‘You’re Stuart, yes?’ asked Marina, bending forward, trying to keep the urgency from her voice. ‘That’s who you are.’
Stuart nodded. Looked relieved to have been recognised.
‘Then who is Amy, Stuart? Who is she?’
Stuart leaned back, seemed to study the ceiling.
‘Who is she, Stuart? Who’s Amy? Who is she?’
Franks gently placed his hand on Marina’s arm. She relented, sat back. Stuart looked at them, a hurt expression on his face.
‘There’s no need to get nasty. I’m going to tell you.’
Marina nodded, tried to slow her hammering heart. ‘Good. That’s good to hear, Stuart. So who is she?’
‘She’s … Amy wanted to be my sister. Or she said she did. But she was only pretending. She didn’t really want to do that. She didn’t really like me.’ His voice dripped sadness. ‘She only pretended when other people were around. So she could get to be near me. And when she was near me, she would hurt me … ’ He clasped his arms round his body. Began to rock slowly back and forward.
Marina knew she didn’t have much time. If Stuart’s mood changed, if he slipped into a fugue state or became uncommunicative, she knew the interview would be over. And if that ended, then perhaps her daughter’s life would too.
It was clear that he was damaged and she had to tread carefully. She tried another approach. One that might not excite him as much. ‘She wanted you to talk to me, Stuart, didn’t she?’
He frowned. ‘Are you the doctor?’
‘I’m a psychologist, yes.’
‘Are you Josephina’s mother?’
Marina looked at Franks, who nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes I am.’
‘I looked after her for you.’
Marina put her hands on the table to stop them trembling. ‘Thank you for that, Stuart. I’m very grateful.’
He accepted the thanks by nodding, then frowned. ‘You’re here to tell me whether I’m mad or not, aren’t you?’
‘Well, I’m … Yes. That’s … Yes.’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded again. Stopped rocking. ‘Yeah. I’ve seen a lot of doctors like you. Lots and lots. They always asked me questions. Always wanted to know things. Things in my head.’
‘And did you tell them?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Things in my head are private.’
‘They certainly are, Stuart,’ Marina said, and noticed a glimmer in his eyes. Please let that be some kind of connection, she thought. Please. For Josephina’s sake. ‘I won’t ask you about the private things in your head.’
‘Good.’ He looked relieved once more.
‘But I do want to know why Amy wanted you to talk to me. Can you tell me that?’
Another nod. ‘So I could have a new life. So I could have a future.’
‘Right. And how was this future going to happen?’
‘You were going to talk to me and then you were going to tell them that I wasn’t mad and then I was going to be given a lot of money.’ He shrugged. ‘And we were all going to be happy.’
Marina nodded. ‘Right. So … was there a will, Stuart? Was that it? Did I have to declare you sane so you could inherit the Sloanes’ money along with the brother and sister?’
Stuart shuddered at the mention of the brother and sister, but nodded.
‘And how much money were you going to get, Stuart?’ Franks’s Welsh baritone cutting in.
Stuart smiled, put on a bad cockney accent. ‘“You stick with me, this time next year we’ll be millionaires.” That’s what Jiminy said.’
‘Right.’ Franks nodded. ‘And this was the Sloanes’ money?’
Stuart said nothing.
Franks leaned forward. ‘So they killed their father? Is that what you’re saying? You didn’t do it, they did?’
He frowned. ‘I hate guns.’
‘Good,’ said Marina. ‘That’s good. And you wouldn’t use one?’
He shook his head.
‘Good. And then what? You were going to sue for wrongful imprisonment, something like that?’
Stuart looked at the ceiling once more. ‘We were all going to be happy.’
Marina could tell his concentration was slipping, that she was losing him. She kept going. ‘And Amy? What would she get out of this?’
‘She would be rich as well. She wanted to spend the money with Jiminy, but he got killed. So she would spend it on her own.’
‘And,’ said Franks, clearing his throat, ‘did she want to be your sister again?’
‘Pretend to be your sister again?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t want her to.’ He yawned. ‘I’m Stuart.’ He nodded once more. ‘Stuart Milton.’
‘Right,’ said Marina. ‘You are.’
‘Stuart Milton.’
‘Yes.’
‘Not Sloane.’
‘No. Not Sloane.’ Marina leaned forward once more. ‘Where is Amy now, Stuart? Where is she?’
‘She went home.’
‘Where’s home, Stuart? Where would her home be?’
Stuart stretched, arms up in the air, then yanked down suddenly. ‘I’m tired now. Want to sleep.’
He closed his eyes.
Marina wanted to scream.