Celebrity Bride (23 page)

Again, there's a knock at the door. Hell, what is it now? Oh great – the big guy's back again. Barnes. Shit. I don't like this man at all. He's convinced I'm guilty; I can see it in his eyes and in the way he stares at me constantly and asks all these nit-picky questions that I can't remember the answers to.

'DI Barnes has just entered the interview room,' says Detective Swann. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

'Hello, Kelly,' says Detective Barnes, pulling his chair forward and leaning right across the table. My palms have gone all sweaty and my heart's racing. Perhaps I did kill Elody? I don't know anything any more. 'Now, where were we?' he says.

Flippin' heck. I know exactly where we bloody were. We were with him going on and on about how I have no alibi for the time of Elody's murder, I had a reason to kill Elody, and the murder weapon belongs to me and has my DNA on it. Even I can see that this is not looking good.

'Let's go through this once again, shall we?' he says, looking at me like I'm some piece of dirt he's just kicked off the end of his shoe. 'Start right at the beginning . . .'

There's a knock at the door before we can begin. Bloody hell, it's like Piccadilly Circus. My solicitor looks as if she's about to have a nervous breakdown. She glares at me as if it's my fault that there's a knocking sound, and I instinctively bring my hands above the table to show that it's not me.

'Can I have a moment, sir?' says a woman I haven't seen before.

'DI Barnes is leaving the interview room,' says the other detective.

I drop my head into my hands. I'm relieved not to have to go back through this whole horrible bloody story again and again, but terrified of what new information is going to 'come to light'. Every time there's a knock on that door there's some other piece of evidence that indicates that I must have done the murder after all. All we need now is for someone to appear with a photograph of me stabbing her. I just can't believe it's come to this. We sit there, with me wringing my hands together and trying to understand what's going on. My solicitor stands every so often and paces around the room in frustration.

We sit there for another ten minutes. It feels like about forty-seven hours then, suddenly, the door swings open and Barnes comes back in with another man. They tell the policeman who's sitting there that he's no longer needed and the two of them sit down next to Detective Swann. Barnes can barely look me in the eye. Oh Lord, what now?

'My name's DI Smith,' says the new officer, talking to me as if I were about six years old.

'Hi,' I say.

'We've just had the final pathologist's report back which gives more precise detail on the estimated time of death and more detail on the manner of the death,' he says, slowly and patiently. 'The official time of death has come in and it is different from the estimated time of death. This can happen from time to time. The pathologist makes an estimate of time of death in the first instance while more detailed investigations take place.'

'Oh.'

'There's a discrepancy between the original estimated time of death, thought to be between 5.30 pm and 6 pm, and the more accurate prediction. We've been told that the time of death is now considered to be 9 pm.'

'How did you get the estimated time of death so wrong?' asks Sue, standing up and leaning over the table aggressively. 'We were explicitly told that the time of death was estimated at 5.30 pm. It is a gross miscalculation to now suggest that the time of death is wrong by some three and a half hours.'

'It happens,' says the detective. 'The first estimated time of death is rarely more than half an hour out but, in this case, officers discovered that the heating was switched off at night, meaning that the body decomposed at a slower rate, thus forcing us to conclude that the time of death was actually much later in the day than we originally predicted.'

I have to admit that I'm hardly listening to the exchange. They've changed their minds about what time Elody died. Until they change their minds about whether I killed her or not, there's not too much interest in all of this for me.

The same cannot be said for my glamorous lawyer who is up and bouncing around like Tigger, all animated and excited and demanding to know precise details about what the official time of death is to be recorded as.

There's a conversation about the moisture levels in the vestibule where Elody's body was found, and temperature variations through the evening.

'My client has an alibi for 9 pm,' says Sue.

Oh. Now I get it.

'She couldn't have killed Elody. She was at the airport.'

'I know,' says the policeman, looking at me. 'Can you tell us exactly what you were doing between the hours of 9 pm and 10 pm on the evening of Thursday 3 December?'

'That's easy,' I say. 'I was meeting my boyfriend at the airport.'

'Did anyone see you?'

'Yes. There were security officers helping me through, and there was Henry the driver and Rufus's assistant.'

'What's her name?'

'It's Christine,' I say, but Sue interrupts.

