Those words sound horrific said like that. And they are horrific. But I can’t say anything, I have to keep quiet, silent.
‘Those are only the times he was actually arrested for his violence; we had call-outs several times but his partner, Beccie Holman, refused to press charges or tell us what he did to her.’
I stare down at my raggedy nails, picked and shredded while I have had nothing to do but sit and wait for the next thing to be done to me.
‘He’s been convicted twice because we’ve had to press ahead with charges even when Ms Holman wouldn’t cooperate. And just like lots of women in her situation, she kept taking him back.’
I feel Darryl move to say something and DI Brosnin says, ‘Before you ask what relevance this has, Mr Palmer, I’ll explain that momentarily. Although, I suspect your client knows what is coming.’
She shifts one piece of paper away from the other, makes another big show of reading what’s written in front of her. ‘Now, where was I? Oh yes, it’s amazing he’s avoided a custodial sentence, but that’s only because Miss Holman has testified to his good character. And, oh, actually said it was her fault he was like he is. She gets him . . .’ She runs her podgy finger along the lines of text as she reads: ‘She gets him all riled up by being so annoying. She nags him. She prods and prods at him until he lashes out. It’s not his fault, it’s hers.’
Moving her attention from the file, she examines me over her glasses. ‘We know that’s not true, don’t we? It’s just what abused women tell the world and tell themselves so they convince themselves they can control what happens to them. You know, by being a bit less naggy, by being better at walking over those eggshells the man they love has scattered all over their lives. By not minding if their man is carrying on with another woman right under their noses.
‘Oh, and not be too nagging when said woman gets him involved in a plot to kill her boyfiend.’
I freeze. I know Darryl said not to show any emotion no matter what, but I can’t help myself. I can’t pretend that I’m not scared – terrified, actually – that they know this.
She slaps the file shut in another dramatic move and folds her hands carefully on top of it. ‘Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we? Where is Mr Scarber? I’m asking because we found his fingerprints in the blood at your flat, but when we tried to talk to him, he disappeared and no one has seen him since the night of the attack on Mr Carlisle. And that seems to be, according to your phone, the last time you contacted him. You sent him a message and he called you back. What did you discuss during that call?’
I’m clearly not going to tell her.
‘Miss Holman hasn’t seen him and is understandably frantic. We had a very enlightening chat with her. She seemed to think Mr Scarber was obsessed with you. That his attacks on her usually followed time spent with you. That he wasn’t happy when you started seeing Mr Carlisle. That there was an altercation previously with Mr Carlisle, and she suspects – like we do – that he attacked Mr Carlisle to defend you.’
She removes her glasses and settles her face into something so close to caring sympathy I almost fall for it. Almost. ‘Is that what happened? Was he simply protecting you and things got out of hand? We would understand, you know.’ She’s even softened her tone to try to draw me in. ‘People protect the ones they love, that’s normal, human, and if things got out of hand when he stepped in to protect you, or if he couldn’t stand to see you upset any more, understandable. Or was it a love affair where you couldn’t choose and he decided to force the issue by eliminating the competition? Again, that’s understandable. It would also explain why you’re keeping quiet to protect him if his jealousy got the better of him and ignited his rage at Logan Carlisle’s expense.’
She strokes her fingers along the top edge of the file as though mired deep in thought, as though trying to understand what could have led to this.
‘I wish you would talk to us,’ she says gently. ‘We aren’t as . . . stringent and cold as you seem to think. We’ve all been there, when things go wrong romantically and the situation rapidly escalates out of control. I’m sure you didn’t mean for any of this to happen.’
DI Brosnin pauses, gives me the chance to jump in, explain, confess that it’s all been a huge mistake. That Howie did do it; that I did it; that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, like she says.
If only she knew the half of it.
When I don’t oblige, when I don’t immediately open up to her, frankly, half-hearted attempt to get me onside, she returns her glasses to her face, slotting them into position like she is setting up her best weapon. She gives a slight, sideways dip of her head as if to say I’ve had my chance.
‘Well, this has all been enlightening,’ she says with a smile. ‘We all know the clock is ticking until your release, and I’m inclined to let you go. I’m thinking that you’re not the one we should be looking at here.’ She nods to herself. ‘Clearly we should be examining your mother’s life far more forensically. Yes, we’ve been through her house, but, when two men end up in this situation and the connecting factor is Serena Gorringe, maybe we should refocus our attentions?’
Mum wouldn’t be able to handle them going through her life again. Finding out the truth about her had made everything so clear about the things she does. The hiding knives, the avoiding ice cream, her fear of letting us out of her sight. Mum has lived in a state of perpetual worry since she was a teenager, probably, and yes, sometimes I wonder if she got away with murder, but she wasn’t involved in this thing with Logan, and she couldn’t deal with them going through her life again. Having all of this dragged up and splattered out into the world.
Maybe I should tell. Explain. Maybe I should break my silence to save my mum? I never realised that I’d be here. That this is a choice I’d have to make.
I moisten my lips, open my mouth to speak. I know I promised, but I can’t put Mum through this. I can’t let her suffer just so—Before any words leave my head, Darryl puts his hand on my forearm to stop me. DI Brosnin notices what Darryl does, how he stops me from cooperating and she probably notes it down as a line of questioning to pursue. Going for Howie hasn’t made me talk, going for my mother will more likely get her what she wants.
‘Do you have any other questions for my client?’ Darryl asks. ‘Because my client isn’t the person to tell you where your attentions should be focused.’
DI Brosnin smiles, she hasn’t got any more information, but she does have something that might get her what she wants: a strategy that involves moving up the schedule on investigating my mother. They were always going to do it, I’m not green enough to believe they wouldn’t, but they probably thought it would keep. Now they know where to prod to get me to open up like you would a stubborn oyster protecting its pearl.
‘No, no more questions right now. We’ll talk some more, later.’ Like she does most things, DI Brosnin makes a big dramatic show of looking at her watch. ‘Time is ticking on, so we will be speaking again soon – very soon.’
‘Thank you, Detective,’ Darryl says. ‘I’d like a few minutes with my client, please?’