Chapter Forty-Seven
If Liam was shocked, he didn’t show it.
He blinked, just the once. Maybe in surprise. But he didn’t flinch. He continued to look at me, expression neutral, and his hands remained over mine.
‘Are you going to tell the police?’ I whispered.
Surprisingly, I felt very calm. In fact, surreally so. But in a good way. You see, I could now stop pretending. I could also stop worrying about the moment Hetty left hospital and talked to the cops.
‘A murder you say, Mrs Cartwright? Regarding Jen Armstrong? Yes, we already know, thanks. Mrs Armstrong turned herself in. However, that’s a most impressive gift you have.
Do you fancy working undercover with the police on unsolved murder cases?
Ah, sorry, no, we couldn’t have an Oracle Hetty banner at the police station. ’
‘No, I’m not going to tell the police,’ said Liam gently.
‘Why not?’ I swallowed down a lump the size of a boiled egg. ‘It’s only a matter of time before Hetty Cartwright tells all.’
‘Hetty doesn’t know diddly squat.’
‘Oh, she does.’ I nodded emphatically. ‘She knows everything.’
‘She’s a so-called psychic. Police don’t solve cases by talking to clairvoyants. They work on evidence.’
‘Or confessions,’ I added, giving Liam a telling look.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But before you rush off to the local nick with your wrists held out for handcuffing, why don’t you first tell me what happened. Let me be the judge of whether you’re a murderer. Because I have to say, Jen’ – he looked at me kindly – ‘you don’t look like a killer.’
I jerked violently. Blimey, that was a bit of a strong word. Killer. Okay, murderer was bad enough, but somehow killer sounded plain evil.
‘Okay.’ I took a deep breath, and then a shuddery exhale. ‘I’ll give you a potted history of what happened.’
‘That would be good.’ Liam shifted his weight, then adjusted the position of his hands. Suddenly they were no longer cupping my own around the brandy glass. Instead, he’d threaded his fingers through mine. He gave them an encouraging squeeze. ‘Go for it.’
‘Right,’ I nodded and took another deep breath.
‘So, basically, my husband was an emotional bully. He never hit me. But he often threatened to. And on this occasion, I really thought he was going to deliver a wallop. In the past, I always ducked. Or covered my head with my hands. Or sank to the floor…’ I broke off as my eyes briefly swam.
‘Carry on,’ said Liam softly.
‘But this time… my reflexes were different. This time I… well, I pushed him. Or to be honest, I gave him an almighty shove.’
‘Perfectly understandable. You delivered an automatic reaction to defend yourself from being hit. All good so far. So why do you think you killed your husband?’
‘Because’ – my voice wobbled – ‘there was a staircase behind him.’
‘And he took a tumble?’
I nodded, my eyes once again brimming.
‘But it was a bit more than a tumble, Liam.’ My voice was low.
A single tear rolled down my cheek. ‘Peter fell from the top of our staircase to the bottom. Somewhere along the way he broke his neck. He died instantly.’ I was seriously starting to lose the battle with my emotions.
I pulled my hands away from Liam’s and grabbed one of the napkins on the table.
For a moment or two, I trumpeted like a baby elephant, which earnt curious looks from nearby patrons.
‘Listen to me, Jen,’ said Liam. He relieved me of the soggy tissue.
‘Germs,’ I bleated, as he reclaimed my hands.
‘Bugger the germs,’ he said dismissively. ‘Now, if what you’ve told me is true-’
‘It is true,’ I said emphatically.
‘Then a policeman is more likely to tell you that this is a case of involuntary manslaughter’ – he gripped my hands hard as I flinched – ‘but even that would be questionable because self-defence is a strong legal protection.’
‘Is it?’ I quavered.
‘Of course it is!’ he asserted. ‘Jen, do yourself a favour. Stop beating yourself up. Your guilt is internal. Do you understand? Emotional guilt does not require a trial, a judge, a jury and a jail sentence. Legally, you’re innocent.’
‘I’m not so sure.’ I shook my head imperceptibly.
‘Well I am,’ he said briskly. ‘You reacted instinctively to avoid harm. End of.’
‘But-’
‘No buts. If it makes you feel better, I’ll drive you to the nick and you can tell all. You would likely be arrested initially, and there might well be a trial. But when the jury realises there was no intention to kill-’
‘Of course not!’ I squeaked.
‘Then how on earth can anyone pass a guilty verdict?’ he sighed. ‘Don’t you see?’ His eyes bored into mine. ‘If you get some sort of gratification out of mentally torturing yourself, then carry on. But I’m telling you now, you’re not a murderer.’
I opened my mouth to say something, but Liam reached forward. He put his index finger over my lips. ‘Shh,’ he said. ‘The simple tragedy here is that Peter broke his neck and died. And now, I don’t want to hear another word on the matter.’
He removed his finger from my mouth, which was just as well – I’d had to stop myself from kissing it with relief.
Something inside me shifted. Whether it was from the release of a confession, or from someone listening impartially and then pointing out the obvious, all I knew was that I suddenly had clarity over the matter.
And, amazingly, I could forgive myself. Yes, I really could.
An accident. A horrible accident, granted.
But absolutely an accident. And it had taken this man sitting opposite me – Starlight Croft’s Public Enemy Number One – to make me see the error of my previous thinking.
Before I could even question what my body was doing, my backside was off my chair, and my face zooming towards Liam’s. Impulsively, I planted a smacker on his cheek.