Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,16

spring back to life.

‘I didn’t hurt him. I never would. I was angry, and we had already decided to get divorced.’ My fingers are gripping the seat of the chair, my fingernails digging into the soft leather.

‘Thank you, Mrs Palmer. We will be back in touch very soon. We will need you to make a formal statement at the police station. Expect to hear from us tomorrow morning.’

Have I just thrown Ajay to the wolves?

What the hell have I done?

7

DC White rings me the next day as promised. ‘Mrs Palmer, we would be grateful if you could attend the police station for a formal interview. Can you get to Crawley for 2 p.m.?’

‘Y-yes,’ I stutter. ‘Do I need a solicitor?’

‘You have the right to free and independent legal advice.’

‘Ok, yes. Thank you.’

He hangs up and I have no idea why I’m saying thank you. If Adam has died an unnatural death, or if he’s been murdered, I want to know who did it. But most of all, I need to clear my name. I am trembling. What if they arrest me? Mia and Oliver will lose both of their parents. And what about a solicitor? My mind draws a blank. I don’t know anyone who specialises in criminal law, and I can hardly ring around my friends, saying that the police suspect me of murdering Adam, and do they know any lawyer who might represent me?

Or do they suspect me? Why would they be asking for a formal statement if they didn’t?

And then I think of Fiona. She’s a solicitor, and she knows what’s been going on in my life. She’s exactly the sort of friend I need right now: sensible, understanding and unflappable. The first time we met was in the coffee shop adjacent to the gym. Cassie was carrying a large glass of orange juice and walked straight into Fiona, spilling her juice all over Fiona’s white T-shirt, orange bits dripping onto her brand-new trainers. According to Cassie, Fiona was totally charming about it. By way of apology, Cassie invited Fiona to join her for a coffee, and a few minutes later, I turned up.

Fiona plays down her success as a solicitor, but I get the impression she’s much more high-flying than she suggests. Hers was one of the numerous text messages I received and still haven’t responded to. If anyone can help me, surely Fiona can. Not only is she a lawyer and my friend, she’s widowed herself.

I call her.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Lydia,’ she says.

She sounds genuinely shocked when I tell her that Adam died through electrocution in our swimming pool. But then again, who wouldn’t be?

‘The thing is, I can’t help you myself, because I don’t do criminal law, but leave it with me and I’ll find someone for you. And don’t panic. The police are just doing their job, investigating every avenue.’

‘Thanks, Fiona.’

Half an hour later, I receive a text message from her. ‘Clive Seaham will meet you at the entrance to the police station at 1.30 p.m. Good luck! Fiona x’

Clive Seaham can’t be more than five feet five inches tall. He is diminutive and insignificant looking, with grey hair, a grey suit and skin also strangely grey. His shoes are caked with mud, and the moment we sit down in the carpeted room at the police station, he starts biting his nails, from time to time startling me as his teeth make an unpleasant cracking sound.

I tell him briefly about Adam’s death; about how the police think he might have been electrocuted, murdered even. I lean forwards, speaking in a strained whisper and hoping that there are no listening devices in this featureless room.

When Clive Seaham frowns, his eyes seem to sink further into his skull. He is frowning a lot, and it’s making me more nervous than I already am.

‘I suggest you say as little as possible. You have every right to remain silent.’

‘Have you represented people like me before?’ I ask.

‘Like you?’

‘Being charged with murder, but innocent.’

He stares at me for a few long, drawn-out seconds, one eyebrow raised. ‘You haven’t been charged with anything, Mrs Palmer. If, however, there is something I need to know, now might be a good time to tell me.’

I am horrified. Does he think I’m guilty?

‘No, there’s nothing. I’ve done nothing wrong!’

‘In which case, I suggest we get this interview over and done with.’

He stands up. ‘Stay here, please. I’ll tell the police officers we’re ready.’

I had assumed I’d be taken to