Chapter 58 Rosie – Day 11
‘Did you kill Signore Theo Fraser?’ The heavily accented police officer’s voice sounds robotic.
The room tilts. Rosie blinks, waiting for his words to make sense.
‘Theo? Theo is dead?’
No, no, no. They must be wrong. Theo can’t be dead.
‘Don’t lie to us.’
She starts to hyperventilate. Her stomach twists in painful knots. She grips the table, desperate to anchor herself, and tries to regain control of her breathing.
‘Why did you kill him?’ The police officer’s hot breath brushes her cheek. He’s purposefully too close, a tactic designed to cause stress and intimidate. It’s working.
Where’s Giovanni? Why isn’t he here to help her?
The stark strip lighting makes the police officer appear ghoulish. The walls and ceiling are painted pistachio green, and scuff marks and dents in the plaster suggest they’ve seen many a raised fist or desperate lashing out.
‘I’m innocent,’ she sobs.
They don’t seem to understand her. Or, if they do, no one is taking any notice of her pleas. What’s ‘innocent’ in Italian?
Her hands itch to find her phone, to rummage in the pockets of her dress. The same dress Theo complimented a few hours ago. But she knows there’s nothing there. Her phone is still at the lake house, dropped as she fled.
‘Mr Fraser. You killed Mr Fraser,’ he repeats.
‘You’ve got the wrong person. I haven’t killed anyone.’
The officer starts shouting in brittle Italian at her.
‘I don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t understand you.’ Her voice is hoarse.
He slams a fist on the table. His other hand flies past to the wall behind her head, narrowly skimming her left ear. The explosion makes her leap out of her skin. His dark features are menacing and his thick brow is knotted in rage. She quickly looks away.
Now she knows where all those dents in the plaster have come from. Fear courses through her. She wants to scream in frustration but knows she needs to keep her cool, to try and remain in control, as once she’s lost it she won’t get it back.
‘Please. I need a translator. Where is Giovanni?’
The room is stifling. She can smell her own sweat and fear.
A tiny rectangular window, almost touching the ceiling, is the only ventilation.
It lets in a warm breath of night time air.
There’s a piece of paper on the table. A biro is handed to her.
She takes it before she realises what they want her to do.
The paper looks like an official document filled with printed Italian words. What tricks are they playing here?
‘I’m not signing anything. I need to speak to Giovanni.’
No translators will be there until the morning. Well, that’s what she thinks they say, based on their gesturing and the broken English they use.
Rosie is moved to another room and forced to change into a pile of grey cotton.
A top and trousers, two sizes too big, no belt.
Her bloodied sunshine-coloured dress is put into a plastic evidence bag.
Every movement is monitored by two female officers.
They talk to one another in Italian. Neither smile.
Rosie’s breath hasn’t returned to normal.
Her chest vibrates with every sob. No one offers her a tissue.
She’s led to a cell and told to wait. The deafening clunk of the lock in the metal door pierces through her.
She’s never felt so alone. What would her dad say to her right now?
Her eyes fall on the metal bars over the narrow window.
Shells of dead woodlice are curled in balls on the windowsill.
She places her head in her hands and sobs.
***
She doesn’t know how long she’s left alone. The light through the high window has changed. It’s gone from navy ink to a smear of bruised purple. Dawn is breaking. The start of a new day. Giovanni knocks on Rosie’s cell door.
‘Is Theo really dead?’ she gasps when she sees him.
Giovanni rubs his unshaven cheeks. ‘I’m afraid so.’
The room tilts. This can’t be real.
She tugs at her hair. ‘I don’t know what’s happening. They think that I killed him. I promise you he was alive when I left.’ Her frantic words tumble over one another.
She’s turned their accusation over and over. Someone must have gone into the lake house after she ran out and killed Theo. But who? And why?
‘You have to listen to me, please, Giovanni. I didn’t kill him! I couldn’t, I wouldn’t.’ She chokes on a sob that erupts in her throat.
This must be how her dad felt. Accused of a crime he didn’t commit. She’s being stitched up like her dad was. She refuses to let history repeat itself. There must be a way to prove her innocence. She needs Giovanni to listen to her. He’s her only hope.
‘We’re trying to get you a solicitor.’ He hands her a limp, plastic-wrapped ham ciabatta but her stomach lurches at the sight of it. ‘Try to eat something.’
She blinks, not taking the unappealing sandwich.
‘Please can you tell me what’s going on?’ she begs.
He glances uncertainly down the corridor. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but it looks like an argument that got out of hand. They’re clamping down on domestic incidents—’
‘I didn’t hurt him. I ran away after he confessed to being with Dani on the night she disappeared. He and Marianne know what happened to her.’
Giovanni stiffens. ‘What did you say?’
She scrunches up her eyes. She needs to remember every word.
‘He told me that he randomly met Dani by a bus stop. He was the “Fraser” who texted her. The contact in her phone, that I told you about. Remember? They hung out at the lake house and took drugs, and she had a bad reaction and ran off . . .’
Giovanni nods. Fingers pressed to his chin. He’s giving nothing away.
‘Theo swore he never saw her again, but he lied about everything else. His mum had a Polaroid photo of Dani tucked into her art book. She was there that night too!’
‘Signora Fraser?’
‘Yes, but—’
Giovanni flicks his eyes down the corridor and leans a little closer. ‘You should wait for your solicitor. He will be here soon and a formal interview will take place.’
‘Please, Giovanni.’ She clenches her hands in prayer. ‘You’ve got the wrong person.’
He walks away and doesn’t look back.