Loving Adults

Susan perched on the edge of the vinyl chair. ‘How are you, Sheena?’ she kicked off on a cordial note.

‘Some better,’ Sheena Struthers responded. ‘Thank you for asking.’

‘Today I’d like to take a formal statement.’ Susan smiled encouragement.

Last time a nurse had sent her out of the room, she’d nipped to the toilet, taken a sneak peek at her phone. With the ‘txi inhibit’ button engaged on her airwave radio and her mobile switched off, she’d felt divorced from developments at HQ. But all she found was a series of text messages from Douglas. Increasing in urgency, they demanded Susan call in. There was no way she was going to respond, lest the smarmy bastard muscle in on her progress. No, she’d wrap up Sheena’s statement tighter than a boiled sweet and deliver it to Chisolm on her own.

‘I’d also like to record our conversation, if that’s okay with you?’

‘I suppose.’

Susan stood up. ‘I’ll give one of the nurses a shout.’

‘Why?’

Corroboration. She knew she should call in a senior officer, someone not directly involved. But this was Susan’s chance, maybe her only chance, to get Sheena Struthers to open up. A civilian witness would have to do.

She drew a deep breath. ‘I think you know why.’

Sheena shot forward from the bank of pillows. ‘No.’ Shrill voice. ‘I’m willing to talk to you, nobody else.’

Bugger! Susan sat down again. So much for wrapping the case up tight.

She should charge Sheena first. Protocol dictated that a voluntary statement could only be obtained from an accused person who had already been charged with a crime. But charge her with what? Wasting police time? And, besides, Sheena had already admitted culpability.

What the hell! Susan resolved to stick to her guns. She’d worry about the niceties later on. She switched her phone to record. In a steady voice, she read out the caution. Meaningless, in the circumstances, but a touch of gravitas might spur Sheena Struthers to part with the truth.

Then: ‘Last time we spoke, you said you didn’t mean it to go this far? Can you explain to me, Sheena, what you meant by that?’

‘I wanted to send a warning.’

‘So, if I’m understanding you correctly, you wanted to give your husband a fright?’

Nods.

‘With a view to what?’

‘To making it stop,’

‘The abuse?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I still don’t understand why you didn’t report it.’

‘I didn’t think anyone would take me seriously. I mean, would the police even consider it abuse, what goes on in the bedroom between two adults?’

Consenting adults. ‘Even so…’ Susan offered. ‘Just because you submitted doesn’t mean you gave your consent. New legislation…’

Sheena cut her short. ‘By the time it began to affect my health, it had gone on for so long: years…decades.’ Her voice carried a bitter note. ‘Who’d have credited a mature woman – solvent, supposedly intelligent – would put up with things that long? How do you think I could explain that to some young police officer?’ She worried the binding of her hospital gown. ‘Someone like you?’

Susan had to admit the woman had a point.

For a few moments, Susan sat, lost in thought.

‘You’re thinking it’s my own fault for putting up with it,’ Sheena broke the silence. ‘But you’re from a different generation. Attitudes have changed in the twenty years I’ve been married. People put up with things then that would be unheard of now.’

‘I suppose,’ Susan said, though she couldn’t imagine such a set-up as Sheena Struthers had described.

‘It was after I started suffering from anxiety that I noticed there was a pattern to it: my husband’s behaviour deteriorates when he has an upset at work. Gordon takes it out on me. It’s a release, I expect. They’ve a lot of responsibility on their shoulders, men.’ Said in a caring voice.

Bastard! Susan mused. And it’s not as if he has money worries. Or kids. ‘And this happens how often?’ she asked.

‘Too often.’ Sheena responded bitterly.

‘So the pills…’ Susan brought herself back to the job in hand.

‘Sleeping pills.’

‘Prescribed by your GP?’

‘That’s right. My state of mind was affecting my sleep. Though I know, now, that I’m probably also menopausal.’

‘And did you take the pills, as prescribed?’

Sheena’s gaze shifted. ‘I did. Except…’

‘Except what?’

‘I took them for several nights. Then I realised they’d only knock me out for a few hours. And Gordon, well, when I came to he’d be wide awake, waiting…’

‘When your cleaner made her call to the emergency services, our officers found you deeply comatose. Can you clarify that for me, Sheena?’

Sharply, she turned away.

Susan took her time. ‘Did your husband know about the pills?’

It was critical she played this right.

‘No.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

Sheena turned back. ‘Positive.’

‘And have you discussed them with him at any time during his visits?’

‘No. But, then, they don’t let him stay long, and there have been other things to discuss.’

‘Such as?’

‘Domestic things, nothing important.’

‘Would it surprise you to hear,’ Susan asked, ‘that he’s been interviewed informally twice already?’

Sheena started. ‘I didn’t know. He hasn’t mentioned it.’

‘And that,’ Susan said, taking a chance, ‘he could be charged with your attempted murder?’

‘No-o!’ Sheena screamed. ‘My husband is devoted to me, make no mistake. He shows his affection in so many little ways. And I love him.’ Her eyes welled. ‘Did love him until…’

Susan couldn’t make up her mind whether Sheena Struthers was a poor soul or a practised liar. Her mind raced. She was already in trouble. She’d ignored the calls from HQ, wilfully overlooked police procedure.

Sod it! She’d better not go back without a result. ‘Okay,’ was all she said.

Aching with tiredness, Susan tried to plan her next move. The only thing she could come up with was to call Sheena’s bluff. If it was a bluff.

‘Let’s take a break.’ She stood and turned, as if to go.

The woman on the bed tugged at her sleeve.

‘Please sit down,’ she wept. ‘I’ll tell you everything.’