‘No.’
‘Did you kill Darren Goodall?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was frightened of him.’
‘What did you tell the police?’
‘I told them we were together. I signed a statement.’
‘Nobody believes you. Including me.’
Angry and over-confident, I launch a punch at her chest. Tempe parries, sidesteps, and parries a second punch, before ducking and spinning. Her kick connects, which surprises me. I’m off balance, trying to recover, but she grapples and we’re scrabbling on the ground. She has the better position, sitting behind me. Her legs are hooked around my waist. Her right arm snakes around my throat and grabs her left bicep in a classic chokehold.
I use both my hands to pull at her forearm, keeping it off my throat, but she tightens the hold, cutting blood to my brain. I fight harder, pushing her backwards, giving her less leverage, but she is ready for every move. When I roll, she rolls. When I kneel, she kneels, never letting go.
‘Tap out,’ she says, wanting me to concede.
I refuse.
She tightens her arm around my throat. I scratch at her wrists, growing dizzy.
‘Tap out.’
‘No,’ I croak.
My grip is weakening. She leans her forehead against my head, pushing me more firmly onto her forearm. I can feel myself losing consciousness. It’s like watching a picture dissolve from a TV screen, shrinking to a single white dot before the world goes dark.
Although I’m only out for a few seconds, it feels like much longer. When my eyes open, Tempe is still cradling me in her arms, more gently now. Her legs are wrapped around me like a lover’s, not an opponent’s.
‘You should have tapped out,’ she says.
I push her legs away and get to my feet.
‘I want you to stay away from me. Stop calling my number. Stop visiting my mother.’
Tempe shakes her head, like I’m a problem child who won’t listen to reason. Her voice changes and her eyes narrow. ‘Without me, you have no alibi. Without me, you could go to prison.’
‘I’ll tell them you drugged me and left me sleeping while you murdered Darren Goodall.’
‘But that’s not true.’
‘Prove otherwise.’
‘How can I prove a lie?’ she asks, genuinely curious. ‘I don’t mind if you hurt me. I’m used to being hurt. But please don’t stop loving me.’
‘Loving you! You’re delusional.’
‘You said we were like sisters.’
‘I was wrong. I hate you. I hate what you’ve done to me.’
Tempe sighs and springs to her feet. ‘You should go home and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.’
‘No! You won’t call me. You won’t text me.’
‘But we need to talk about how we’re going to handle this.’
‘There is no “we”！’ Spittle shoots from my mouth. ‘Coyle was right – you need help. Go back to hospital, Tempe.’
She brushes down her uniform and touches her hair. I see a droplet of spit drying on her cheek.
‘I’ll go now. Call me when you’ve calmed down.’
‘Why are you doing this to me?’ I ask, pleading with her.
‘What a silly question. We’re best friends.’
62
I’m still angry when I arrive at my father’s house. I storm through the door and head straight for the library and the drinks cabinet. Tempe’s cloying, irritating, girlish voice is still echoing in my head. ‘We’re best friends,’ I parrot, as I pour myself a Scotch that sloshes over the sides of the tumbler. I need two hands to hold it steady. She did it. She killed him. And now I’m trapped. She still has her arm across my throat, slowly choking me.
‘Is everything OK?’
My father is sitting in a large leather armchair beside the window. He’s not alone. David Helgarde is opposite him in a matching high-backed chair. The barrister has his legs crossed and his trouser cuffs have ridden up, exposing a pale, veined shin above his dark socks.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask. ‘Has something happened?’
‘David has been updating me on developments. Sit down. You should hear this.’
I’d rather go and drown myself in the bath, I think, as I pour another drink. A spare chair is positioned between them and I get the impression that they’ve been waiting for me.
Helgarde begins. ‘Do you know the meaning of disclosure in a legal sense?’
‘I’m not stupid,’ I reply, annoyed.
This earns me a look from my father, but Helgarde doesn’t seem to notice.
‘The prosecution is obliged to disclose to the defence all materials collected by the police during the course of the investigation. Usually, we don’t gain access this early, but I have my sources.’
‘You have a spy?’ I suggest.
‘Nothing quite so dramatic.’ He clears his throat. ‘On the positive side, the traces of your DNA and thumbprint can be used to support your story of being in the house earlier. Finbar has also provided a statement about breaking into Darren Goodall’s car, which backs up your version of the timeline. But it doesn’t rule out the possibility that you returned to the house, which is why your alibi is so important.’
He glances at a legal folder in his lap.
‘The police are still tracking mobile phones and looking at footage from traffic cameras, and private CCTV, but to date they haven’t been able to place either Tempe or you in the vicinity of the house when the fire broke out. Your mobile was turned off shortly after midnight. Miss Brown’s phone has been tracked from the nightclub to her flat and it didn’t leave that location until she drove you home at 10.42 the following morning.’
The more the lawyer talks, the more I dread the moment he stops. The silence that follows will signal my turn to speak, to give account, to explain, to provide the why and how and when.
‘The police also appear to be hardening in their conviction that you and Tempe Brown were working together,’ says Helgarde. ‘In criminal law, the joint enterprise doctrine permits two or more defendants to be convicted of the same criminal offence, even if they had different levels of involvement in the incident.’
‘But I wasn’t involved,’ I slur. ‘I think Tempe left the flat while I was sleeping.’
A shadow seems to pass across the lawyer’s eyes. ‘Are you saying that you can’t alibi her?’
‘I don’t want to alibi her.’ I avert my eyes and look down at my hands.
‘Why would she kill Darren Goodall?’
‘He was stalking her. Sending her threatening messages.’
Helgarde glances at my father. Something is wrong.
‘The police have found no evidence that Goodall was stalking or harassing Miss Brown.’
‘I saw the messages. There were dozens of them. Hateful texts. Threats …’
Helgarde pauses and waits for me to fall silent. ‘The police did, however, discover several apps on Miss Brown’s phone and home computer which allowed her to send anonymous text messages. The program could hide her caller ID and location.’
It takes a moment for the information to register.