The Vow - Debbie Howells Page 0,56
that she’ll protect Jess, is some comfort. On the narrow bed, I wrap my arms tightly around myself, thankful that she is on her way to Jess. At last away from everyone, tears scald my face, as the indignity and injustice of what’s happening to me close in.
Only now that it’s been taken away do I appreciate the basic liberty that freedom is. As my tears subside, an urgency grips me; to demand to be heard. To be told how long I’m being held here. But then a cold, logical part of me takes hold. The police clearly have enough evidence to convince them I’m a suspect. I have to stay in control, keep my wits about me, in order for them to realise that I’m not.
Sitting in the cell, I scrutinise everything I know about Matt, trying to imagine what someone might have told the police. Maybe something Lara said; what evidence may have been planted, as I take in the unfamiliar sounds around me. Briefly raised voices, the opening and closing of doors, footsteps coming closer, but not close enough, knowing twenty-four hours of this could lie ahead of me, though unless they find evidence that proves my innocence, it could be longer.
If you’re suspected of a serious crime, you can be held for up to ninety-six hours. The thought of ninety-six hours feels interminable, as words keep repeating in my head. Serious crime. Matt. Matt’s disappearance.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alone, I lose all sense of how much time passes before I’m escorted to the interview room. As I sit at the small table, I imagine those who’ve sat here before, echoes of their fear, desperation and anger rebounding off the dingy walls. They’re tangible, seeping into my skin, then into my blood, tainting me with their crimes; unwanted, when I’m innocent.
Consciously, I steel myself as the solicitor appointed to me, Andrew Nelson, sits down. Short-haired and clean shaven, he wears a middle of the road suit and polished shoes. Catching sight of the time on his expensive watch, I’m shocked to see only two hours have passed.
Across the table from me, PC Page sits beside DI Lacey. ‘Amy, I’d like you to tell us what you did the day that Matt disappeared.’ There is no trace of her former friendliness. Instead her voice is matter of fact, her blank eyes those of a stranger.
‘I drove to Brighton to deliver some orders. Then on my way back to my car, this old woman called after me.’ I stop suddenly, frowning. ‘I told you about her. I think she was some kind of a clairvoyant – at least, that was what she wanted me to think. She told me that Matt wasn’t who I thought he was. Then she told me I was in danger. I dismissed it at the time.’ But however implausible it sounds, she was right – about absolutely everything.
‘Ms Reid, could you start again from the beginning, and take us through exactly what you did when?’ DI Lacey’s voice is loud, his eyes boring into me.
I stare at him, my gut feeling kicking in, instantly not liking him. For whatever reason, I sense he wants to find me guilty. Swallowing, I force myself to stay calm. I have to be logical, careful to state my case clearly to him.
‘I got up at around seven. Just after Matt.’ Already, it feels like a lifetime ago. ‘We had breakfast together, then at about eight, he left for work. I did a bit of clearing up and put on some washing …’ I pause. ‘Then I drove to Brighton to deliver two orders.’
‘You’re a herbalist, I understand?’ His voice is questioning. ‘But you don’t have a shop. Can you tell me exactly what’s involved with your work?’
His manner is dismissive, but I’m used to the reaction of people like him, none of whom understand the power of herbs. I meet his eyes. ‘I make herbal remedies – tinctures, teas, creams – from herbs and flowers I grow myself. They’re organic – more and more people want natural, locally sourced products. I have regular clients and I also supply some local businesses.’
He raises his eyebrows before frowning slightly. ‘I understand you told PC Page that you started by treating your daughter’s eczema with herbal remedies you made yourself, before studying at college. That was quite a responsibility to undertake. It’s a good thing you didn’t get it wrong.’
I shake my head, because it’s clear he has no idea. ‘They were simple treatments.