Chapter 10
The police are gone for what feels like hours.
Once she stops crying, calms down a little, Anna realises just how hungry she still is.
The sandwich has barely made a dent. She’s tired now, too, and in pain.
With no clock and no access to natural light, she has no way of knowing whether it’s evening yet.
It’s the time she’s enjoyed the most inside, watching the sunset that she could sometimes see from the corner of her cell window, as the light sank down into the west. Not tonight.
She could ask for more food. She should ask if she can go to the loo.
But she’s too tired now. She’s going to be charged with murder, she knows it, and she’ll be convicted.
No matter that it’s obviously a suicide, there’s no motive, no reason why she should have done such a thing.
They don’t care that someone has died in horrific circumstances.
They don’t care that she didn’t know the woman.
She’s already inside, a convicted prisoner. Of course it was her.
Tom seems tired, too, his precise edges dulled after an afternoon in the cells, a wilt to his stiff collar.
He looks defeated. It’s a formality now, the charging, the starting of the legal process for the prosecution of her for this homicide.
She’ll appear in front of the magistrates’ court in the morning, video-link of course – at least she won’t have to go in the sweat box to court.
It would almost come as a relief to get this over with. Anna is so tired. All she wants to do is lie down and close her eyes. She can only think as far as tonight. The prospect of spending years more inside means nothing to her now.
‘Is there anyone I should contact?’ Tom asks, the first thing he’s said in hours.
‘No,’ she says. ‘I don’t have anyone.’
The words fall between them, bleak and cold. He looks her straight in the eye, a touch of sympathy flickering across his face.
‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ he says.
‘It’s not surprising,’ she says.
There’s nothing else to say. After a moment, his gaze drops and he starts to fiddle again with his pen.
‘I imagine you know the procedure by now,’ he says. ‘If they charge you, most likely you’ll be housed here in a secure wing in isolation. They might do that immediately, or else they might want to remand you for further questioning before they charge you. You’ll stay in custody, either way.’
‘I get it,’ she says. ‘I get it.’ She doesn’t, not really, but she’s heard enough.
She wants them all to stop talking, to leave her alone in a cell.
She doesn’t want to think anymore. At some point, she knows this is going to hit her properly and then she won’t be able to fight it off, the fear and the horror, but for now, she’ll settle for peace and quiet.
The door slams open. Anna jumps before slumping back into her seat. It’s not Little and Large, though. It’s the angry prison officer, pure fury radiating off him.
‘You’re out,’ he says. When Anna doesn’t respond, he leans over into her face and speaks even more loudly. ‘Get up. You’re out.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she says.
‘What’s to understand? You’re due to be released today. That’s what’s happening.’
She looks up at him, still unclear. ‘A few moments ago I was being questioned on suspicion of murder. Now you’re letting me go?’
‘I’m not the one who makes the decisions round here,’ he says, spitting out the words.
‘But—’
‘Listen, sweetheart, if you want to get out, I would suggest that you do exactly what you’re told. Otherwise I’ll have you up on a charge of assaulting a prison officer.’
‘But . . .’ She knows she’s repeating herself but it’s making no sense. She’s still covered in a dead woman’s blood.
‘Listen, I’m serious,’ he says. ‘If you don’t shut up and do exactly what you’re told, you will be facing a much worse situation than a murder charge. Do you understand?’
His words are hyperbolic, but it’s clear he’s about to blow, veins popping on his forehead. He’s bright red, more furious than Anna has seen him. Which, for this officer, is saying a lot.
‘You’re free to go,’ he says. ‘No charges.’
‘But the police . . .’
‘They’ll be in touch,’ he says, ominously. ‘Now shut up and follow me.’
Anna glances over at Tom, who looks just as bemused. He shrugs.
‘Better do what you’re told,’ he says.
Anna stands up, wincing as the blood returns fully to her feet. Once she’s on her feet she realises how much she needs to pee, the urgency overtaking even her confusion.
‘I have to use the toilet,’ she says.
The officer sighs loudly but signals out of the cell door. ‘On the left,’ he says.
She goes out as fast as she can, stumbling slightly as her legs start to work again. The phone is crushing her toes now, pushing them out of shape. Still, where it’s hidden is better than the alternative.
Maybe she’s being too complacent. Maybe they’ll search her again before she leaves, just to make sure. It’s a chance she’ll have to take.
After she leaves the cubicle, she goes to the sink.
There’s a mirror of sorts above it, reflective plastic glued to the wall, and she glares at herself, her pallid reflection, as she washes her hands.
She’s grateful to finally have the chance to get the blood off, soaping them repeatedly under the water, even as it becomes too hot to bear.