‘I just remember he was upset when those horrible boys got off. Even though there was nothing he could have done.’ I smile sadly at Katie. ‘It’s just what he’s like. He cares about people.’
On the table in front of us, Katie’s phone rings. ‘Probably work,’ she says. ‘Sorry.’ I motion that I’m going to the bathroom anyway.
When I come back, she is sitting on the very edge of the sofa.
‘Katie?’
‘It wasn’t work,’ she says quietly, looking up at me. ‘It was Daniel. He said he’d been trying to call you. Where’s your phone?’
I frown. ‘In my bag, I think, or … maybe in your kitchen. Why – what’s going on?’
She opens her mouth, closes it again.
‘Katie?’
‘He … he said you should come home straight away. The police are searching the offices –’
‘What, Daniel’s office?’
‘Yes … and … Helen, your brother’s been arrested.’
It can’t be real, I think. It doesn’t feel like real life.
‘Charlie?’
Katie shakes her head. ‘That’s just it. He said … he said they’d arrested Rory.’
SERENA
The room smells of bleach, of dust, of neglect. A single light hangs overhead. I take a seat in the grey plastic chair in front of a screen, a constellation of little holes drilled into the glass, like in a banking kiosk. A little gap underneath. I sit down, carefully, steadying myself on the glass, hugging my bump to my body. Things are getting more difficult now. I place my bag on the floor, twist to spread my coat across the back of the chair so it doesn’t crease. I sit there, waiting, for what seems like a long time.
Finally, there is a buzzing noise, harsh, institutional. The sound of a heavy door opening. And there, on the other side of the smeared glass, is my husband. A day-old stubble on his cheeks, a haunted look in his eyes. A blue nylon bib on his chest as if he is off to play five-a-side. Except he is not. He is in police custody, facing a charge of murder.
Rory’s eyes widen when he sees me.
‘Serena,’ he says. Then his face collapses. He slumps into the chair, covers his eyes with his hands, like a child trying to hide. His forearms are brown, still, although the colour has faded a little. Just a couple of weeks ago, we were still on holiday, sailing out to Capri. The sky had been overcast, but there had been a brightness behind the clouds that made you squint. The sort of day where you burn without realising.
I lean towards my husband, try to reach my hand through the flap. ‘No touching,’ a voice snaps from the corner. I look up to see a guard standing in one corner. I hadn’t even noticed him come in. I pull my hand away.
‘It’s all right,’ I tell him. ‘It’s going to be all right.’ But the truth is, I don’t know if it is going to be all right. I really don’t.
When he has calmed down, I lean again into the little holes in the glass.
‘Rory.’ He looks up. ‘I need to know what happened.’ I hold his gaze, to be sure he understands. ‘I need to know everything.’
And so, he tells me.
He tells me about the interview room. The female detective, her hair pulled back from her face. How she had watched him with her dark brown eyes as she spread out six photographs on the table.
Despite the blurry focus, the graininess of the half-light, there was no mistaking what they showed. The purple sign of the cheap hotel visible in the corner. A mane of dark hair, his hand buried in it. The florid milky pink of his face under the glare of the flash. His eyes red, like a rabid dog’s, where the flash had gone off in his eyes.
Her voice was clear, devoid of emotion, like a recorded message.
‘Do you recognise the individuals in these photographs, Mr Haverstock?’
Yes, he did. It was him and his secretary, Lisa Palmer.
He’d known they would find the pictures as soon as he’d heard they were searching the offices. They’d ordered Daniel to hand over the code to the safe. Daniel had refused, said the safe was private. But they’d shown the warrant, threatened to charge him as an accessory. Terrified, he’d agreed.
The detective leaned forward, nudging the photographs closer towards him with her fingertips.
‘How did these photographs come to be in your possession, Rory?’
He didn’t know, he said. Lisa had put the envelope on his desk one day, saying someone dropped them off while she was out at lunch. She hadn’t seen who. The police nodded, then. Told him that Lisa had confirmed the story, had told them she did not recall ever seeing the person who had dropped off the envelope, that she had no idea what the contents were. Luckily, though, the detective said, they had obtained fingerprints from the envelope. Fingerprints which were a match for an individual whose DNA profile was held on the database. That person was Rachel Wells.