Page 62 of The Lucky Winners

Merri

Paige is understanding when I say I have to go home.

‘I know I only just got here, but I need to get back. Tell Dev everything and –’

‘Of course, and I’m sorry I’ve been taken in so easily by her,’ she says quietly. ‘Just let me know what’s happening when you can.’

I can’t believe what I now know, that Tilda is betraying us. Every question, every suspicion, every terrible possibility collides until all I hear is static noise.

Why, though? Why would she go to the trouble of coming here to find out about my past from Paige?

Tilda knows about my past. Not everything, but enough. Enough to tell Dev I’ve been lying to him, and now that I’ve warned him about her, has he stormed off to find out what she’s been playing at? Maybe that’s why he’s not answering his phone.

The police will definitely speak to Tilda and Simon … She could cause a lot of trouble for me.

Back on the train home, my mind continues to whirl.

Before they left the house last night, the detectives said they might come back. It won’t take them long to think the worst of me if they start digging into my past. They’ll soon see the shame and panic beneath my calm exterior.

And what if the police show up while Dev’s at home and start asking awkward questions about something he knows nothing about? Records will exist about what happened that day if they want to dig deep enough. The thought churns inside me until I feel I might throw up.

I’ve been keeping Dev in the dark all this time – trying to protect him. That’s what I tell myself, but I know the truth is uglier than that. It’s more like I’ve been trying to protect myself .

If Dev knew … if he knew what I’ve done and who I really am deep inside … he probably wouldn’t want anything more to do with me. Still, I know what I have to do. My next priority is to speak to him. Things are so bad I have no choice but to tell him everything.

My phone beeps with a text and I see from the notification banner it’s Dev saying he wants me to go straight home to talk. Today is the day I’ve been putting off for years but, curiously, I feel a hint of relief in the midst of all the dread.

Relief it will soon be over.

Ten minutes away from home in a cab, a call comes through and my heart sinks when the caller ID pops up on my phone. DS Lott .

I can’t afford to ignore this call so I press to accept.

‘Ms Harris,’ her voice fills the car, ‘we’d like you to come into the station. We have some pressing questions in relation to our investigation into Sarah Fielder’s death.’

‘Why?’ I feel the blood drain from my face. ‘I’ve already told you everything I know. There’s really nothing else to say.’

‘New information has come to light, so we need to get you in, I’m afraid.’

My mind races. It’s imperative I speak to Dev: I want to tell him everything before my police interview. But DS Lott is pressuring me to come in straight away.

‘Thing is, I can’t come to the station yet,’ I say, trying to sound firm. ‘I need to get home. My husband will be wondering where I am.’

‘We can contact him, let him know where you are,’ she says calmly. ‘It’s important you attend, Ms Harris. There are other things that won’t wait and we need to speak to you as a matter of urgency.’

My heart stutters. Other things? What other things?

‘Shall I call your husband and –’

‘No need to bother him. I’ll come now.’

In that moment, I know my time has run out. It’s time for all the lies to stop. The police have left me no choice in the matter. I redirect the cab.

When I get to the police station, the first thing I do is to text Dev.

Police need to speak to me again. I’ve come straight to station. Be home asap to talk.

I’m shown into a small dim interview room with no window.

The plastic beaker filled with lukewarm water wobbles as I lift it to my lips.

The young officer who brought me in here, clearly just out of police training college, gives me a rehearsed smile.

New to the job, wanting to do things the right way.

It reminds me of when I trained to be a healthcare assistant. Monitoring blood pressure and carrying out blood tests might seem like a minor role, but it was a job that directly impacted people’s health in a positive way. Made me feel I was doing something worthwhile.

Paige still is a healthcare assistant. I picture her at work, arms folded as she waits for the kettle to boil in the staff room. The longing for her friendship again, despite everything she’s told me, steadies me briefly, then twists into an ache.

I need to focus, to get through this somehow. I have to convince the police I had nothing to do with Sarah’s death. The only way I can do that is to tell them who I think is responsible … a ghost from the past I’m desperate not to believe in.

The door opens, and the same two detectives who questioned me before come in. DS Lott and DC Parsons.

‘Hello, Ms Harris,’ Parsons says, introducing herself and her colleague again.

‘Call me Merri.’ My voice doesn’t wobble, but I can feel Parsons watching me, waiting for me to show any sign of weakness.

Parsons reaches for the recorder, clicking it on. ‘For the benefit of the tape, we’re now speaking to Merri Harris regarding the ongoing investigation into the death of Sarah Fielder.’

‘As DS Lott informed you, some new information has come to light after our appeal,’ Parsons continues.

‘A local couple have come forward. While walking their dog, they reported seeing you with the deceased last night. Specifically, they saw you running after her in what they described as a threatening manner.’

Threatening manner? I shake my head. ‘I wasn’t threatening her. I was shouting because the storm had started. Sarah wouldn’t have heard me otherwise.’

