Chapter 22

T hey asked me if I wanted a solicitor. I said I haven’t done anything wrong so why would I need a solicitor? They – DI Peters and another policeman, a Sergeant Stephens, didn’t answer me. DI Peters seems quite nice but Sergeant Stephens doesn’t; short, skinny and decidedly rodent like, he arrived in the room in a fug of stale cigarette smoke, briefly and unsmilingly introduced himself to me, nodded at DI Peters and then the two of them both went out and left me in here on my own. I wonder if they’re going to do good cop bad cop on me or have I watched too many police dramas?

They’ve told me that I have to call someone or else a solicitor will be arranged on my behalf. I definitely don’t want a stranger so I thought for a while about who I should call and I decided that maybe Doris wasn’t the best person to ask for. She’s not a solicitor and I also have a sneaking suspicion that she might have previous, if you know what I mean, so that might not be very helpful. There’s also the chance that she’d freak out if I asked her.

Since the horrific journey from Duck Pond Lane and then Peters and Stephens brief visits I’ve been left alone in this room with pea coloured walls and no windows. The only furniture is a teak effect Formica topped, metal-legged table with four matching chairs arranged around it. A very young WPC came in and provided me with a cup of tea and then left immediately.

Although I was only in the police car for about fifteen minutes it felt like forever. Every time we stopped at a traffic light or slowed down I tried to make myself as small as possible so that no one could see me if they looked in. I even took my ponytail out so I could pull my hair around my face and try to hide behind it. It was awful and all I kept thinking was, they must think I’m a murderer if they’ve arrested me.

I’m sitting with my hands linked together on the table and staring at them. I’m very aware of the camera mounted in the corner of the room. This may be just to film my interview but I’m taking no chances; I don’t want to display any sort of behaviour that could indicate guilt.

Although I don’t know what sort of behaviour that is – they could think I’m a cold-blooded killer for not displaying any emotion. I don’t know so I’ll pretend to be in shock. Although I don’t have to pretend, really.

There’s a double tape machine which takes up a third of the table. I know this is to tape our interview, one copy for them and one for me. I haven’t watched EastEnders for nothing. My mobile phone was taken away from me at the front desk although part of me wonders if they’re allowed to do that. Maybe this is part of the softening up process, maybe they’re trying to panic me by leaving me alone. If only they knew that I’ve been alone for all of my life.

I do feel a lot better than I did and I’ve managed to calm down, the initial shock when I realised that they thought I’m some sort of serial killer has gone now. I just have to convince them that it’s all been a terrible, silly mistake. I’m not sure how I feel about Mother dying. I can’t quite believe she’s gone. I should probably feel sad about it but at the moment I don’t. I’m too busy trying not to be charged with murder. Maybe I’ll feel sorry about her death later. Maybe I’ll miss her later. I doubt it and for now I’m not going to think about her.

I’ve made my mind up that I’m going to call Gerald, he’s a solicitor although I don’t know if he does criminal stuff; I think he’s more house sales and wills but he’s the only solicitor I know. I’ve thought about this long and hard because obviously he’s going to find out that I’m a liar as he doesn’t know that I’m a cleaner. And looking a liar is not a good start when you want someone to defend you. But actually, I think I could probably convince him that I told him what I did for a living when we went on our date. After all, he wasn’t really listening because he was too busy talking about himself.

But whether he believes me or not I think I can handle that, more to the point I think I can handle him.

My head is starting to pound and I’m tired of sitting here waiting for someone to come and interrogate me. What would a normal person who’d just lost their beloved mother do in my situation? Would they sit meekly and wait? I don’t think they would, they’d be demanding answers.

Decision made, I walk over to the door and rap sharply on the window to try and attract someone’s attention. I try the door handle and rattle it. It’s locked.

After a few minutes of my knuckle rapping a uniformed policeman appears at the door window and then unlocks and opens the door.

‘What’s the problem?’ He raises one eyebrow and has a slight sneer on his face. No madam or Miss Travis , it seems that I’m to be denied those niceties now I’m suspected of murder.

‘I’d like my telephone call.’

