Page 103 of The Unforgiven

“Ask her about Charlie Mason,” I said, pressing a button so Wrigley and Nick could hear the question in their ears. “Ask her about him being her first real friend.”

“Let’s go back a bit in time, back to when you were seventeen and still Kelly-Anne Marsh. You were sectioned under the mental health act, and admitted to Lindridge Psychiatric Hospital in Leeds, where you met Charlie Mason. He was your first real friend, wasn’t he?” Wrigley sat up straighter, folded his arms and waited.

One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Justine still didn’t say anything.

I itched to be in the room, to be the one speaking with her. I knew she would see a connection between us; we’d both been Daniel’s assistant, one of the most eminent professors in the field of criminology. That role of his assistant was coveted; he opened doors to the higher plains of academia and to be his chosen one was a special thing.

I had preceded Justine, but I hadn’t chosen the path she wanted. I rejected it. And in her eyes, she was only his protégé because I’d turned that position down.

Second best.

Wrigley repeated the question.

Still no answer. No response. She looked at her nails, blocking everything else out.

“You’re not helping yourself, young lady.”

She smiled at him, tapping those nails on the table. “No comment.”

Wrigley stood up, looked at his watch. “It’s now ten thirty-three am, and myself and DS Nick Sweeting are leaving the room. Interview paused.”

He bustled into the peanut gallery and looked at me. “You’re up, Mac. Get her talking. We’ve got her and we’ll charge her after this, everyone’s happy with that. But - ” he sighed, shaking his head. “Books will be written about her. She’ll be the subject of TV documentaries, there’ll be dickheads who swear she couldn’t do it and how it’s a miscarriage of justice, all of that palaver. This is a case that our names will be tied to forever, this is a part of my legacy.” He rubbed what was left of his hair. “I want closure.”

I understood. Wrigley’s career was nearly over. Long summers of watching his cricket team, followed by winters of sport on TV, Pam finally getting him to start the list of jobs in the house awaited him.

“Who’s going in with me?” I looked around the room. There’d be no one who’d say no.

“Who do you think?”

“No one else. I need to seem like her, a psychology graduate. If I’m with another cop, I become part of that team.” It broke protocol, but it wasn’t the first time.

“Try it.” Wrigley nodded at me. “Anything to get her talking and you have more in common with her than they rest of us. She could see you as an ally.”

“She’ll see me as a rival.” She knew about me. Daniel had told her who I was, another of his assistants with a different identity, another one who had been a victim, another one with imposter syndrome.

I went into the room forgetting that everyone was watching me, judging how I carried this out, having an opinion on everything I did in there, how I looked, how I spoke, what I said.

“Hello, Justine.” I sat down on the chair Wrigley had vacated. “For the benefit of the tape DS Mia McAllister has entered the room at ten forty-seven am.”

“I wondered when they’d send you in.” It was the most she’d said in two hours.

“The boss gets the first go. Was Dolly like that? Did she have the first go at you? Was it Dolly who poured vodka down your throat that day when they trapped you in the cellar, or did she hold you down?”

Justine smiled at me, a gentle, peaceful sort of smile.

“You know about being held down, don’t you Miss Mia? Little Wren, I think you were called.” Her voice was almost hypnotic, calm, musical.

The sort of voice that called out to you to take a short cut home even when you knew it wasn’t safe.

The sort of voice that had me paralysed with fear.

“You read Daniel’s notes.” Because, despite everything, he wouldn’t have told anyone about what happened.

“Of course I did. Didn’t you?”

I was on the backfoot. “No. I didn’t, I respected patient confidentiality. I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

“Because it doesn’t matter in the end. I was never going to leave and move to another university, that wasn’t the point. My thesis has been submitted, I’ll be awarded the PhD in a few months, even if I’m in prison, even if its posthumously. Because you never know, do you, darling little Mia.” Her eyes danced with mirth as she watched me.