Page 19 of Close to You

Kidman nods along, though doesn’t write anything. She’s twiddles a pen between her thumb and forefinger – and perhaps it’s that which sends me back to my living room after what happened with David. That was the last time I was interviewed properly by the police. It was far less formal then, with an officer named Sparks asking the questions. He was an old, grey-haired guy and I got the sense he was winding down to retirement. It was as I was making tea on the exact spot that David died when I convinced myself that I could get through it all.

‘What time did you arrive home?’ Kidman asks.

‘It was about five. I don’t know exactly.’

‘And you drove straight home?’

‘Right.’

‘You didn’t stop anywhere on the way down…?’

‘No.’

‘What music did you listen to while you were driving?’

My instinct is to shoot back with, ‘Who said I was listening to music?’ – but there’s no need to be aggressive. My car was stolen and I’m the victim here.

‘I was listening to the radio,’ I say. ‘I can’t remember the station but the DJ was talking about cheese. That’s all I remember.’

It gets a raised eyebrow but little more.

‘The problem I have with this,’ Kidman says, ‘is that your car ended up four miles from your flat.’

‘I told you that it was stolen.’

‘It was four miles from your flat and whoever was driving hit a pedestrian.’

‘It was stolen – and I was asleep. As soon as I woke up and saw the car was gone, I reported it.’

Kidman nods along and scratches at her earlobe. There’s a frizzy strand of hair that she tucks tight and then, after a glance to her mute colleague, it’s finally his turn to speak. I remember now that he’s a constable, so a lower rank. The lack of wrinkles mean he’s probably younger than me, though he has a shaven head that makes it look like he’s gone bald. It’s all a bit contradictory.

‘If you still have one set of car keys,’ he says, ‘how could someone have got the other set?’

‘That’s what I asked when I called you,’ I reply. ‘There was a spare set at the back of my underwear drawer.’

‘But you said there was no sign of a break-in.’

‘There isn’t.’

‘Does anybody else have keys to your flat?’

It’s impossible not to think of David.

‘No…’ I say. ‘Well, my ex-husband does. He went missing about two years ago.’

Robinson looks to his superior and it’s obvious from the momentary recognition that they both already know this.

This time, it is Kidman who picks things up. She presses forward on the desk and interlinks her fingers: ‘Did you change the locks after your husband disappeared?’

‘No. Why would I have done?’

‘Some people might have felt more secure knowing they were the only person who had keys to their home…?’

‘He was my husband – it’s not like I was scared of him.’

At least I don’t need to lie about that.

‘Have you seen your husband recently?’