‘If you sit down I’ll arrange it,’ he says flatly, already closing the door as he speaks. I’m left staring at the closed door. I’ve been found guilty already.

I sit down and drum my fingers on the table, frustrated that my fate is in the hands of other people. The thought of being incarcerated in a prison brings me out in a cold sweat; the thought of not being able to go out when I want and being told what to do all of the time is unbearable. Mother imprisoned me for years but at least I eventually escaped and just when I can see complete freedom on the horizon it could all be snatched away from me.

The door clicks and Sergeant Stephens comes into the room.

‘If you come with me you can make your telephone call.’

I get up without a word and follow him, he must have come straight from the smoking shelter because he leaves a trail of stale cigarette smoke in his wake. He stops in front of the desk and nods at the phone extension on the desk.

‘You’ve got five minutes. You have to put a nine in front.’

I wait for him to move but he folds his arms and stands watching. There’s a bespectacled receptionist sitting behind the desk typing rapidly on a keyboard. She doesn’t look up as I turn my back on Stephens and pick the phone up. I realise that I don’t know Gerald’s phone number.

‘I need my phone to look up the phone number.’ I turn around to face Sergeant Stephens.

‘Who are you trying to ring?’

‘My solicitor.’

‘We’ve got all of the solicitor’s numbers. Who is it?’

‘Thompsons.’

‘Zoe, you’ve got Thompsons on your list, haven’t you?’ He completely ignores me and speaks to the receptionist behind the desk.

She stops typing for a moment, spins her swivel chair around to face the wall, looks at a list pinned to the notice board and reads out a number.

‘Sorry, could you say that again?’ She read it so quickly I couldn’t punch the numbers in quick enough. She purses her lips and reads it again, very slowly, and I punch the numbers in and hope desperately that Gerald isn’t out of the office. Will I be allowed another call if he’s not there or is this the only one I’ll get? After three rings the phone is answered by the snooty tones of Eunice. I ask for Gerald and realise that I have my fingers crossed.

‘Putting you through.’ Thank God, he’s there.

‘Gerald Thompson.’

‘Gerald?’ I query. ‘It’s Alison.’

‘Hi Alison,’ he says warmly, sounding pleased to hear from me and I remember that I told him I was away on business and would contact him when I got back. It dawns on me that he’s not going to believe I told him I was a cleaner. Too bad, there’s nothing I can do about it now. He must think I’m ringing up to arrange a date.

‘Hey, how are you, how was your trip?’

Yep. Apparently, he did listen. So what did I go and do?

I burst into tears.

✽✽✽

Gerald is on his way to the police station and I’m back in the interview room, locked in. I don’t know why I burst into tears but, on reflection, I think that was probably the very best thing I could have done, helpless, grieving female and all that. I had to hand the phone over to Sergeant Stephens to explain the situation as I was blubbing so much. He looked at me with absolute disgust before having a short, terse conversation with Gerald before hanging up. He never spoke a word to me and ushered me back in here with a hand on my back which was almost a shove. I think he’s taken a massive dislike to me which obviously isn’t going to help my case.

I’ve stopped crying now and I wish I had a comb and a bit of make-up with me because I’m sure I look a wreck and not a bit like the glamorous creature that Gerald knows. It’s probably a good thing that there aren’t any mirrors in here to make me feel any worse. I’m wondering how long he’ll take to get here when the door clicks behind me and I hear Gerald’s voice as he comes in.

‘....I’ll need some time alone with my client.’ He shuts the door and walks over to me. He looks just as gorgeous as ever and I wonder what he must think of the train wreck standing in front of him. For no good reason that I can think of I stand up from the chair.

‘You poor thing, what the hell are they thinking of?’ Gerald shocks me by taking me in his arms and holding me tight. I relax in his embrace and allow myself to be held.

‘They think I killed someone.’ I sniff. ‘They think I killed Mummy.’

‘Barbaric. Absolutely barbaric.’ He pats my back reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry I’ll soon have you out of here.’

We stay like this for several minutes and then Gerald gently releases his arms and stands back and looks at me.

He brushes a stray hair back from my forehead and smiles sadly at me and I realise that he’s enjoying playing a knight in shining armour. He pulls the chair out next to me and sits down and I sit and turn to face him.

