I miss their next question. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I was asking if you could explain the structure of your company.’
‘Yes. Ajay and I each own fifty percent of the shares.’
‘That’s Mr Arya?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Mr Palmer?’
‘He didn’t own any shares, but he was our finance director.’
‘And how is the company doing?’ Cornish glances at his notebook and adds, ‘Cracking Crafts. They call you the queen of crafts, don’t they?’
I grimace. ‘The last six months have been difficult. It’s the same for all retail businesses. But what has that got to do with Adam’s death?’
‘What was Mr Palmer’s relationship like with Mr Arya?’
‘It was okay.’
I stare out of the window. I can’t tell them that Adam was having an affair with Ajay’s wife. Ajay is the injured party here, as am I, and he deserves my support. I try to imagine how I would feel if the police had told me my husband was having an affair. Too awful to countenance. So much better to find it out myself or to be told by someone I know. But Adam and Ajay’s relationship has been strained the last few months. I thought it was due to Adam’s father’s death and the disintegration of our marriage. With hindsight, I suppose Adam must have felt guilty about what he was doing to his old friend and business partner.
‘Mrs Palmer?’ DI Cornish says, startling me.
‘Sorry.’
‘You were telling us about the relationship between your husband and Mr Arya.’
‘Yes, well…’
‘We understand that you are still in shock and grieving, but it’s vitally important that you are totally transparent with us regarding any strained relationships your husband had with friends, colleagues or acquaintances.’
‘Things were not great between Ajay and Adam, but that was probably due to our crumbling marriage.’
‘Are you in a relationship with Mr Arya?’
‘No!’ I exclaim. ‘No! You’ve got that totally wrong. It was Adam who was having the affair. Ajay knows nothing about it.’
DC White leans forwards.
‘And who was your husband having an affair with?’ DI Cornish asks, his eyes narrowed.
‘Marianne,’ I say, in a whisper. ‘Please don’t tell Ajay. He doesn’t know, and there’s no need to tell him now that Adam is dead.’
‘And Marianne is who exactly?’ DI Cornish frowns.
‘Marianne Arya. Ajay’s wife.’
‘So Mrs Arya was having a relationship with your husband?’
‘Yes.’ I rub my eyes. ‘I only found out last week.’
And then I sit as still as a statue. Don’t they say that nine times out of ten, it’s the spouse who is responsible for the suspicious death? Have I just given the police a reason for suspecting me?
I spring back to life.
‘I didn’t hurt him. I never would. I was angry, and we had already decided to get divorced.’ My fingers are gripping the seat of the chair, my fingernails digging into the soft leather.
‘Thank you, Mrs Palmer. We will be back in touch very soon. We will need you to make a formal statement at the police station. Expect to hear from us tomorrow morning.’
Have I just thrown Ajay to the wolves?
What the hell have I done?
7
DC White rings me the next day as promised. ‘Mrs Palmer, we would be grateful if you could attend the police station for a formal interview. Can you get to Crawley for 2 p.m.?’
‘Y-yes,’ I stutter. ‘Do I need a solicitor?’
‘You have the right to free and independent legal advice.’
‘Ok, yes. Thank you.’
He hangs up and I have no idea why I’m saying thank you. If Adam has died an unnatural death, or if he’s been murdered, I want to know who did it. But most of all, I need to clear my name. I am trembling. What if they arrest me? Mia and Oliver will lose both of their parents. And what about a solicitor? My mind draws a blank. I don’t know anyone who specialises in criminal law, and I can hardly ring around my friends, saying that the police suspect me of murdering Adam, and do they know any lawyer who might represent me?
Or do they suspect me? Why would they be asking for a formal statement if they didn’t?
And then I think of Fiona. She’s a solicitor, and she knows what’s been going on in my life. She’s exactly the sort of friend I need right now: sensible, understanding and unflappable. The first time we met was in the coffee shop adjacent to the gym. Cassie was carrying a large glass of orange juice and walked straight into Fiona, spilling her juice all over Fiona’s white T-shirt, orange bits dripping onto her brand-new trainers. According to Cassie, Fiona was totally charming about it. By way of apology, Cassie invited Fiona to join her for a coffee, and a few minutes later, I turned up.
Fiona plays down her success as a solicitor, but I get the impression she’s much more high-flying than she suggests. Hers was one of the numerous text messages I received and still haven’t responded to. If anyone can help me, surely Fiona can. Not only is she a lawyer and my friend, she’s widowed herself.
I call her.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Lydia,’ she says.
She sounds genuinely shocked when I tell her that Adam died through electrocution in our swimming pool. But then again, who wouldn’t be?
‘The thing is, I can’t help you myself, because I don’t do criminal law, but leave it with me and I’ll find someone for you. And don’t panic. The police are just doing their job, investigating every avenue.’
‘Thanks, Fiona.’
Half an hour later, I receive a text message from her. ‘Clive Seaham will meet you at the entrance to the police station at 1.30 p.m. Good luck! Fiona x’
Clive Seaham can’t be more than five feet five inches tall. He is diminutive and insignificant looking, with grey hair, a grey suit and skin also strangely grey. His shoes are caked with mud, and the moment we sit down in the carpeted room at the police station, he starts biting his nails, from time to time startling me as his teeth make an unpleasant cracking sound.
I tell him briefly about Adam’s death; about how the police think he might have been electrocuted, murdered even. I lean forwards, speaking in a strained whisper and hoping that there are no listening devices in this featureless room.
When Clive Seaham frowns, his eyes seem to sink further into his skull. He is frowning a lot, and it’s making me more nervous than I already am.
‘I suggest you say as little as possible. You have every right to remain silent.’
‘Have you represented people like me before?’ I ask.
‘Like you?’
‘Being charged with murder, but innocent.’
He stares at me for a few long, drawn-out seconds, one eyebrow raised. ‘You haven’t been charged with anything, Mrs Palmer. If, however, there is something I need to know, now might be a good time to tell me.’
I am horrified. Does he think I’m guilty?
‘No, there’s nothing. I’ve done nothing wrong!’
‘In which case, I suggest we get this interview over and done with.’