Lie Beside Me by Jack Cartwright

Author:Jack Cartwright [Cartwright, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Custody Sergeant Priest had assigned interview room two to Freya and Ben. Then the heavyset Yorkshireman with the baritone voice and barrel chest followed up with, “Mrs Wood will see you now,” and then winked, grinned, and fished his pen from his breast pocket before getting back to his work.

“Thank you, Michael,” Freya said. “Has her legal representative arrived?”

“Duty Solicitor arrived ten minutes ago,” he said. “Which makes a nice change.”

“I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Freya replied, then pushed through the double doors into the ground floor corridor. “Do you want me to lead?”

“Well, you arrested her,” Ben replied, overtaking Freya in time to open the door for her. “And after all, I am forever in your shadow.”

He shoved open the door and stepped back.

“Mrs Wood. How nice to see you again,” Freya said. “We’ll keep this as brief as we can. Ben, can you do the honours with the recording, please?”

While Ben prepared the tape and set the recording up, Freya flicked through her file, much to the annoyance of the duty solicitor. He was a slight man with feminine hands, a long, pointed chin, and sunken eyes encircled by dark rings.

“Will you be submitting further evidence?” he said, his monotone, almost robotic voice matching that of his appearance – weak and without substance. He held up a similar file to that of Freya’s, only thinner. “Or is this all you have?”

Glancing across at Ben just as he pressed the record button, Freya waited for the long beep to finish before she began. She announced the date and time, then introduced herself and Ben, leaving a space for the solicitor to follow suit.

“Harold Gough. Legal representative,” he said, then, with a slight movement of his head, he advised his client to do the same.

“Charlotte Wood,” she said quietly.

“Mrs Wood,” Freya began, “I’ll begin by reminding you of the charges against you. Then perhaps we can over the events that took place three days ago. You are under arrest on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand, Charlotte?”

She nodded, as they always do.

“For the recording, please.”

“I understand,” she said, her voice cracked from emotions and exhaustion.

“You have verbally accepted responsibility of the crimes that took place at Tupholme Abbey, namely the murder of John Carson. I wonder if, for the benefit of the ladies and gentlemen of your jury, should this lead to a trial, if you could supply an account of those events?”

“You want to know what happened?” Charlotte said. “You want to know why I did it?”

“That’s correct.”

“But I’ve admitted to it. I told you I did it.”

It was then that Harold Gough leaned in and whispered in her ear. No doubt reminding her that she had the right to withhold any information at this point.

“No,” she said, pulling away from him, as if he’d just offended her.

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