Trust Me - T.M. Logan Page 0,30

cracks growing in my marriage until it was too late. I was so focused on getting pregnant that I failed to notice the distance growing between me and my husband.

Perhaps I’m looking at this whole situation the wrong way as well.

Perhaps it’s not what was written in the note, but what was missing from it. It didn’t say don’t trust him, or don’t trust Dominic; it didn’t refer to him at all – at least not directly. Does that mean something? It said I shouldn’t trust anyone, but what’s that about? The only specific element related to the police.

The door to the interview room opens and two men come in, taking the seats opposite me at the table. The older one is mid-forties, the top button of his shirt undone, tie at half-mast, five o’clock shadow, short dark hair going in all directions. Glasses already halfway down his nose. He looks as if he’s been awake for days but he’s not unattractive, in a ruffled Willem Dafoe kind of way. The younger one is in his late twenties, slicked-back dark hair, slim and gym-toned in a navy suit and pale pink silk tie. The kind of guy who might hit on you in a bar and refuse to take no for an answer. He has a green cardboard folder which he lays on the table between us. They make a strange pair.

The older one gives a nod of recognition to the duty solicitor before turning his attention to me. He laces his fingers together on the table.

‘Hello Ellen, my name is Detective Inspector Gilbourne from the Major Crimes Unit,’ he says, ‘and this is Detective Sergeant Holt.’

‘Where’s Mia?’ I say. ‘Is she OK?’

‘She’s being looked after,’ Gilbourne says with a tired smile. ‘She’s safe and in good hands.’

‘Can I see her?

DS Holt frowns, shaking his head.

‘That’s not going to be possible, I’m afraid.’

‘I just . . . want to make sure that she’s all right, that’s all.’

‘Like my colleague said, she’s being looked after.’

‘But you need to put special protections in place, she’s not safe, her father is—’

Holt cuts me off with a raised hand.

‘We’ll get to all that in a few minutes, Ellen.’

Gilbourne says, ‘You really don’t need to worry about the baby anymore, Ellen. The relevant social services teams are doing all they can to get her back to her family, and we certainly all appreciate you bringing her back to us.’

‘I was just trying to do the right thing.’

‘Of course,’ he says, but there’s something strange in his tone, something almost apologetic. To his partner, he adds: ‘Let’s get started, shall we, Nathan?’

Holt busies himself with a boxy black device attached to the table that I assume is some kind of audio recorder. He presses a button, checks the display and then his watch before reciting the time, date and location of the interview.

‘Present are DS Nathan Holt and DI Stuart Gilbourne,’ he says, ‘with Ellen Devlin and duty solicitor Chris Betteridge. First of all, Ellen, can I just check you’ve received medical attention for your injuries, and you’ve had something to eat and drink in the last hour, and that you’re not in need of any specific medication at this time?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’m OK.’

‘Not in too much pain from your foot, are you?’ His face is blank, devoid of emotion. ‘Heard you had some nasty cuts.’

‘They’re all cleaned up and I’ve had paracetamol from the paramedic, it’s fine.’

‘Good,’ he says, opening the folder on the table in front of him. ‘Ellen Devlin, I’m arresting you on suspicion of kidnapping and false imprisonment and possession of a firearm. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

I swallow and nod, my throat suddenly dry. They’re arresting me. Betteridge had told me they would but it’s still unsettling to hear the words.

‘Can you speak up, please?’ DS Holt says, gesturing towards the black box. ‘For the benefit of the recording?’

‘I understand.’

‘Right. So how about you tell us, in your own words, what happened?’

15

Dominic

Dominic turned his head towards the weak light over the mirror. He needed to be able to see what he was doing. It wasn’t much of a wound, but he needed to close it up to stop infection getting in. He couldn’t afford to get sick. And more importantly, he had to blend in