“That’s better. Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll get you a nice, hot drink.”
She leads me through a maze of corridors, ending in a dark, dingy room.
I freeze in the doorway.
“Isn’t this an interrogation room?”
She laughs. “It’s an interview room, yes. There isn’t much space I’m afraid. We have to use whatever room is available. “
Cautiously, I step inside.
“Do sit down. Hot chocolate do you?”
“Um, yes, thanks.”
She leaves, closing the door behind her. I shudder. The room is cold and forbidding. There are no pictures and no windows. The clock on the wall is stuck on twelve, yet it keeps on ticking. I sit down, but then jump up again. If I listen carefully, I’m sure I can hear the echoes of all the people who were here before me; the guilty and the innocent, each protesting their case with equal vigour, an endless stream of questions and accusations, ricocheting off the walls.
What’s taking so long?
I glance down at my wrist but my watch is still at the gym along with everything else. Where is Nice Police Lady? It seems like she’s been gone ages, though it might only have been a matter of minutes. I edge towards the door, am about to turn the handle, when it comes swinging open and almost knocks me flying.
“Sorry about that.” Nice Police Lady hands me a steaming hot cup – it’s one of those plastic ones you get from a vending machine. “Got a bit caught up. Do take a seat.”
She sits down at the table. Reluctantly, I sit down opposite.
“OK, so we’ve verified who you are, but I have to admit, I’m still rather curious as to how you came to be in this predicament?”
I bite my lip. “Like I said, I got locked out of my house.”
I pick up my drink and take a tentative sip.
“Oh, so you have one of those doors that locks when you close it?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then how did you get locked out?”
I scour my brain for a feasible explanation, but nothing comes to mind. I take a deep breath.
“There was a fire at my gym,” I reluctantly explain. “I’d been waiting out in the cold for a long time and I thought it would be quicker to just go home. I only live around the corner.”
Her eyes widen. “You walked home in just a towel? And without your keys?”
“Yeah, well I probably wasn’t thinking straight,” I admit. “It was really cold.”
There is a knock at the door and another police officer walks in.
He looks at me with a smug, satisfied smile.
It’s my old friend, DS Penney.
“Isabel Anderson,” he says grimly. “Well, isn’t this a surprise?”
I glance back at Nice Police Lady.
“What’s going on?”
“My colleague here just wanted to have a word with you. I understand you’ve met DS Penney?”
I nod, slowly.
“What’s this about?”
“Just a little chat.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I’m not talking to you anymore without a lawyer.”
I had hoped mentioning a lawyer would put him off, but he nods his approval.
“I’ll see if the duty solicitor is available.”
Now what?
He returns a few minutes later accompanied by a stern-looking woman who reminds me of my old headmistress, in her brown suit with a gold scarf tied around her neck.
She introduces herself, but I am too nervous to catch her name. Penney and Nice Police Lady leave us alone to confer.
“I didn’t do anything!” I tell her, as soon as he’s gone. “Someone’s trying to set me up.”
She nods doubtfully, as if she’s heard it all a thousand times before, which she probably has. I tell her the whole story, from the beginning and she nods thoughtfully, but I’m not sure she really buys it.
“When they ask you a question, just say ‘No comment’,” she tells me.
“Shouldn’t I just answer the questions? I’ve nothing to hide.”
She shakes her head, adamantly. “No. Just say ‘No comment’.”
Penney and his colleague come back in. Penney switches on the tape and reads me the caution.
“Isabel, you’ve already admitted that the lighter found at scene of the caravan park fire was yours. Is that correct?”
“Well, I…” I glance at my lawyer. “No comment,” I mutter.
“You already admitted it was yours when Constable Smith and I spoke to you at Robertson’s Supercentre.”
I look down at my thumbs.
“No comment.”
Penney presses his lips together to hide his annoyance.
“At 9.30 this morning you were present at the scene of another fire, at the Waterfront Gym, weren’t you Isabel? And this time, you’ve admitted to sneaking away.”
I shift uncomfortably. “I know how it looks, but I had nothing to do with that fire – or any of them.”
This time it’s my lawyer who looks at me in annoyance.
“I..I mean no comment.”
There is a knock at the door and Penney is called away. He returns, stony faced a few minutes later.
“You can go,” he mumbles.
“Really?”
“Why, what’s changed?” My lawyer demands.
“The preliminary investigation suggests that the fire at the gym was caused by the deep fat fryer in the cafe kitchen,” he reports, with reluctance. “They don’t think it was arson.”
“It wasn’t?” I say in surprise.
Is it possible?
Nice Police Lady escorts me back out to the front desk. There is no pleasant small talk this time. I’m not sure I trust her anymore.
“Would you like to ring someone to come and pick you up?” she asks.
“Yes, please.”
I consider my options. I really don’t feel like answering twenty questions from Kate or Deacon, so I ring Rhett. He comes straight round to collect me.
“Thanks for getting here so quickly,” I say, as we walk out into the daylight.
“No problem.”
I look up and down the street for his zippy little sports car, but can’t see it.
“Where did you park?”
“Over there,” he says, reluctantly. I look again.
Deacon’s dark red BMW.
Deacon winds down the window.
“Hello, Isabel.”
I glare at Rhett for giving me away, but he just shrugs and hops in the back.
Deacon opens the passenger door for me and I climb in, but he doesn’t start the car.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
I blunder my way through the story of how I got locked out of the house. I’m getting really sick of telling it by now. I can tell he’s miffed that I called Rhett instead of him. Not that it’s really any of his business.
He drives me back to the gym to get my stuff, but we find it closed. I don’t know what I expected. It was on fire, for Pete’s sake.
“How about we go to Kate’s and get the spare key?” Deacon suggests.
“Kate doesn’t have a spare anymore,” I say, looking down at my hands.
“She lost it?”
“No, I changed the locks.”
He blinks. “Why?”
“It’s complicated.”
“So you want to stay at ours tonight?”
“No,” I say, a little too sharply. “I mean, it’s OK, I can crash at Kate’s.”
“We’ve got more room,” he says, logically.
“No really – I’ll be fine at Kate’s.”
“As you wish.”
To my relief, the gym is open is for business again the following morning, so I am able to collect my keys.
“Fluffy?” I call, walking into the living room. I listen out for the jingling of his bell, but the house remains silent.
“Fluffy?”
I walk into the kitchen and am about to unlock the back door when I notice his food bowl. He hasn’t touched any of the food I left out for him yesterday morning, before I went to the gym. I feel a lurch in my stomach.