Chapter 62
Sixty-Two
EMILY
The police station foyer smells like an old sock. An officer at the front desk takes my details like I’m another box that needs to be ticked. A problem to be interrogated.
‘Mrs Sharpe,’ she says. ‘Can I take your phone, please?’
My fingers tighten around it instinctively, a childish reflex. The phone is my last thread to anything normal. A world where you can put a kettle on and pretend consequences don’t exist.
I pass the phone across the counter and she bags it.
‘Any other devices? Smart watch?’
I shake my head.
She takes me to a tiny interview room with bare walls and hard seats.
‘Wait in here, please.’
I sit and stare at the blank wall opposite, trying to slow down my breathing. My brain starts doing what it always does when it senses danger. Rehearsing. Tidying. Rearranging.
If I say the right words, I can still be the good person in this story. Except . . . I’m not sure I remember what that feels like any more.
A door opens. Another officer calls my name, and I stand quickly, the chair legs scraping.
We walk down a corridor of identical doors with identical little windows. Notices on the walls. Fire exits. Health and safety. Everything labelled, everything contained.
We stop midway at a scratched door.
Interview Room 3.
Once we’re inside and seated, DI Adebayo sits with a folder open in front of her. DS Blair is beside her, pen poised. They both look calm and alert.
The table is bolted to the floor and a camera winks in the corner.
DS Blair clicks the recorder on. ‘This is DS Blair. Time and date . . .’ He runs through the formalities, the names, the location, my name. He states that I’m here voluntarily and that I have no legal representation.
My mouth goes dry.
DI Adebayo folds her hands on the table. ‘Mrs Sharpe, you are here voluntarily, at present.’
‘Yes.’
DI Adebayo leans back slightly. ‘Your husband has admitted a history of dishonesty. Misrepresentation. Fraud. Can you tell us more about that?’
I blank. Not because I don’t know, but because I know too much. It comes at me in flashes: hotel lobbies, fake names, rehearsed smiles, money sliding between bank accounts.
‘I was aware he’d . . . done things,’ I say, hating how vague and stupid I must sound. ‘I only knew what he told me, though.’
DI Adebayo says, ‘Done things? What things?’
‘I . . . I’m not sure. I just know he wasn’t always honest.’ I feel heat rise into my face. ‘I don’t . . . I haven’t got many details.’ I clear my throat. ‘He’d just tell me he wanted me to meet an acquaintance. That he was about to pull off a big business deal.’
‘And you never asked him for more information?’ DS Blair frowns. ‘You strike me as an intelligent, capable woman, Mrs Sharpe. I’d have thought, way too smart not to notice your husband’s penchant for defrauding others.’
My brain scrambles for the old scripts. Only the rich. Only the greedy. It wasn’t really hurting anyone. We never targeted—
I stop. Squeeze my eyes shut.
Because this is the moment where I have a clear choice.
I can survive by trimming the truth until it looks respectable. I can try to get Oliver out of custody and save myself.
Or I can play dumb. Let it all just wash over me and focus on starting again.
I take a breath. The room is very quiet. The camera blinks steadily.
‘You’re saying he sometimes took you to meet certain “associates” socially, but you never had any idea what was actually happening?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That’s the truth.’
‘You had no idea of the plan your husband set up with Tim Walker-Dent to defraud Vanessa Lambert?’
‘No.’
DS Blair slides a piece of paper across the table. Names. Addresses. An outline of their life spent running.
‘Presumably you knew each time your surname was changed?’ he asked, an eyebrow raised.
‘Yes, of course,’ I say calmly, refusing to rise to it. ‘But Oliver said it was for business reasons. That it made things easier when he started up a new limited company.’
‘And you thought that sounded like an honest way of going about things?’ DI Adebayo murmurs.
‘I wanted to believe him so badly. I wanted us to make enough money so he could work less. Settle down and start a family. Maybe I was na?ve, but I didn’t know what I know now at the time.’
My own words start to make enough sense for my chest to loosen. Like a muscle relaxing that’s been clenched for too long.
‘He never once pressured you to comply with his defrauding of victims?’ DS Blair asks.
It occurs to me that I could say ‘yes’ here. I could break down and say it was true. Oliver threatened and controlled me. It’s the perfect opportunity to choose an easy lie to save my own skin.
DS Blair’s pen scratches. Adebayo flips a page in a folder.
‘No,’ I say. ‘He didn’t.’
‘Mrs Sharpe, I’m going to be very clear here. It’s difficult for us to accept that you knew nothing at all about the fraudulent activities of your husband.’
My hands are cold and my fingertips tingle. I keep my expression neutral and say nothing.
‘Given your denial, there will be consequences down the line if we do discover your involvement in any fraudulent activity. Do you understand that?’
‘I do, yes.’
DI Adebayo sighs. 'But for the time being, we have no other questions. Unless—and I’m asking once more—you have anything else you want to tell us?’
I lift my gaze and look at DI Adebayo properly.
‘I don’t,’ I say clearly.
I hear how steady my voice sounds, and it’s a marvel. I barely recognize it.
There’s a quiet pulse in my chest; not fear, exactly, but something else. Something like taking the first deep breath after being underwater.
DI Adebayo studies me for a long moment and then nods once.
‘All right,’ she says. ‘Then you’re free to go.’