Hawkins scribbled something else. ‘Food?’ he said. ‘Where did you go?’
‘To McDonalds,’ Pip said with a small, shameful smile, dipping her head. ‘The one in the service station in Beaconsfield.’
‘In Beaconsfield?’ He chewed his pen. ‘Was that the closest place you could have got food?’
‘Well, it was the closest McDonalds, and that’s what we wanted.’
‘What time did you arrive at this McDonalds?’
‘Um…’ Pip thought about it. ‘I wasn’t really keeping track of the time, especially as I didn’t have a phone, but if we left not long after my phone call to Epps, then we must have got there just after ten-ish.’
‘And you said you drove? In your car?’ he asked.
‘Yep.’
‘What kind of car do you have?’
Pip sniffed. ‘It’s a VW Beetle. Grey.’
‘And the number plate is?’
She recited it to him, watching as he noted it down and underlined it.
‘So you arrived at McDonalds around ten-ish,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that a bit late for dinner?’
Pip shrugged. ‘Still a teenager, what can I say?’
‘Had you been drinking?’ he asked her.
‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘because that would have been a crime.’
‘That it would,’ he said, eyes flicking back down his page of notes. ‘And how long were you at this McDonalds for?’
‘Yeah, quite a while,’ Pip said. ‘We got our meals and we sat there for, like, an hour and a half-ish, I’d guess. Then I went up and got us a couple of ice creams for the journey back. I could check on my Barclays app what time that was, I paid for the food.’
Hawkins shook his head slightly. He didn’t need to see it on her phone; he had his own ways of verifying her alibi. And there he would see her on the footage, clear as day, standing in line, avoiding eye contact with the camera. Two separate payments made by her card. Air-tight, Hawkins.
‘All right, so you think you left McDonalds around eleven thirty?’
‘That would be my best guess, yes,’ she said. ‘Without checking.’
‘And where did you go from there?’
‘Well, home,’ she said, lowering her eyebrows because the answer was too obvious. ‘I drove us back to Kilton, dropped the Ward sisters home, and then I drove back to my house.’
‘What time did you get back to your house?’
‘Again, I wasn’t really keeping an eye on the time, especially because I didn’t have my phone,’ she said. ‘But when I got in, my mum was still waiting up in bed for me, and it must have been after twelve because she made some comment about it being after midnight. We were getting up early the next morning, see.’
‘And then?’ He glanced up.
‘And then I went to bed. To sleep.’
Covered, for the entire time-of-death window. Pip could see it playing out in the new lines wrinkling across Hawkins’ forehead. Of course, she could be lying, maybe that’s what he was thinking. He’d have to check. But she wasn’t lying, not about this part, and all the evidence was there, just waiting for him.
Hawkins exhaled, running his eyes down his page again, something troubling him, Pip could see it in his eyes. ‘Interview paused at 11:43.’ He clicked stop on the machine. ‘I’m just going to grab a coffee,’ he said, rising from his chair, gathering up the files. ‘Would you like one?’
No, she didn’t. She felt sick on the comedown from the adrenaline, her gut finally untwisting now she knew she’d survived, she’d won, that Max had killed Jason and it couldn’t possibly have been her. But it hadn’t untwisted all the way; it was that look in his eyes she couldn’t work out. Hawkins was waiting for an answer.
‘Yes please,’ she said, even though she didn’t want to. ‘Milk, no sugar.’ An innocent person would take the coffee, someone who had nothing to hide, nothing to worry about.
‘Two minutes.’ Hawkins smiled at her, shuffling out the door. It clicked shut behind him, and Pip listened to the muffled clip of his shoes, carrying him down the hall. Maybe he was going to get coffee, but he was probably also handing that new information off to another officer, directing them to start looking into her alibi.
She exhaled, slumped in her chair. She didn’t have to perform just now, no one was watching. Part of her wanted to cup her hands over her face and cry into them. Bawl. Scream. Laugh. Because she was free and it was over. She could lock that terror away and never let it out again. And maybe one day, years from now, she’d even forget about it, or life would have dulled its edges, made her forget the feeling of almost dying. Only a good life would do that, she thought. A normal one. And maybe, maybe that’s what she’d have. Maybe she’d just earned it back.