Page 39 of Insomnia

“What did Chloe mean, you lost your shit?”

My intention had been to tell Robert straightaway, but now I find the whole sorry mess of Julian and Chloe gets tangled and stuck in my throat. I’ve got to tell him, of course I have, but god knows what he’ll do. Go around there? Fight Julian? Try to kill him maybe. Chloe’s his little girl and always will be. Maybe once Julian knows I know he’ll want to end it anyway. The fear of getting caught will outweigh anything else.

“I’m okay, thanks for asking.” I glare at him. He looks almost apologetic and is about to say something when the doorbell rings again. “Just leave it,” I say. “The world can wait, there’s something we need to—”

“It might be the police again,” he says. “Did you leave anything in their car?” He pulls the door open and we both freeze where we are.

Itisthe police, but not the ones from the accident. It’s Hildreth and Caine. Behind them is a car, the light turning silently on top and a uniformed officer standing beside it. My heart starts to race again as Robert regains his composure and lets them in. The door closes and we stand in silence for a moment as they all stare at me.

“What is it?” I say, an alert frightened rabbit.

“We’ve had the swabs back from your mother’s mouth and nasal cavities.” Hildreth’s tone is impassive but her expression is cool. Cold. “Fibers that match the hospital pillowcase were found in both.”

The ocean rushes in my ears. “But that can’t be right. That means someone...” I look up at Robert. “I didn’t—it wasn’t me—”

“She’s been in a car accident.” Robert steps forward, blocking the space between them and me. “Can’t this wait until the morning?”

This time it’s Robert who’s the focus of Hildreth’s withering look. “No, it can’t wait until morning.” She looks at me again. “We need you to come down to the station, Mrs. Averell. I’d rather not arrest you, but I will if I have to.”

I’m aware of Chloe peering over the banister, wide-eyed, and Robert’s mouth is moving, but all I can hear is my own heart pounding. I think I might faint. Caine comes forward and touches my arm, and the world falls back around me. This is actually happening.

“I’ll call Buckley.” Robert looks terrified, as if it’s him being dragged off to the cells. “He’ll know someone.”

“No. Not him.” My brain whirrs. The last thing I want is Angus Buckley being dragged into this. But who will help? A name comes to me. “Darcy Jones. In my address book in my study. Call him.” And then they’re efficiently whisking me away from my family and out of my house. Oh, please god, I hope Darcy hasn’t changed his number.

31.

“And that’s it?” Darcy leans forward and, as I sit, palms sweating and body aching in the seat beside him, I would swear that he sounds almost amused. “That’s all you have?” he continues. “A few fibers from a pillowcase, which, let’s face it, could have come from an overtired or too busy nurse being slightly too rough when adjusting the patient, or indeed caused by the patient herself in the moments before her death. Since no one was present to witness what happened.”

Detective Sergeant Hildreth must have been expecting me to get a solicitor with some clout, but I doubt even she thought I could go as high as Darcy Jones, QC, criminal barrister extraordinaire. Even back at uni, we all knew Darcy was going to be the kind of lawyer who struck fear into others—charming, witty, sharp as a tack, and with a shark’s prey drive when he has the opposition’s arguments in his sights. The one thing I’ve learned from watching his career unfold from a distance is thatIf I’d lived another life I might be Mrs. Jones now, I wonder what that would be likekind of way, is that no one fucks with Darcy Jones, QC.

Darcy doesn’t lose, and if there’s the slightest crack in your case, he will come barreling through it, just as he’s doing now with Hildreth and Caine. Hildreth leans forward.

“Mrs. Averell has, according to both family and colleagues, claimed that her mother has been dead for her entire adult life.”

“There’s no crime in that,” Darcy counters. “My client had no relationship with her mother, and had no desire for one, and so it’s natural that she took the option of telling people her mother was deceased. Her past is her private business.”

“Emma.” She looks at me. “Your sister, Phoebe, says that you’re not sleeping.”

“Everyone goes through phases of poor sleep.” I speak after a nod from Darcy. I’ve said very little throughout the interview thus far, with Darcy like a growling tiger barring the door, allowing me just an answer here or there so I don’t appear uncooperative.

“Your mother’s mental health went into steep decline when she started suffering from insomnia, didn’t it? In the weeks leading up to her fortieth birthday.”

“I was five, so it’s hard to say,” I snap. “But given how things turned out, I guess you could say so.”

Darcy’s hand touches mine, quieting me, and I’m surprised at how much I like the feel of it. Safe. Protective. Totally on my side.

“Get to your point, Detective. We all know the history here.”

“Phoebe also told us that you’ve always been worried that, like your mother, you too will have some form of psychotic break on your fortieth birthday, which is, what, a few days away now?”

“You can’t arrest someone for their worries,” Darcy says.

“And now you’re not sleeping.” She looks at me as if Darcy hasn’t spoken. If Darcy’s a tiger, she’s a terrier. “Just like your mother didn’t sleep. I imagine it would be very hard not to be afraid that you might do the things she did. She always said you were like her, didn’t she? You’ve worked very hard to prove her otherwise. A high-flying career. A family to support—I believe your husbanddoesn’t work. It’s all a huge amount of pressure, isn’t it? And then your mother comes back into your life when she’s transferred to the hospital.”

I could throttle Phoebe right now. I can just see her, so full of faux concern, efficiently blabbing our entire history, even the parts that aren’t in those clinical legal records from the past, and making me look like a potential monster.

“You visit her in that hospital only once, leaving visibly shaken and upset, and immediately afterward, Mrs. Bournett is found dead and there is a pillow on the floor by the bed and subsequently evidence is found that suggests she may have been suffocated. Tell me, what would you think in my position?”

---