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“You could say that. Men. They’re like children.” I give Caine, as representative of his sex, a withering glance. I’m afraid, but I’m also feeling bullish. I’m going to confront them head-on.
“I presume Robert said that I’d been angry at Phoebe?” I take charge of the conversation and it makes me feel stronger. I’m a highly respected lawyer. I’m a success story. I am not mad. I don’t wait for an answer.
“That’s true. I was. I’d also been to Hartwell House to talk to them about my mother. Get closure, as the Americans would say. While I was there, someone —I’m damned if I’m saying who—told me that Phoebe had been less than pleasant to our mother on her visits. Quite verbally abusive, in fact. So it made me wonder if maybe Phoebe is the one with the unresolved issues. And, as much as I don’t want to think it, maybeshe—”
“You think she might have suffocated your mother and then thrown herself in front of a van in a fit of remorse?”
Has it occurred to them too? “I’m saying it’s a possibility.”
“No, it’s not,” Caine says bluntly.
“Oh, so you can suspect me, but—” I protest, and Detective Sergeant Hildreth holds her hands up, a defensive plea for quiet.
“Take a breath,” she says. She looks as tired as I do in the harsh hospital lighting. “When we checked the security footage at the hospital for you leaving, we didn’t only checkyourwhereabouts.”
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“We also checked the hospital cameras to see if Phoebe was where she’d said she was—in the Starbucks concession. And she was. She didn’t suffocate your mother either.”
I’m not sure what I feel. Relief definitely. A great wash of it. Neither of us killed her. Faces flash in front of me—Robert, Chloe, Caroline. All their polite disbelief. Their accusations of paranoia are shadows clinging to me. Am I paranoid? Or is paranoia just a good gut instinct? Something’s wrong and I can feel it. It’s like a worm burrowing inside me.
“So no one killed her?” I finally ask. “What about the fibers in her mouth and nose?”
“Inconclusive,” Hildreth says. “We’re running some more tests, but we probably won’t be able to prove anything either way.” She pauses. “I know this is a difficult time, but I do want to ask you some questions about this morning. While it’s still fresh. Did you see your sister before the van hit her?”
“Oh, I see.” I smile and the expression feels cut into my face with razor wire, no humor in it. “First you think I killed my mother and now you’re wondering if maybe I hurt my sister.”
“I’m not wondering anything. We’re just trying to get a clear picture of what happened.”
“I was on my way to see her, and then I heard the commotion and there she was on the road.”
She eyes me thoughtfully before speaking. “Passersby say they thought she might have been pushed.”
“I wasn’t close enough to see.” My hackles rise. I’m too tired for this shit. “But if you’re suggesting that I could have done it, then unless you have a witness...” My heart is hammering now but I keep my eyes steady. “I would be careful of making unsubstantiated accusations. You’ve met my lawyer. If you want to come at me again, then you’d better bring some actual evidence.”
“Mrs. Averell?”
We all turn. A doctor, middle-aged and serious, hovers a few feet away. “If I can...”
“Yes. We’re done here.” I turn my back on the police as if they no longer exist, and as far as I’m concerned, they don’t. My pulse thumps in my ears, strong and loud and alive. They don’t have a witness. No one saw me push Phoebe. Relief floods through me. Now I feel like I could cry. Relief.You’re relieved only because you were worried. And you were worried because you don’t know if you pushed her or not. You don’t trust yourself. Forty tomorrow and maybe going mad. You don’t even know if you’re to blame for your sister being...
“Is Phoebe... is she...?” I can barely get the words out.
“She’s alive. But she’s in very critical condition. We’ll be taking her into surgery as soon as she’s prepped and we’re ready. We’re waiting for Mr. Harris, the neurosurgeon, to arrive and then a team will be working on her.”
“A team?”
“She’s going to need several procedures, and we want her in the best hands for each. She has several hours of surgery ahead, and even if it all goes without any problems, which of course we’re allhoping will be the case, she won’t be able to have visitors at least until tomorrow. You can choose to stay here if you want to, and the staff will do their best to make you comfortable, but I would advise you to go home and we’ll call you as soon as she’s out of surgery and back in intensive care.” He looks at the state of my clothes and then at my tired face. “Get some rest. There’s nothing you can do here for now. We’ll take good care of her.”
“And you’ll call me if there’s any change? Straightaway? And me first and only me?”
“Of course.”
I don’t even know if Robert’s still here, but he can’t stay all day anyway. He’s got Will and Chloe to look after, since he doesn’t want my help. For some reason I don’t like the idea of him sitting and waiting for Phoebe all day. He doesn’t have that right. She’s my sister, not his.
“Okay. Thank you.” I reach for his hand. “Please don’t let her die.”
“I’ll do my best.” His grip is firm and safe.