'You've spoken to her about this. She's talked at length about what she was doing at this time. There's footage from the airport. I think it's time to accept that my client couldn't possibly have committed this crime.'

The policemen both nod. 'We also have video footage of you at Hampton Court Palace, sitting in the Rose Garden talking to the elderly gentleman. We spoke to him too. Frank Gower. He confirms your time of arrival and time of departure. Why did you lie to us?'

'Rufus always told me not to tell people about our special place or everyone would want to go there. He has so many fans and they follow us everywhere. I just wanted the Rose Garden to be special – you know – for it to be our special place. It never would be if I mentioned it. It would end up in the newspapers and that would be it . . . my favourite place in the whole world ruined for ever.'

'Yes, thanks, Bob. That's right; you come to us live outside Richmond police station where we have just been told that Kelly Monsoon is to be released without charge. You'll remember that the girlfriend of Hollywood star Rufus George was arrested yesterday and held in police custody overnight. Well, today, in a shocking twist to this story, we hear that she is to be released later today without charge. Police have not said whether they have another suspect in mind but sources close to the police reveal that they are questioning Dr Isabella Bronks-Harrison inside the station at the moment. She's a former friend of Elody Elloissie, but fell out with the fashionista several years ago. Police are insisting that she is just helping with inquiries but we believe that she is now the main suspect in this most incredible of murder investigations. Back to you, Bob.'

'Thanks, Bindy. Now, in a change to tonight's scheduled programme
Evil Women Murderers
there will instead be a panel discussion on the difficulties of being accused of a crime that you did not commit. What does it feel when the world turns against you? That's tonight at 10 pm, here on Sky One and features a discussion with Lord and Lady Simpkins, the couple who have known Kelly all her life, and say they knew from the moment she was arrested that this was a huge miscarriage of justice.'

Mum stands there, clinging on to her handbag in front of her with both hands, the strain showing in her fiercely knotted knuckles. She has her heavy dark-blue coat pulled tightly around her. She looks nervous, understandably, and much older than last time I saw her. When she sees me, her eyes light up, she smiles, and loosens that fearful grip on the worn leather straps of the only handbag I've ever seen her with. Dad's there too, trying to look relaxed and in control, but looking utterly deflated and unable to make sense of the events that have forced him to bring his wife to a police station in south-west London.

He relaxes too, when he sees me walking towards them and I force myself to smile and greet them warmly, pretending that nothing's wrong.

'A simple misunderstanding,' I say. 'Please don't worry. Everything's going to be OK.'

I might be more assured that everything is going to be OK if Rufus were here to meet me too, but there's no sign of him. I'm led out through a heavily guarded, dark-blue back door and moved through ranks of police officers positioned so as to hide me from the waiting paparazzi. No Rufus anywhere. Shit. I know it would be mad for a huge celebrity film star to be here. I know it would make the whole thing much harder to manage but, but . . . I kind of just really wish he was here anyway. I wish he'd sat at home and thought, I know it's mad for me to go to the police station but, sod it, I'm going anyway, I want to see Kelly.

Why isn't he here? Why didn't he visit me at the police station?

They put a blanket over my head as they lead me the final half-metre to the car; my lawyer was very insistent on this before we left the station. Sue said that pictures of me today would keep resurfacing for the rest of my life, long after the details of this case had drifted to the backs of people's minds, and though I was released without charge and thus had nothing to hide my head in shame from, it was still better that no pictures were taken of me. Did I agree? I didn't care. I was just looking out for Rufus, vainly peering through the gaps in the blanket at the scores of people assembled to witness my release from custody in the hope that I'd see him standing there.

A car driven by a specialist police driver will take me home. It turns out that Henry came to the police station to collect me but was sent away by police when they realised how many people were gathered at the big metal gates. It was considered to be safer for a specialist police driver to make the short journey up the Hill to my 'home'.

I sit in the back of the car, still beneath the blanket but peering out through small holes at the world as it passes. It feels as if I've been locked away for years. Time's a strange enough concept anyway – sometimes days fly past, other days drag, the minutes moving so slowly into hours that you begin to think the clock's taken leave of its senses – but when you're locked away from the signs of normal life, your sense of place and time, and your sense of your-self within that place and time disappear completely. I might as well have been locked away for a thousand years because, though it's only been two days and one night, I've come out a different person. I didn't kill Elody and I can prove I didn't kill Elody, but it's as if my innocence is an entirely meaningless concept. I'm still at the centre of everyone's story.