‘So you weren’t displaying an aggressive manner?’

‘No. Unless it’s now an offence to run after a friend who’s upset,’ I add, but Parsons leans forward, her tone cold.

‘It wasn’t just running and shouting, though, was it, Merri? The witnesses claim you actually assaulted Miss Fielder.’

I stare at her. ‘That’s a downright lie.’

‘You didn’t strike her across the face, causing her to cry out?’ Lott says. ‘A long laceration on her left cheek was observed during the post-mortem.’

The room feels smaller, the walls seeming to press in. My ring . I felt the sickening tug as it snagged Sarah’s skin. Her shrill cry as her hand flew up to her face.

‘I –’ The words stick in my throat, and my face burns. ‘It was just an accident. She turned, and my ring cut her face.’ I hold up my hand so they can see it. ‘I never meant to hurt her.’

Parsons shifts in her seat. ‘It wasn’t just a cut, though, was it, Merri? How many times did you hit her?’

‘I caught her cheek by accident just the once! I didn’t hit her at all.’

‘The post-mortem results disagree. There is evidence that Sarah Fielder sustained bruising prior to her death and was most likely unconscious when she went into the water.’

‘A pattern of violence seems to follow you, Merri,’ Lott remarks.

She consults the paperwork on the desk in front of her before looking up again.

‘It’s standard procedure to carry out a background check on everyone who might be involved in a case like this and we’ve done so here.

You might be surprised to know how quickly we can uncover the truth, when we suspect someone’s lying.

So tell us, Merri – or should I call you Janey?

After all, that’s your real name, isn’t it?

Your own sister, Beth, drowned at the age of twelve. Is that correct?’

The room shifts. For a second, I don’t know if I’m awake or back there, on the riverbank, watching my sister flail in the water. After so many years of burying the past, my name, everything I used to be, I can’t believe how easily they’ve found the truth. At least, some of it.

I feel the breath stick in my throat.

‘Is that correct?’ Lott presses.

Her voice sounds distant and vague. ‘Yes,’ I whisper.

‘Speak up for the tape, please.’

I force the word out, louder this time. ‘Yes.’

Parsons’s eyes don’t leave me. ‘You were present at the time of your sister’s death?’

My stomach lurches as I battle the rising panic in my chest. The chair feels like it’s tilting backwards, and then there’s no chair there at all, only the cold, hard floor pressed against my cheek.

The young officer who brought me in here stands over me, her face pale and uncertain. Lott stands up, her arms folded, but Parsons is still seated, her eyes fixed on me with the same clinical detachment as before.

‘I’m fine,’ I say, though my voice is hoarse.

The officer helps me back into the chair, and a fresh beaker of water is placed in front of me.

‘We can pause if you need medical attention,’ Parsons says.

‘I don’t need anything. I just want to get this done with and go home.’ My hands tighten into fists under the table. ‘My sister’s death was an accident.’

Parsons says, ‘It’s tragic, losing a sibling at such a young age. I’m sure it must have left its mark on you.’

Her crude implication lingers in the air and I bristle. ‘What are you trying to say?’

Parsons ignores my comment. ‘You were questioned by detectives at length after the death of your sister and of –’

‘That’s true, but I was never charged,’ I say quickly.

‘It appears there wasn’t enough evidence to charge you,’ Parsons says slowly.

‘But I’ve read the case notes, Merri. Your foster parents at the time were convinced you were responsible.

They said your behaviour changed in the weeks leading up to the incident – that you were withdrawn and secretive.

They mentioned bruises on Beth’s arms and legs that couldn’t easily be explained.

And you were the last person to see her alive. ’

‘Indeed, you were witness to the entire incident,’ Lott adds.

I stare at her. My pulse is roaring in my ears.

‘The official ruling was accidental drowning,’ she continues. ‘But there were inconsistencies. Gaps. And you were evasive under questioning. And then, of course, you disappeared without trace – changed your name. Started a new life.

‘But now we have another death close to water that you are connected to,’ Lott says. ‘We’re asking ourselves, is it a coincidence or –’

‘I was only eighteen,’ I say. ‘I was young and scared.’

Lott finally speaks, her tone softer. ‘We just need to understand, Merri. The witnesses saw you with Sarah shortly before she was seen for the last time. There was a physical altercation. Help us to make sense of it.’

Parsons leans forward. ‘There’s something you’re not telling us. There’s a missing piece somewhere here. Make it easier on yourself and tell us everything. Then, if you’re as innocent as you claim to be, we can eliminate you from our enquiries.’

The words line up in my throat. This is the moment of truth. Sarah is dead and, no matter what the police believe about my involvement, I have a piece of very important information that they need to know.

‘It’s true that I didn’t hurt Sarah,’ I say quietly. ‘But I think I might know who did.’