They were gone about ten minutes before I heard the door open again and saw Detective Bradley approach me. ‘Emily, I wonder, could we ask you to look at some footage for us?’
‘Of course,’ I said, although I was trembling and the very last thing I wanted to do was to walk back through that door.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll lead the way.’
We went to a different room this time, one where a number of officers stood around a collection of screens. ‘Emily, we’ve been trying to find out who might have paid a considerable amount of money into Kevin McDaid’s bank account – but the bank they used records over their CCTV footage once a month and by the time we requested the film from the day in question it had already been overwritten. We had to turn to the City Centre Initiative, and their CCTV cameras, to see if we could capture someone entering the bank at the relevant time.’
‘We knew a female had paid the money in,’ Constable Wilson said, her face a little flushed. ‘If I’m honest, Emily, we thought it might have been you.’
‘I didn’t. I couldn’t have. I didn’t even know him. I didn’t know any of them – not before …’
‘We saw you at McDaid’s wake,’ Detective Bradley said. ‘And then when we saw you at Scott’s and again at the Grahame house …’
I blanched. Realising just how incriminating my behaviour had been. Until now I thought it just painted me as a bit of a crazy – but to realise I had unwittingly been putting myself in the frame for a murder investigation – it made me feel ill.
‘I had nothing to do with it. I swear,’ I said, panic rising again. I put my hand to the back of a chair to steady myself.
‘Emily, it’s okay. We have ruled you out of our investigation – but if you could help us with this …’
A young officer with short, dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses hit a few buttons on a computer and a grainy black and white image came into view of The Diamond – one of the city’s landmarks. The video was taken looking directly across the old War Monument at the bank on the corner of The Diamond and Butcher Street – one of the city’s busiest thoroughfares – and there were lots of people walking along the pavement, parking outside the bank and crossing the road.
‘Can you zoom in?’ DS Bradley asked, and the young officer pulled the image in closer to the bank. Many of those walking had their hoods up or carried umbrellas against the rain, but occasionally I got a glimpse of a face, none of which I recognised. The young officer pulled in a little tighter.
‘Can you run it forward a bit, to 2.42pm?’ DS Bradley asked. ‘There, that’s it,’ he said. ‘Emily, can you look at this figure approaching the bank from Butcher Street? Is there anything familiar about the person you see? The image isn’t great, so really we’re just looking to see if you can confirm our suspicions?’
I moved closer to the screen, squinted to focus. Saw a figure in a trench coat, a dark scarf wrapped around her neck, an umbrella obscuring a clear view of her face. But the familiar white trousers peeping out at the bottom of her coat made me uneasy. When she came to the door – lowered the umbrella to take it down before walking into the bank, she looked upwards at the sky and, even though the image was grainy, there was no mistaking who it was. My hand flew to my mouth and I looked at DS Bradley and Constable Wilson who were staring at me expectantly.
‘That’s Donna,’ I said.
‘That’s what we suspected,’ DS Bradley replied.
*
Donna. Sweet Donna. Put-upon Donna. None of it made sense. Why on earth would she have deposited money into Kevin McDaid’s bank account? Why would she be involved in any of this? She had sat with me last night – with Owen and me – showing us Rose’s diaries. Showing me proof that Cian was a bully and a control freak. Pointing the finger at him. Unless that was all part of the plan – point the finger at Cian, make the evidence stack up in his favour and away from her? But it would never have been pointed in her direction anyway. Who would ever have thought Donna – who had to run the gamut between work and parent/teacher meetings with her boys – could ever be tied up in something so sinister? Donna who would regale us with tales of how she spent the previous evening doing nothing more exciting than catching up on the soaps and occasionally looking at the latest loser uploads on online dating sites?
Donna who had cried almost every day about Rose. Who said Rose was one of her best friends. I felt as if the carpet had been whipped out from under me again. If Donna was involved – did that mean Cian was innocent after all? Yes, he might be a horrible person but he wasn’t a murderer by proxy, was he? Did it mean that Owen could be involved after all? Those two had been thick as thieves these last few weeks – Donna always knocking on his office door or insisting she assist him in the surgery.
Donna.
The police officers talked around me – I barely took it in but I knew they were going to bring Donna in for questioning. A big part of me – and I don’t quite know why – wanted to lift my phone and call her and tell her to run. Warn her. Tell her to call a solicitor. I thought of how fragile she seemed lately and I worried this would break her. But was it all an act? Was everyone in this sad state of affairs acting? Were they all pretending to be someone they weren’t? Was it possible I was the most sane among them all?
The buzzing of my phone jolted me into the here and now. I lifted it to see another missed call from Cian and a text from Owen saying he hoped I was okay and he hoped he would see me soon – but what was I to do? Go to work? Go to Cian’s? Go home? Run away to the States and Maud and hope she would give me a sofa to sleep on?
My mind just kept drifting back to Donna. She would be so scared. I knew she would. I felt for her. None of this was right. No, I would go to work and at least, when the police arrived, I could offer her a slice of comfort maybe? Then again, maybe she didn’t deserve it. She had, or so it looked, been responsible for killing a woman, and risking the life of a baby in the process.
I left the police station, turning down the offer of a lift, and walked back into the cold across the street to the walkway that ran the length of the old Quay. I walked to the water’s edge – stood there looking in. Thinking of Kevin McDaid and how he had met his end there. So many lives had been destroyed already and I wondered how many more would be before this was all over. I would say it was the wind that brought tears to my eyes but I think it was much more.