The Hill remains closed off to traffic while police analyse and interrogate to find out who killed Elody. Their main suspect is innocent and out of custody, so I guess they start again, combing through her possessions and reading every note she ever wrote.

Mum looks round at me and smiles warmly. 'You all right, love,' she says with a smile.

'I'm fine,' I say but I'm not. I want Rufus to be here.

'I'm sorry we're in a police car, love. We were going to bring your father's car but Aunt Maude weed in the back and it smelt dreadful so Henry offered to drive, then the police said no to that.'

I smile briefly, but behind the gesture is a whole bloody world of pain.
Where is Rufus?

'We knew this was all a terrible mistake and you could never have killed anyone. Everyone knows. I don't know what the police were thinking of,' says Mum kindly. 'We've had so many letters of support for you from people all round the world, and the staff in the house have been amazing to us. They've been telling us how much you mean to them and how kind you are. Love, we're so proud of you.'

I was arrested for murder. She's still proud of me. Thank God for mums.

I walk into the house flanked by Mum and Dad, and Dad gasps when he sees just how amazing the place is. I forget that he's not been to visit yet. When Mum came with Aunt Maude a few weeks ago Dad didn't come. (Was it really just a few weeks ago? It feels like it happened about forty years ago.) He looks around the place, trying to look nonchalant but I can tell he's thinking, Bloody hell! This place is amazing!

I give him a little hug. 'Nice house,' he says, gravely. 'Very nice. Better than that bloody awful flat you lived in before. Do you remember when I painted the door and the nightclub man from next door came across. God he was awful. You've done well here, love.'

I notice straight away that things have been moved around and that the computer is missing. It must have sent poor Rufus up the wall to have all these police crawling over the house. Shit. I really messed this up, didn't I? Everyone's been through so much because of me, and I still can't work out exactly what I did that was so wrong.

I mean – I can, I'm not stupid. It's just that I can't believe the way it's all panned out.

'You'll be able to carry on with organising the wedding now, won't you?' says Mum. 'You won't change your mind and go for summer, will you? I've bought a beautiful chocolate-brown coat that will really only work for an autumn or winter wedding.'

'Leave it, Jayne,' says Dad. 'I think the poor girl's been through enough this past week without you hassling her to organise a wedding.'

'Oh a wedding will be a lovely thing for us all,' says Mum. 'Imagine! We'll be able to show the world that the problems are all behind us and we're setting off on a new road to a bright future.'

I'm thinking that it'll take more than a bright and gorgeous wedding for the British population to forget about what's just happened. I can just see the headlines now. Instead of
PRETTY BRUNETTE TO MARRY HOLLYWOOD STAR
they'll be saying
MURDER SUSPECT IN SHOCK MARRIAGE TO HOLLYWOOD'S FINEST
. Shit.

My fears about the future, and particularly about our proposed wedding, are not allayed by the sight of Rufus. He comes through the door from the sitting room looking twenty years older than he did when I last saw him. He practically pushes past my parents, kisses Sue Lawrence lightly on the cheek and stands in front of me. 'Welcome home,' he says, with not an ounce of conviction. I feel my heart fall through the floor and I want to scream. I feel like shouting, 'I know I did badly. I know I shouldn't have hidden things from the police, but everything I did was to protect your friend Elody's memory and to protect our relationship from public scrutiny and public interference.' But I don't of course. What's the point? Rufus has clearly made up his mind about me.

'Can we talk?' he says, just standing there, making no effort to touch or comfort me.

'Sure,' I say, looking back at my parents as I follow him into the den at the back of the house. Mum is smiling from ear to ear while Dad's face reflects the concern that I feel.

'Why did this happen, Kelly?' he asks. His manner and the way he is looking at me are so grave. It's like I'm back at the police station again, being grilled by those aggressive detectives.

'Because I didn't tell the police the truth. I didn't want to mention the Rose Garden to them so I said I was at the flat. They thought I was covering something up.'

'I can't believe you lied to the fucking police,' he says with such fury, that I find myself stepping back away from him.

'You told me never to mention that we go there,' I try.

