‘It’s the police,’ she said. For a few seconds there was no movement. Then he threw back the duvet, said, ‘OK,’ and pulled himself up. He picked up a towel and disappeared out of the door. She heard the water running and went back to the sitting room where the officers were waiting.
‘He’s in the bathroom,’ she told them. ‘He won’t be long.’ She offered them coffee which they both declined.
‘I’m DS Williams,’ said the woman. ‘And this is DC Ali.’
They stood in an awkward triangle, Williams staring at the opposite wall, Ali surveying the books and pictures with interest, smiling when he occasionally caught Mel’s eye. Eventually, Jacob walked in, looking presentable in jeans and a dark shirt. He had combed his hair.
‘Jacob Villiers,’ said the woman officer, ‘we are investigating an assault on Nikita Vasiliev. You’re named in connection with the offence. We’d like you to come with us to the police station for questioning.’
Jacob looked at Mel. His face was white, and he mumbled, ‘Sorry, Mum.’ She swallowed. Everything inside her was dissolving; she was the shell of herself. He turned towards the door, standing straight, light shining on his glossy hair. She swallowed again. They would fight this together. She dug her nails into her palms to steady herself. She would stay calm for Jacob. She would stand by him, watch, listen. Jacob’s reaction suggested there was no mistake. He was, in some way, involved. For a moment she thought about concealing her profession. Let them get careless, make a mistake. She would spot it and the whole ridiculous charade would be thrown out. She reminded herself: he hadn’t been arrested. Possibly never would be. She needed to get a grip. She dug her nails in harder.
‘Your mum can stay with you,’ said Ali.
‘I’d like to call a solicitor,’ said Mel.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Goddard. There’s a duty solicitor at the station.’
‘Thank you. But I’d prefer to call a couple of my own contacts. I’m a barrister,’ she added. The woman looked unimpressed but nodded her agreement.
Mel tapped in a familiar number. Lauren was good with juveniles and would be able to send someone even if she couldn’t make it herself. But there was no reply from the firm’s emergency contact number and Lauren’s personal phone went straight to voicemail. Mel scrolled through her work contacts. She couldn’t represent him herself. Not even at a preliminary interview. Even if she had bothered to attend the police station representation course, it would have been impossible. Professionals needed detachment. Still, she wished she had done the course. She would have been better alert to procedural slip ups. She knew the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. She thought she knew the Codes of Practice. But they were changing all the time and at this moment she wished she knew them better.
Jacob stood in silence. The officers waited as she tried a couple more numbers, reached voicemails and asked the speakers to call her on her mobile. She was surprised at how difficult it was to find someone. Didn’t solicitors want the work?
‘Come on, Jacob,’ said DS Williams, after the second call, ‘your mum can make calls on our way to the station.’ She laid her hand on Jacob’s back and ushered him towards his own front door. Mel felt the fury rise in her and, before she could stop herself, shouted. ‘How dare you! How dare you touch my son!’
‘Easy, Mrs Goddard. No need to get worked up,’ said Ali.
‘Just don’t touch him,’ she barked. She might not be able to represent him, but she knew how to stand firm for him. Jacob did not turn. She thought she detected him tremble slightly. For a moment they were, each of them, immobile. Then Williams dropped her hand and Jacob led the way, walking out in front of the two officers. Mel grabbed her bag and followed them out of the flat and into the back of police car, double parked on the road outside. Ali took the driver’s seat with Williams beside him. They surged into the heavy traffic. Jacob’s pale hand lay on the seat beside her. It looked too big for him. He was staring straight ahead. She laid her own hand on his. It was tiny against his long, curved fingers.
‘It’ll be all right,’ she whispered. ‘Just look them straight in the eye.’
He didn’t react. She could see a tiny twitch at the side of his face. She hadn’t seen it for years. He had grown out of it when he was ten and had stopped biting his fingernails.
On arrival at the station Jacob was immediately arrested. According to Williams, the complainant had made a clear statement naming her son as the assailant. Mel asked about bail and was assured it would be granted, on conditions. While the custody sergeant was logging the arrest, they were told the duty solicitor was available and had agreed to hold a conference with Jacob and attend the interview. Mel explained she was trying to contact a solicitor she knew and asked for time to make further enquiries. Her intervention seemed to wake something in Jacob. He gave her his penetrating look. The one which meant, ‘Why are you the most embarrassing mother in the world?’
‘Please, Mum. Let’s just get on with it,’ he said.
The duty solicitor was called Robert O’Hare. He was a weary-looking middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion, pin-prick eyes and a bulbous nose. There was nothing to suggest he would not be fine. Good looks were no indicator of expertise. Rather the contrary she had often found. The officers handed him an outline of the case. Mel asked to look at it and said she would join them for the conference.
‘Better not,’ said O’Hare. ‘Legal professional privilege. We don’t want police putting pressure on you to disclose what Jacob said.’
‘They wouldn’t succeed. I’m a barrister,’ she replied.
‘Excellent,’ said O’Hare, screwing up his eyes so that they looked like tiny dashes scored into his face. ‘That should keep them on their toes. Only what Jacob needs from you now is not knowledge of criminal law or police procedure. What he needs is a mother. Lucky chap. Lots of the kids I see here don’t have that. I’ll see him alone. What do you think, Jacob?’
‘You better stay outside, Mum. It’d be easier, like, for me to talk.’
‘Of course, darling, whatever feels right for you.’
The conference lasted half an hour. As Jacob came out the twitch was more pronounced. The police told her she was permitted to attend the interview as an appropriate adult. As if she didn’t know that. She took a few deep breaths. She needed to bottle the anger, stay composed for Jacob.
The interview room was a bleak grey box lit with three strip lights. There were no windows. The two police officers sat on one side on the table, Jacob, O’Hare and herself on the other. Williams pressed something on a tablet in front of her and started to speak, introducing them all, explaining each person’s name and function, giving the time, date, place and purpose of the interview, stating that they were being recorded, both visually and with sound, by a secured digital network. Mel noted the small shining ball, focused on Jacob, fixed to the ceiling by a short metal bracket. She thought about the network. How clever was it? Did it come complete with lie detection? What did it see, she wondered, as it logged Jacob’s hard, clenched expression?
Then Williams said, ‘Jacob Villiers, 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 say may be given in evidence.’