Page 77 of Deep Blue Lies
Another boat arrives. This one is obviously some sort of policeboat. It’s bigger, with actual blue lights and a siren. Perhaps it ought to sharpen my mind, but it doesn’t. I just watch it arrive, two officers jumping clear into the shallow water, even though they have boots on, which get wet before they wade up the shore. They have radios and speak into them almost constantly while they assess the scene. I’m apart from everything now, away from where Imogen is being transferred onto a type of sled thing. I’m late in realising I can’t just sit here, watching from afar – they’re going to want to speak to me. And then they do. I watch as the man I first called for help points me out. Then one of the police officers strides over to me.
SIXTY-SEVEN
“You are English, yes?”
I nod.
“You were the first person to find the body, yes?”
The body?I glance across, but I can’t see her.Has she died?
“Yes.”
“What is your full name?” He pulls out a notepad, opens it and flicks a few pages forward, then he waits, a pen ready.
“Um, Ava Whitaker.”
“Are you a tourist? Where are you staying?”
I tell him that I work here, at the Bar Sunset, and give him as much of my address as I can remember.
“Do you know the woman who was attacked?”
I open my mouth to answer, and then freeze. It occurs to me – and I don’t know if it’s crazy – but if I say “yes”, am I going to be a suspect? But if I say no, then I’ll be lying to the police. I just freeze, my mouth open. But then I have to saysomething, the police officer is staring at me, his face darkening the longer I hesitate.
“Um, yes.” I don’t make any decision that this is the best answer, the word just comes out.
“She is a friend of yours?” he confirms, apparently this doesn’t surprise him. “You will give me her name?”
“Imogen Grant. She’s not really a friend, she’s a friend of my mother.”
“OK.” It takes him an age to get the spelling of her name right. In the background I see they’re moving the sled that Imogen is now on, carrying it down the beach towards the medic boat.
“Is she still alive?”
“We will need a statement.” The officer acts as if he didn’t hear me. “At the police station. For now, can you tell me what you saw? Did you see who attacked the woman?”
I shake my head and try to focus. I recount what happened when I came around the headland into the third bay. But I’m starting to think now, behind the words that fall from my mouth. How much can I say to the police? How much should I say? I don’t know the answers, and I need space to think, but luckily I get it.
“Please wait here. We will speak with you more.” The officer goes off, speaking to the other people still standing around the little cove.
I watch as the medical team finish their work. They have Imogen in the boat now, and they’re strapping her in securely. It takes me a moment, but I realise the way they’re dealing with her, she must still be alive. She has to be, because now more than ever I need to hear what she has to say. I find my feet taking me forward, down towards the boat.
“Is she OK? Can I go with her? To the hospital?” I call out. The doctor is there too, the man who took over from me. But no one answers me.
“Please? Is she OK?”
“She is unconscious,” the doctor answers me at last. “She must be taken to the hospital as quickly as possible.”
I nod, thanking him.
The policeman who spoke to me before turns around now. “You will come with us. You can wait in the boat.” I don’t know what he means, but then he takes my arm and leads me along the beach to where the police boat is moored, a rope coming off its bow leading to an anchor dug into the sand.
“Please, wait here. You must give a statement.”
I want to protest, but he helps me up into the boat, and I take a seat on one side.
I stare at the boat. It’s so strange. It looks so real, yet all of this is so unreal. A statement. What am I going to say?
