Light from the morning sun shone through the sunroof of the holding cell in the Northampton Police Station. Sitting on the cold, blue rubber mattress, Elizabeth stared down the length of the corridor at the phrase printed on the walls in block letters. The phrase was simple and to the point. It read: Damage the cell = a charge and a court visit!
As the minutes ticked by, she become more nervous. By now, they’d probably read her file and saw the DVO. She needed a miracle. There was no way the police would let her out. A tear rolled down her cheek. Her life was over. There was a part of her that believed she probably did this, based on her temper and the bruises she left on her husband’s face after a night of heavy drinking. The guilt she carried around was unbearable. Then there was the other part of her that was sure her drinking wasn’t as bad. She had next to no blackouts and gaps in her memory, apart from last night. Am I delusional?
A knock on the door jolted her out of her sea of thoughts and back to the beige walls of the holding cell. The door slowly opened. Standing at the other end of the cell, in the door frame, was a tall man with a head of thick, curly, dark-brown hair with a sprinkling of grey. His dark-brown eyes fixed on her. An uneasy feeling swept over her body. He must have read her file. It’s official, I’m screwed.
‘DCI Anwar Khan,’ he said with a nod. ‘It’s been brought to my attention that you are yet to make your phone call. There’s a phone in the hall.’ The man gestured into the hall outside, then held the door open for her. So, he’s doing the good cop routine. Understanding, I’m just here to help you.
Elizabeth took a deep breath as she arose from the rubber mattress then ambled towards the door. As she drew closer it dawned on her, she had no one to call other than Valentine Charlet, a journalist from the culture section at the Northampton Tribune. Would she help her?
There was no way she would call Maximilian Nicholls. She didn’t trust him. A tear trickled down her cheek. Elizabeth didn’t want to call her ex-husband. She could already hear his voice in her mind. The last thing she needed was a lecture—deep down, she knew she had a problem. I need to clear my name or at least try to find out what really happened before the police.
Anwar raised his eyebrows at her. ‘I’ll be waiting just down the hall.’
Elizabeth stepped out of the cell and glanced down the hall. Picking up her pace, she reached for the phone. Over her shoulder, Anwar stood just where he promised. The call was probably monitored and he most likely could hear her every word.
She picked up the receiver and dialled a number on the metal keypad. Listening to the dial tone, her heart raced. The line picked up, and she listened to the greeting from the receptionist at the Northampton Tribune. Elizabeth froze. Valentine’s phone was redirecting to reception. That wasn’t good.
‘My name is Elizabeth James. I’m the curator of the Arthurian Exhibit that’s due to open at the Northampton Museum of Anthropology. I have an interview with Valentine Charlet. Can you put me through to her desk? It’s super urgent.’ Elizabeth’s voice broke.
The woman on the other end of the line took a deep breath. ‘Unfortunately, Valentine no longer works for the Tribune, but I can put you through to James Lalonde, the chief editor. He’s covering your story.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Okay.’
A few moments later, a thick French accent answered the line.
‘Sorry to bother you, but I’ve been taken into the Northampton Police Station after I called in a crime. My assistant was murdered in my apartment last night while I was sleeping. The police are holding me in a cell. They think I did this. I swear to you, it wasn’t me. I didn’t do this. This is so embarrassing, but I don’t have anyone to turn to.’ Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s cheeks.
‘So, you want me to help clear your name?’ James asked with a sense of hesitation lingering in his voice.
‘Yes, I wouldn’t have called you if I had another option. I’m desperate.’
‘Okay, I’ll need to interview you. So, I’ll have to find a way to get you released. I’ll see what I can do.’
Before she could say another word, the line went dead. Elizabeth stared at the receiver. Now the waiting began. Hopefully, he can help me. I remember he solved the mystery behind Albert Harrington’s death all those years ago.