you that when we started.’

‘Are you trying to be difficult? Is there something you’re withholding from us?’ Becker’s tone is laced with cynicism.

I shake my head vehemently. ‘No, no of course not,’ I say.

‘Then why, when asked for your details last night, did you tell us you were Rose Harding?’

‘They asked me for my full name and I gave them the one I was christened with. I was in shock, it didn’t occur to me it would make any difference. I don’t have a criminal record.’

Hicks sighs and rubs his forehead, unable to hide the frustration on his face.

So now they know who I am, it took them long enough to connect the dots. I watch them exchange looks and catch the slightest shake of Becker’s head. She shuffles some papers and slips them under her notepad. Pen poised, she continues.

‘Let’s go back to the first time you visited Ian’s house; where we left off last night.’

Saturday 28 October 2017

Back home, I sat at the table chain-smoking and scribbling notes on the back of the psychiatrist’s appointment letter. My hands shook, making my writing barely legible. Possibilities spun around my head. I needed to calm down and think practically, but the adrenaline hadn’t left my system yet. My legs bounced under the table, unable to keep still.