Knife Edge (22 page)

Rose was asleep in her carry-cot at my feet whilst I sat in the armchair I'd come to regard as my own, sewing a button back on my favourite shirt. Meggie was in the hall, having got up to answer the phone less than five minutes earlier. She came back into the room and sat on the sofa. Picking up the remote she pressed a button and the TV screen flickered and crackled briefly before showing some programme about the life cycle of a fruit bat. I carried on with my bad sewing, waiting for Meggie to turn it over, but it didn't happen. I glanced at her. She wasn't even watching it; she was staring off into the middle distance somewhere. I frowned at the screen. There had to be something better on, but it wasn't my telly. Once I was out from under and had paid off all my bills and debts, the first thing I was going to treat myself to was a portable TV. Then I could stay in my room and watch what I liked. But one thing was for sure. Fruit bats wouldn't get a look in. Even the programme commentator sounded bored. His voice was a soporific monotone. Finally I could stand it no longer.

'Meggie . . ?'

'Sephy, will you come with me to see Jude?'

'Ow!' I popped my finger in my mouth where I'd just stuck it with the needle. I frowned at Meggie, sure my ears needed syringing. 'Pardon?'

'Jude just phoned from Baylinn Police Station. He's been arrested for the murder of that girl, Cara Imega. They're moving him to Bellview Prison the day after tomorrow. Will you come and see him with me?'

I folded up my shirt carefully as I tried to marshal my thoughts.

'I'm sure I'm the very last person Jude wants to see,' I told Meggie.

'You don't have to talk to him. You can wait for me outside or something. But I don't want to go into a police station alone.'

'Your sister—'

'Wants nothing to do with this,' Meggie told me harshly. 'Look, forget it. I shouldn't've asked you . . .'

'Of course I'll come with you.' I tried to smile but my lips felt like they were being pulled down by the weight of my heart sinking. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to be anywhere near Jude. Suppose he'd done it? Suppose he hadn't? This whole situation was something to run away from, not towards. I couldn't blame Meggie's sister. I didn't want anything to do with Jude either.

But Meggie needed me.

'Sephy, I wouldn't ask but—' She didn't finish the sentence; she didn't need to.

'Of course I'll come with you,' I said. 'But what about Rose? I don't want to take her all the way to Baylinn.'

'I'm sure Mrs Straczynski next door won't mind looking after Rose for an hour or two,' said Meggie.

The thought of leaving Rose with someone she didn't know very well didn't appeal – even if Mrs Straczynski was one of the few around here who smiled at me and said hello whenever she saw us.

'Well, if you go and ask her, I'll get Rose's things together,' I sighed.

'Oh thank you, Sephy.' Meggie smiled gratefully. 'I really appreciate it.'

She was already heading out the door to go and talk to our neighbour, so she didn't see that I couldn't smile back.

'Do you understand your rights as they have been explained to you?' asked Detective Georgiou.

Three. Four. One.

'Yes,' I replied.

I was in a police interview room, with two dagger detectives sitting across the table from me. Detective Georgiou, the woman, was doing all of the talking. The other cop, Detective Zork, hadn't said a word so far. The interview room was bigger than my cell, but not by much. There was a rectangular table with two chairs on either side of it. One of the shorter sides of the table was fixed to the wall – impossible to overturn, I guess. Set into the wall were a series of buttons for recording interviews. And there was a
CCTV
camera self-consciously adorning one corner of the room just above the door. The walls were painted an over-cooked porridge colour. There were no posters, no pictures, no photos, no prints. Nothing to divert the attention. The floor was lined with a thin, ultra-hardwearing carpet which would probably last longer than the building. I looked straight up at the
CCTV
camera, which was trained on my position. Did that mean I was safe from having a confession beaten out of me? Somehow, I doubted it. Where there's a will, there's a way. I dragged my right foot slowly back and forth across the carpet beneath the table. Forward for four counts, back for four counts. It was something we'd been taught in the Liberation Militia. A way of focusing the mind and concentrating on answering only the questions you wanted to answer.

Forward for four counts.

Back for four counts.

Nice and simple. Focus on counting. Answer each question on the one count only to give yourself a chance to think. Keep it simple. Short and sweet answers. I can't say the training was all coming back to me, because it'd never left.

Forward for four counts.

Back for four counts.

'Is your name Jude Alexander McGregor?'

Two. Three. Four. One.

'Yes.'

'Do you wish to have a solicitor present?'

One.

'No.'

'The suspect was offered a solicitor and declined,' Detective Georgiou said into the interview microphone.

The interview was being separately videotaped
and
recorded. That must've been quite a new thing. But I guess too many convictions had been overturned recently due to proven false confessions and substantiated evidence of police brutality.

'When did you first meet Cara Imega?' asked Detective Georgiou.

I didn't answer.

'How long have you known her?' The detective rephrased the question like I didn't understand her the first time.

I didn't answer.

The questions came flying at me, faster and faster.

'We found your fingerprints in Cara Imega's house. Why don't you do yourself a favour and confess?'

Likely!

'Where did you meet her?'

'We know you killed her. Just tell us why.'

'Were you burgling her house and she disturbed you? Is that what happened?'

