The Vow - Debbie Howells Page 0,59

were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I didn’t want to believe he’d betrayed me. I wanted to blame anyone else, other than him.’

DI Lacey doesn’t comment. ‘What did you do that evening, Ms Reid?’

‘After I finished working, I delivered an order to Brighton. It came in at the last minute and the woman sounded desperate, so I agreed to deliver it that evening.’

He nods. ‘This was to a house in Brunswick Square, I understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time would that have been?’ The DI frowns.

I remember the roads being clear, that it hadn’t taken long to get there. ‘Around six-thirty, seven o’clock.’

‘Can this woman verify what you were doing?’

I stare at him, realising that I haven’t told them the whole story. I shake my head. ‘When I got there, I realised she’d given me the wrong address. Flat 5, 13 Brunswick Square, doesn’t exist. It’s a heritage centre.’

The DI’s frown deepens. ‘You’re saying you made a mistake?’

‘I don’t think so.’ I hesitate. ‘It was definitely the address in the email she sent me. I emailed her again, asking her to confirm it, but when she replied, she cancelled the order – something to do with her husband not liking the idea of herbal remedies.’

‘How convenient.’ The DI folds his arms. ‘So you never saw her and the address doesn’t exist. Correct?’

‘That’s true.’ I stare at him. ‘Why?’

But he ignores me. ‘Can you tell us what you did after that?’

‘I drove home. When I got back, I went upstairs to change.’ I pause, remembering the events of that evening. ‘I picked up on an unfamiliar scent. It was faint. It definitely wasn’t anything I recognised. Then I went downstairs, checked my emails, looked at the seating plan Lara had sent over.’ As I mention Lara’s name in conjunction with the seating plan, I feel naïve that I never suspected anything. ‘I spoke to Cath. That was about it.’

‘What time did you speak to her?’

I look at him incredulously. ‘I can’t remember. Maybe around ten.’

‘You didn’t speak to anyone else after that?’

‘No.’ I’m frowning.

‘Or go out again?’

‘No.’ My frown deepens. ‘Like I said, I was in Brighton early evening, but I didn’t go out again after that.’

In his chair, the DI pulls himself upright. ‘Even if you were at home when you phoned your friend at ten, you would have had plenty of time to drive to Brighton. You didn’t believe Mr Roche, did you, when he told you he was having dinner with a client? You’d done your homework. You knew exactly where he was going and who he was meeting. You knew where she lived, too. That so-called order gave you the perfect excuse to be in Brighton. The delivery address was convenient too, only a street away from where Mr Roche would have been. Parking out of sight, I think that after allegedly trying to make your delivery, you hung around that evening, watching him go into the woman’s flat, then waiting for him to come out again. In that time, you spoke to your friend. She’d never have been able to tell you weren’t at home. Then Mr Roche came out of the flat and there you were. Knowing all that time he’d been with the woman, I can guess how you must have felt. Angry wouldn’t begin to describe it, would it? I imagine he got in the car with you to avoid a scene. Then you drove home, where you had the mother of all rows, which ended up with you losing control, maybe even attacking him.’

‘No …’ I’m shaking my head, stunned. ‘That’s wrong. None of that happened.’ Then realising the futility of trying to argue with them, I’m silent. But it’s like with everything I’ve told them. I can’t prove any of it is true.

Chapter Twenty-Three

After the interview is over, I’m led back to my cell. Standing just inside, as the door is locked behind me, the phrase innocent until proven guilty comes to mind. But in the eyes of the police, I’m not innocent.

Fear fills me that I’ll never get out of here, while I wonder if Cath has reached Falmouth and talked to Jess. As I think of my daughter, I’m filled with a new sense of urgency. Getting up, I press the call button. When no-one responds, I press it again as a disembodied voice comes through. I interrupt it.

‘I need to talk to PC Page.’

But at the other end, there’s silence. Filled with frustration, I wait.

*

An hour passes, in