Emilia shields her face, turning away from the window even though the glass is tinted. The crowd on the road outside the police station is less tightly packed than when she saw it on the news, but there are still people here, holding up their signs demanding justice. Ryan’s mother is still there. Ciaran says she has been there every day.
The car turns in to the side road that runs around the back of the station, coming to a gentle stop outside the gates. They open and the car crawls forward. Emilia leans over to stare out of the opposite window. Are any of the crowd moving around this way? What will happen if they realize that she is here? That today is the day a decision is being made on whether to charge her and Isabella? Maybe they already know.
The gates close behind them and she sighs. The past couple of weeks have been strange: she has been both completely consumed by what is happening, and protected from it. Wrapped tightly in her cocoon, shielded from the glare of the public, from the opinions and the attacks. She hasn’t been able to leave her parents’ house till now – there are still journalists outside, and the occasional protester, Ryan’s face plastered across their chest, even though they have been warned not to come to the address. But inside the house, she is safe. After the first week of spending hours watching out the window each day, waiting for something to happen, the anxious terror in her stomach had settled. They’ve really gone. They’ve stopped – choosing to hide instead of seeking retaliation like they’d threatened. Maybe that’s all the threat was – an empty promise. So she was finally able to take advantage of what she had been given – a place of hiding.
But now it is time to face the consequences. She was told that she needed to return to the station, and suddenly the bubble surrounding her popped – the world beyond the boundary of her parents’ house becoming clear once again. And it is changed.
Even the police station looks different to her now. She throws open the door, stepping out into the bright winter light. It towers over her, its grey walls looming above them, blocking out the sun. This is the place where she spent so many years working and living her life, but it is entirely transformed. Does anyone inside those walls even know her any more? Do they understand her? Do they think she deserves protection? Or punishment?
The custody sergeant peers at her over the top of the computer screen. But it isn’t Jenny. Emilia frowns, her heart tumbling. Is Jenny not here because she isn’t on shift? Or did they specifically ensure that she wasn’t here because she’s friends with Emilia? She feels a rush of nausea and presses her knuckles against her tightly clamped lips, swallowing rapidly as she forces herself to exhale slowly, her breath trembling out of her.
‘Ready?’ the custody sergeant asks. But he isn’t looking at her – he’s staring at Brennan who is hovering just behind Emilia’s right shoulder. Emilia turns the other way, searching the custody suite.
‘Detective Brennan?’ Emilia whispers. ‘What happened with the information I gave you and Inspector Wild?’
‘Let’s focus on you for a moment, Emilia,’ he says, staring straight ahead. He won’t look her in the eye. Her stomach turns again, dread settling in – a heavy weight threatening to pull her down. ‘We’re ready,’ Brennan says, nodding at the sergeant.
He tilts his head so that his entire face appears over the screen. ‘Emilia Haines, you are being charged …’
A rush of white noise enters Emilia’s brain, the room plunged into a chaotic silence. The sergeant’s mouth is moving, his face completely blank as he speaks in a monotone and rattles off her charge, the allegations against her, but she can’t hear a word. All she can hear is those four words, over and over again, a ghostly taunt: you are being charged.
She had spent all this time haunted by the thought that she would be charged with Ryan’s murder. That despite everything they were put through, they would be forced to bear the burden. But now that she is faced with it, it’s clear that deep down she trusted it would never actually come to pass. That they would see her and the others for what they were: victims forced to do unspeakable things or face unspeakable consequences. But they haven’t.
Her vision sways, the desk violently tilting to the right. She’s going to go to prison. She’s going to have to face a trial. But what defence can she give? What defence in law will protect her?
Brennan is peering into her face, his eyes full of an impatient concern. Like a parent worried for their child but sick of their emotional tantrums. ‘Emilia – do you understand the charge that has been brought against you?’
She nods. ‘You’ve charged me with murder.’
Brennan shakes his head. ‘Weren’t you listening? Emilia, the murder investigation against you has been dropped.’
The white noise comes to an abrupt stop, the only sound her pulse as it throbs in her temples. ‘What?’
‘You haven’t been charged with murder. You’ve been charged with perverting the course of justice, which as you understand is still a very serious offence.’ He looks down at his feet. ‘The CPS decided that it wasn’t in the public interest to charge you or any of the others with murder or manslaughter. You were victims of that room. But not coming forward when you were released is an offence. Actively lying to the police and misleading the investigation is perverting the course of justice.’
Tears spring to her eyes and she lifts her hands to cover them, but they stream down her cheeks nonetheless. No murder charge … not in the public interest … But a charge of perverting the course of justice? After she was the one who came to the police? She was the one who figured out where the Confession Room was; she was the one who went against their instructions and broke the trust of the others, all to try and stop it from happening again. Yet now she has to face a charge of perverting the course of justice? It isn’t murder – but it carries a life sentence all the same.
‘Is there anything you wish to say?’ the custody sergeant asks. ‘I do have to remind you that anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
She shakes her head. Her mind blank, unable to muster the words even if her voice was able to speak.