We were at it for over an hour – and after confirming my name and turning down the offer of a solicitor, I hadn't said a word.

Something else my
L.M.
training had taught me.

'We know it was you,' Detective Zork piped up at last. 'And your impersonation of a clam isn't going to stop us from getting you convicted of Cara Imega's murder and hanged.'

I sat back in my chair. It was entertaining watching the two dagger officers get more and more exasperated. Not very professional of them, but amusing nonetheless. Whilst they asked me more questions, I thought of my mum. I'd reluctantly phoned her but now I was beginning to wish that I hadn't. It wasn't fair to her or to me to expect her to drag herself all the way over here.

'Interview terminated at—' Detective Georgiou glanced down at her watch and gave the time.

Detective Zork pressed a series of buttons. The tiny red
LED
at the top of the
CCTV
went off. A faint click came from the wall and the tape was no longer recording. The detectives stood up. So did I.

'Back to your cell, McGregor,' said Detective Zork.

I smiled triumphantly at him. 'Is your name really Zork? That's rather unfortunate, isn't it?'

I got a punch in my stomach which had me doubled over and coughing.

'Still think my name is funny?' asked the dagger, his fists still clenched.

I straightened up slowly.

One. Two. Three. Four. Served me right for saying more than I should've. But I'd got smug at their obvious frustration. It wouldn't happen again.

'Are you going to stand there and let him beat me up?' I asked Georgiou.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' she replied coldly. 'You tripped over and landed on the back of chair.'

'And if he chucked me out of window?' I asked with sarcasm.

'You tripped or tried to get away in a suicide attempt,' Detective Georgiou told me. 'Who knows what goes on in the mind of an ice-cold murderer?'

'I'd love you to make a break for it right now,' said Zork. 'Go on. Make my day.'

We all stood in silence, the two of them daring me to so much as twitch. But Mrs McGregor didn't raise any stupid children.

'Back to your cell, McGregor,' Zork said at last.

And I replied, 'Yes, sir.'

'Can I help you?' The police officer behind the desk gave me a friendly smile.

'Yes, er, we're here to see Jude McGregor. Please.'

His smile fizzled out like a candle doused in water. 'And you are?'

I didn't want to give my name. What the hell was I doing here anyway? 'I'm Sephy. And this is Jude's mother, Meggie McGregor.'

'I see. Sephy who?' The officer was trying to pin me to the far wall with the expression on his face. 'I need your full name for our visitors record.'

'Persephone Mira Hadley,' I replied, raising my chin.

Meggie moved to stand before me. 'Can we see my son, please?'

'Take a seat and I'll see what I can do,' said the officer.

The officer made a great show of writing our names down as we sat down on one of the two hard benches in the reception area and waited. After writing, the police officer behind the reception desk didn't move for a good thirty minutes. Then he disappeared for less than two minutes before coming back to the desk. Meggie and I watched as he dealt with other people's problems and complaints and queries. And we waited. And we waited. After two hours of waiting, I was ready to tear someone's head off. I'd had to go through the same crap when Callum was in prison. They'd tell me to cool my heels for hours at a time on the off-chance that I might get to see him, before sending me home after a fruitless day's waiting at the gate. I marched up to the reception desk.

'Are you going to let us see Jude McGregor or not?' I asked.

'We have procedures to follow,' the officer told me.

Meggie came up behind me and put a warning hand on my arm.

'It's OK, Meggie. You have a sit down. I just want to ask a couple of questions.' I smiled at Meggie.

She went to sit back down on the hard-as-nails bench.

'We'd like to see Jude McGregor and we'd like to see him now. I think you've kept us waiting long enough,' I said quietly.

'Jude McGregor is pond slime,' the officer told me, adding
sotto voce,
'but any Cross paying him a social visit is worse.'

'Now you listen here, Sergeant . . .' I scrutinized the numbers on his shoulder epaulettes and made sure he knew I was doing so. 'Sergeant 2985 . . .'

'Sergeant Duvon, ma'am. D-U-V-O-N,' he supplied.

'If you don't let us see Jude McGregor right now, I promise I'll have your job — and I've got the family connections to do it. So stop pissing us about and let us in.'

Sergeant Duvon drew himself up, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin as he studied me. But I didn't flinch. If he thought I was bluffing he was in for a shock.

'Follow me, please,' he said, his voice hard and cracked like falling icicles.

'Meggie, we can see Jude now.' I forced a smile onto my face before turning round to her.

Meggie came over to me and briefly placed a hand on my shoulder. Sergeant Duvon opened the security door to let us in before leading us down the corridor.

'Wait in there, please,' he told us, indicating an interview room.

My eyes narrowed.

'Jude McGregor is in a cell,' said Duvon. 'He'll have to be escorted up here and an officer will have to stay in this room at all times.'

'That's fine,' Meggie said sombrely before I could argue.

When Sergeant Duvon left, I said, 'Meggie, I'll wait for you out in the reception area — OK?'

Meggie nodded. I walked out of the room and headed back the way we'd come. Outside I was walking. Inside I was running. My hands were actually shaking. It surprised me how afraid I was of seeing Jude again.

Surprised and, worse still, frightened.