‘What have they told you?’

‘That I’ve been arrested for attempted murder.’ I shake my head in disbelief. ‘A lady called Rita, she works where I work.’

He looks at me in concern and nods.

‘Gerald,’ I say, stifling a sob, ‘I have a confession to make, I lied to you about my job, I’m not really a food writer at all. I’m a cleaner.’

Gerald doesn’t look too surprised and I guess that the police have already told him. Of course he’d know what they’re charging me with. I hurriedly continue before he can think too much about it.

‘And I feel so, so bad about that, but I was only trying to impress you. I’m not really a liar, it’s just,’ I squeeze out another tear and it rolls down my cheek, ‘that you’re so successful, and well, amazing, I thought you wouldn’t want to know me if you knew the truth. Cleaning was the only job that I could get that fitted in with caring for mummy.’

Gerald takes my hand and holds it gently between both of his.

‘Of course I don’t think you’re a liar and none of that matters now. The main thing is that we get this sorted out and they let you go home.’

I sniff and smile bravely and gaze adoringly into Gerald’s eyes.

The shuffle of feet and voices interrupt this touching moment and DI Peters and Sergeant Stephens enter the room. Gerald quickly lets go of my hand and bends down and makes a show of rummaging in his briefcase. It’s been noted though; the hand holding, I can tell.

There’s a lot of scraping of chair legs and Peters and Stephens deposit themselves in the seats opposite us, arranging the files they’re brought with them onto the desk. Gerald produces a large, thick writing pad and places it carefully on the desk in front of him and puts a chunky, expensive looking pen on top.

Stephens opens his file and produces two cassette tapes in plastic wrapping. He snaps the plastic from them and slots both of them into the recorder, presses a button and a red-light glows on the front of the device.

‘For the benefit of the tape please state your full name and address.’

He must mean me, he’s looking at me.

‘Alison Travis, six Duck Pond Lane. ’

‘Miss Travis. Is it correct that you are employed by Moppers Homeclean Ltd of Frogham?’

‘It is.’

‘Is it also correct that on January 28th of this year you visited Mr Justin Willoughby’s house with a Mrs Rita Williams?’

I open my mouth to say yes when Gerald stops me by holding his hand up.

‘You don’t have to answer that.’

I’ve already told them that I was there so they know but on the other hand, I think Gerald doesn’t want me to answer.

‘No comment.’ I say and I sense Gerald’s approval.

Stephen’s lips press tightly together.

‘Is it also true that you visited the Willoughby’s house on Monday last when Rita Williams was cleaning there?’

‘No comment.’ I’m getting the hang of this now.

‘We have a witness who saw you entering the Willoughby’s house on Monday last.’

Gerald sighs theatrically.

‘My client is not going to answer any more questions until you provide us with the details of the alleged charge and who this witness is.’ He twirls the chunky pen in his fingers. ‘In fact, I’ve a mind to make a complaint to the relevant authorities about your treatment of someone who has just suffered the loss of their mother.’

‘At the moment Miss Travis is helping us with our enquiries; we arrested her on suspicion of murder as she would not come willingly to the station.’ Stephens looks livid; his lips are pressed tightly together and I can see his nostrils flaring with the effort of controlling what I guess to be a hair trigger temper.

Gerald makes a snorting noise of disgust through his nose.

Stephens looks at DI Peters who nods.

‘The alleged charge is the attempted murder of Rita Williams by poisoning on January28th and May 28th .’

‘And what evidence do you have that my client is implicated?’

‘Miss Travis had access to Mrs Williams’ belongings on or about January 28th . Miss Travis was also seen by a witness outside the Willoughby’s house last Monday.’

‘And that’s it? That’s the extent of your evidence?’ Gerald affects an amazed expression on his face. ‘You dragged my recently bereaved client into this station to question her without any substantive evidence?’

‘It’s on record that Mrs Williams has twice been hospitalised and nearly died on the second occasion after poison was administered.’

‘What sort of poison?’ Gerald snaps.

‘Peanuts.’

‘I’m sorry, I thought you said peanuts.’ Gerald says sarcastically.