‘The decision has also been made to remand you to custody until your trial as there is substantial reason to believe that you will fail to surrender to court should you be bailed.’
Emilia’s head is ready to explode. They are remanding her. She isn’t returning to her parents, and she isn’t going home. The next time she steps outside it will be to climb into the back of a prison van.
‘This isn’t fair,’ she whispers.
‘Emilia, you were in our position once,’ Brennan says. ‘Think of what you would do.’
She glares at him, her anger boiling just under her skin. ‘If only you could have done the same.’
A door opens, creaking loudly, and Emilia swings in the direction of the sound. Someone has come out of one of the interview rooms to the side, their heels clacking on the floor as they turn to close the door behind them.
‘Inspector Wild,’ Emilia shouts out to her. She spins around, startled.
‘Emilia, not now,’ Brennan says.
‘No, please,’ she says, shrugging him away, stepping around him and taking a few steps towards Wild before he blocks her path. ‘Inspector Wild, please can I talk to you quickly?’
Wild sighs. ‘Of course. Follow me.’
She turns, immediately heading back to the room she just emerged from. ‘Quickly, Emilia – I don’t have much time.’
Emilia rushes forward and into the room, past Brennan who stares after her wearily before trailing behind.
‘No, don’t worry,’ Wild says to him, holding out her hand. ‘I’ll speak to her alone.’
Emilia stares at her back as she closes the door. It clicks shut and Wild turns slowly towards her.
‘I need to ask,’ Emilia says in a rush. ‘I need to know. Have there been any leads? Have you questioned the Reigns? I watched the news, I waited … But there was nothing. Nothing was announced about anyone being brought in for questioning.’
‘Emilia, why don’t you sit down?’ Wild says, gesturing to a chair.
‘No,’ she responds bluntly. She pauses, taking a calming breath. ‘What happened with the Reigns?’
Wild pulls out a chair, folding herself into it elegantly, one ankle tucked behind the other. ‘We located them, at their home address where they have always lived, and brought them in separately for questioning.’
‘So what happened?’ Emilia folds her arms, her fingers gripping her elbow.
Wild tilts her head, looking up at Emilia through her lashes. ‘They were released with no further action. There is no evidence to suggest that the Reigns are behind this other than your word.’
‘Even with everything I found? What about the farm? Surely it has a connection to them?’
‘That farm has been derelict for years. It was abandoned, all of the animals slaughtered. Anyone could have been using it. It has no connection to Joshua and Amanda Reign.’
‘But what about everything else? Everything else I showed you?’
‘What you showed us was randomly pieced together bits of information that fit your memory of what happened. Your story. And the timing of your story was very convenient.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that at the very time you knew police were considering whether to charge you or not, and public opinion had turned against you, you suddenly remembered information about what was said in the Confession Room which you had never mentioned before. Maybe you thought that if the people who orchestrated this were found, you would be off the hook.’
‘That isn’t fair. And it isn’t true!’
‘We cannot charge two innocent people – people who have already suffered – just because you have pulled them out at random.’
‘But I haven’t pulled them out at random. The people from the Confession Room had a daughter who was killed. And –’
‘Emilia, we are keeping the Reigns under investigation, but there is not a shred of concrete evidence which would allow us to charge them.’ Wild stands, one hand rising to rest on her waist. ‘We are doing everything we can to find whoever did this. And if anything further comes up that directs us towards Joshua and Amanda Reign, then of course everything could change, but as it stands, there is no case against them.’
Emilia whimpers and drops her head, unable to look at Wild any longer. Unable to face her outright disdain, her complete lack of understanding.
‘My … my parents,’ she whispers, staring down at her hands as tears drip on to her lap. ‘What if the killers come back?’
‘The families of the survivors will continue to be watched by the police. We’re not letting any of this go just because you’ve been charged. The investigation is continuing and your families will be protected. Now, I need you to return to the custody suite, and they’ll get you ready to be transferred to Holloway.’
Emilia attempts a nod, but her head is heavy, a weight bearing down on the back of her neck. She bites her lip in a desperate attempt to stop herself from crying – she doesn’t want Wild to see her like this, not again, not now. But she can’t help it. She is crying for everything that has happened, for everything she has lost. The past, and the future.
She follows Wild out of the room, her feet dragging across the floor until she reaches the custody desk. But she can’t look up at Brennan or the sergeant. She continues to stare at the ground as they explain what will happen next, and as they speak, tears course down her face, the pain in her head now all-consuming. Even as they place her in a cell to wait, as she leaves the station to get on to the van, even as she realizes that Isabella is there also, her eyes full of emotion, before they both clamber on and the door slams on their individual compartments, and Emilia’s breathing tightens, her eyes squeezing shut to block out the claustrophobic space, the handcuffs bound tightly around her wrists, even as shouts come from the crowd outside, and she flinches as a hand bangs on the glazed windows – the same thought is going round and round in her mind, like a spinning top, faster and faster.
They’re letting them get away with what they did to us and we’re going to be punished.
They’re letting them get away with what they did to us.
They’re letting them get away with what they did.
They’re letting them get away.