'Yes I did, Kelly. But when I said that I had no idea that you were going to be arrested for murder, did I?'

'No.'

'I'm finding all this very difficult to come to terms with. My mother's furious,' he says.

I just look at him then. He's worried about what people think. He's worried about his reputation. He couldn't give a toss about me.

'Did you think I killed her?' I say.

'Of course not. Of course not. How could you even ask that? Of course I didn't. But don't you realise how bad this looks? Do you have no idea of the impact this will have on me . . . and on you.'

'Really? I had no idea there'd be any impact,' I say, loading my words with as much sarcasm as they'll carry.

'And what about going through all my things when I was in LA? What about the fact that you don't trust me?'

'I can't defend the way I behaved,' I say. 'I don't know what was wrong with me. I was awful. I shouldn't have done that.'

'The bottom line is that you didn't trust me, isn't it? All this nonsense about the carpenter coming to mend the drawer. That was because you thought I was hiding something from you.'

'Because Elody persuaded me to . . .'

'Forget about Elody,' he yells. 'I'm not interested in fucking Elody. I'm interested in you. I'm interested in the fact that you simply didn't trust me and tried to hide that from me, and in the process lied to the police so much that you got yourself arrested for murder. You were so bloody keen to squirm your way out of things that you lied. Shit, Kelly. You lied to the police when one of our friends had been murdered. And you know what really hurts?'

Go on tell me. I've gone so beyond pain these past few days that we need a whole new word for hurt. Nothing he can do can wound me when I feel as if my heart's been blown apart.

'I spent every minute of every day in LA missing you like crazy.'

'I'm sorry,' I say, trying to catch his eye but being met by nothing but coldness and contempt, which make me suddenly feel very defensive. 'What do you expect when I find a bracelet exactly like Elody's in the drawer?'

'It was for Mum. She's always loved Elody's necklace – you know – the one Elody always wears, because it was given to her by Jon. I saw the matching bracelet so bought it for Mum, for Christmas.

'When I was living in New York, Mum would always come to my house to visit before Christmas and be like a schoolgirl, trying to find presents. I thought she'd come to the house to visit when she was over for the Interior Design Awards and I thought she'd start hunting for presents, so I hid them. I taped the jewellery to the inside of the drawer; it was the only place I could think where Mum wouldn't look. I didn't realise that she wouldn't be here because you wouldn't invite her to stay. Anything else you need to know so you can start trusting me again?

'I did ask your Mum to stay,' I retort. 'But Elody warned her not to come.'

'Oh yes,' he says. 'I remember now. Everything is Elody's fault, isn't it? Shit, Kelly. This is insane. I rushed back and proposed to you because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, but all you were doing was going through my things. You didn't trust me. I don't understand why.'

He carries on after that, musing vocally about the way things have panned out between us, but I'm still stuck back in the beginning of his soliloquy. The bit where he says, 'I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you . . .' 'Wanted' . . . past tense. It's over. He says he's organised for money to be transferred into my savings account, and practically throws my passbook over to me. He's put more money in there than I'd need in ten years. Everything he does seems to confirm my worst fears . . . this relationship is over. He's making sure that I'm looked after. Or, if I'm being cynical, he's making sure I have no reason to go to the press. Either way, he wants to make sure that I don't go without, but he no longer wants to be with me.

Rufus sleeps while I sit here, staring up at the oh so beautiful walls, covered in the most expensive wallpaper that money can buy, chosen by his wonderful mother with her immaculate taste and her team of perfect interior designers. And as I'm looking at all this wealth and luxury, all I can think is: God this is shit. I mean, I love Rufus so much it terrifies me sometimes, but I can't do this now. I've messed it all up. These few months here have changed me beyond recognition. No, that's not true; they've shown me who I am for the first time in my life and made me realise that what I want and what I'm getting are two very different things.

Elody was the most stylish person I ever met, and where did it get her? She's dead now. She was dressed beautifully when she slipped down those steps and the dagger that murdered her was beautiful and priceless, like the woman herself. But she was never happy. Are any of these people happy?

Elody had everything in abundance but in the end it amounted to nothing at all. I want so much more than this . . . I don't want fluffy carpets and expensive heating systems to keep me warm, I want someone's love. I want someone with me who loves me and understands me. I want someone who forgives me when I get things wrong. This is just crap.