‘I did. Mrs Williams has a very severe peanut allergy and the evidence points to Miss Travis tampering with Mrs William’s water bottle and introducing traces of peanut into the water.’

‘Fingerprints?’ Gerald asks, his confidence brimming over.

A sheepish look is exchanged between the detectives .

‘No, I thought not.’ Gerald is shaking his head emphatically. ‘You have no evidence and I want my client released immediately.’

‘Miss Travis was seen outside the Willoughby’s house last Monday.’

‘That’s not evidence. Was she seen going into the house?’

‘No.’ Stephens sighs as Peters watches me intently, waiting for a reaction. I keep my face passive.

‘Then you have nothing.’

‘We have a statement from the manager at Moppers Homeclean that Miss Travis was insistent that she replace Mrs Williams at the Willoughby’s house. Unusually insistent, we were told.’

Veronica. The cow.

‘So,’ Gerald pauses and looks at me and smiles and I realise that he’s enjoying himself immensely. ‘What you have is hearsay and gossip that my client was so desperate to clean Mr Willoughby’s house that she poisoned a work colleague.’ He laughs mockingly. ‘Hardly a motive is it? Is my client the only one who had access to Mrs William’s bag?’ Gerald holds his hand up as Stephens opens his mouth to answer. ‘It was a rhetorical question Sergeant, of course she wasn’t. Now, I demand that you bring this interview to an end immediately and return my client’s belongings to her.’

DI Peters clears his throat.

‘Mrs Williams is insistent that she saw Miss Travis out of the window as she was dusting the windowsill.’

‘Mrs Williams, the alleged victim?’ Gerald shakes his head. ‘So you don’t have a witness at all, then.’ He picks up his notepad and puts it in his briefcase. ‘Just one person’s word against another.’

‘There’s no denying that Mrs Williams was hospitalised on two occasions.’

‘And yet she waited four months after the first occasion to make a complaint.’

‘It was only when Mrs Williams remembered that she saw Miss Travis last week that she made the connection with what had happened in January. That was when she realised that her bottle of water had been tampered with.’

‘Flimsy in the extreme, she may well have eaten something she shouldn’t have by mistake.’

‘There is also the matter of Mrs Travis’s sudden death.’ His hair trigger temper now perilously close to firing, Sergeant Stephens almost shouts at Gerald.

‘Sudden death? You seriously…’ Gerald leans across the desk to stare straight into Stephens rat-like features.‘…think that my client, Mrs Travis’s devoted daughter and carer, had anything to do with an elderly lady’s not unexpected demise?’

They eyeball each other for several moments before DI Peters quietly clears his throat.

‘There is the matter of the chair.’ He says gently.

Gerald sits back in his chair and turns his attention to DI Peters.

‘The chair?’ Gerald says in a puzzled way.

‘The chair,’ Sergeant Stephens says nastily, ‘that was wedged under the door handle of your client’s mother’s door so that she couldn’t get out.’

Oh God. The chair. I’d almost forgotten about that.

Gerald turns to me with a shocked look on his face .

‘It was for her own safety,’ I say in a measured voice. ‘She was getting very forgetful and confused. On one occasion she had dragged herself out of bed and I was afraid she might fall down the stairs if she managed to get out of her room.’

I watch Gerald’s reaction as I speak and I can tell from his expression that he believes me. Totally.

‘So, a perfectly reasonable explanation. Is that it? Do you think this is an acceptable reason to detain my client? Do you have any actual evidence that Mrs Travis’s death wasn’t natural causes?

Sergeant Stephen’s opens his mouth to speak but Gerald stops him with a glare.

‘You do not . You have no evidence and absolutely no justification to hold my client for a moment longer.’

DI Peters quietly closes the file in front of him.

‘I take it we’re done here?’ Gerald demands.

‘You can go.’ Sergeant Stephens says to me ungraciously, ‘But we may have further questions for you at a later date.’

‘No, you won’t.’ Gerald stands up, ‘Think yourselves lucky that my client isn’t making a complaint against you.’

I stand up next to Gerald and try not to smile.

It seems that I’ve got away with it.