*
When the police arrived at Scott’s, they thankfully decided to keep their presence low key. DS Bradley nodded at me as he arrived and I told him I would bring him through to Owen’s office – and then bring Donna to him. There was no way to stop this being horrible for everyone – but they would at least try to be as sensitive as possible. None of this was going to look good for Scott’s anyway. The word would spread quickly.
My hand was shaking hard as I knocked on the surgery door and pushed down the handle to see Donna and Owen huddled around the computer screen looking at dental X-rays for the next client. A perfectly normal day was about to take a horrible turn. They both looked at me as I walked in. Despite my best efforts, I wasn’t able to hide how I was feeling.
‘Emily, what’s wrong?’ Owen asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is Cian here? Are you okay?’ He stood up to walk towards me, and his genuine concern made me want to weep and shield him from what was about to happen.
‘Donna,’ I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could. ‘There are some people here to see you.’
She looked at me without blinking. She was like a rabbit caught in the headlights – unable to move. Stunned. Terrified.
‘People?’ Owen asked, looking from me to Donna and back again.
‘Police,’ I said, in little more than a whisper.
There was a low moan, as Donna clutched her stomach and folded in on herself. I felt myself give in to tears.
‘What on earth would the police want to see you about, Donna?’ Owen asked, his face a picture of perfect confusion.
‘DS Bradley and his colleagues are waiting for you in Owen’s office,’ I said to Donna as she sucked in her breath and tried to stop keening.
‘Bradley? This isn’t about Rose?’ Owen asked. ‘Donna?’ His confusion was almost as hard to watch as Donna’s fear. It was clear nothing about this made sense to him.
‘They know?’ she asked me and in that moment I knew it was true. It might not have made any sense but it was true.
I nodded.
‘They know what?’ Owen asked, his voice impatient now. ‘What on earth is going on?’
Donna turned to him and took his hands in hers while he looked on completely bemused. Gulping back sobs, she spoke. ‘I’m so, so sorry, Owen. So sorry. He wasn’t meant to kill her. He was only meant to hurt her. To delay things – to stop you moving in together. To give her time to think. To give me time to think. If I’d known what would happen … if I’d known Jack would be there. It wasn’t meant to be like this. She wasn’t meant to die.’
I watched as the severity of the situation registered on Owen’s face. He threw her hands from his as if they were on fire – and she jumped backwards as if it was she who had been burned.
‘She just had everything, Owen, and I had nothing,’ she said, pleading with him to understand. ‘I just wanted something for me for a change. A chance to let you get to know the real me – to realise we could have been happy. She had Cian and they had their problems but they could work through it. Why would you throw all that away?’ She was sobbing loudly now – attracting the attention from staff and clients alike. DS Bradley and Constable Wilson came out of the office and when she saw them she looked wide-eyed from them, to me, to Owen.
‘All I wanted was you to love me like I loved you. You know I love you, Owen. You know I’ve loved you for a long time. She was in the way – but he wasn’t meant to kill her. Just hurt her or scare her. Just hit the pause button. I thought I was being careful. If I had known what would happen, I never would have …’ As her voice trailed off, DS Bradley walked past me and started telling her, in his calm voice, that she was under arrest in connection with the murder of Rose Grahame. I saw the faces of our colleagues first register shock, then crumple with grief. As he read her rights, she continued to plead with Owen, who could do nothing but watch as this nightmare scene played out in front of us. ‘Why should she be the one to get everything? Why didn’t I deserve to be happy? I just wanted to be happy, Owen. I just wanted us to be happy. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. She wasn’t meant to die.’
Although I am sure there was noise around us as she was lead out of the surgery and into the police car that was parked outside, I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t hear anything except for her pleading and sobbing. It was only when the door was closed, and the car had pulled off that the noise of ringing phones and hushed whispers and the sobs of co-workers struggling to come to terms with what had happened crashed back in.
I looked at Owen, who was standing with his back to me – his hands resting on the work surface in the surgery, his shoulders shaking, his knuckles white. I saw him bough and break and curl into himself. The sound of his wail echo around the room.
Very gently I pulled the door closed and walked back into the main waiting area. ‘I’m very sorry,’ I announced to our waiting clients, ‘I’m sure you can understand why, but we will be closing now and we will reschedule your appointments for a suitable time. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.’
No one argued. No one tutted. No one called us useless. The clients just stood, lifted their belongings and quietly left, nodding to us as you would to someone at a wake as they walked out. As I locked the door behind them, I saw that most of them had already lifted their phones and were tapping on the screens or making calls. The news would be out there – and soon.
‘Tori, can you get me Donna’s next of kin information please? We should make sure someone is there for her boys?’
Tori nodded, sniffing loudly, but went to retrieve Donna’s HR file.
The rest of us huddled around, not sure what to say or do.
The sound of the surgery door opening made us all jump. Owen came out and walked towards us all. He opened his mouth to speak, but I imagine he couldn’t find the words either. Sarah walked towards him and hugged him. Tori followed. As did all the other staff members, one by one, until I found myself clinging on to a shell-shocked community of workers myself.
‘Go home everyone,’ Owen said. ‘Go home to your families and your loved ones and just, well, just go home. I’ll keep you updated on how things are. I think you know – no, I know you know, not to talk to the media. The press will probably descend on us as soon as they hear – we’ll close until next week.’
‘I’ll stay and help you get messages out to our clients,’ I said.
‘Me too,’ said Tori.
Owen nodded, and walked back to his office.
Funnily enough, the whole episode had distracted me from the persistent buzzing of my phone, which was vibrating for all its worth in my locker as Cian tried and tried to get in touch with me.