Free In for the Kill by Pauline Rowson Page A

people you loved.’
    ‘I’ve suffered too.’
    ‘Oh, yes, it looks like it. Vanessa, have you any idea of what it’s like to be locked in a room you can’t break out of? To experience the complete loss of control over your own destiny, knowing there is no escape and that you just have to wait. And all that time you know that you shouldn’t be there, that you are innocent. Only no one believes you.’
    ‘What do you want, Alex?’ she demanded.
    I guessed her guilt was making her angry, because she hadn’t and probably still didn’t believe in my innocence. I watched her gather up the exercise books and place them on top of a cabinet at the side of the room. I took a deep breath and told myself to get a grip. I needed information and this wasn’t the way to get it. In prison I had dreamt of the day when I would see her again, rehearsing what I would say; it would veer from pleading with her to believe in my innocence, to berating her for her callousness in deserting me, now all those words were useless.
    ‘I haven’t come here to argue with you, or score points,’ I begun.
    ‘No!’ She spun round her cheeks flushed with anger. Her eyes flashing.
    ‘I’ve come for information.’ And the hope of seeing my sons, I said to myself.
    Her anger gave way to bafflement, then suspicion. ‘About what?’
    I guessed she thought I was going to ask about Gus. ‘About my mother.’
    ‘Oh!’
    ‘Was there any indication that she might have been pushed down the stairs?’
    She looked surprised. ‘No. Why, should there be? There was a loose stair rod, the carpet had come away, her slipper caught it and she fell.’
    ‘Did she ever say anything to you before she died, about being worried or frightened?’ I could see my question confused her.
    ‘What is this, Alex?’
    ‘Did the police ever hint at her death being suspicious?’
    ‘No.’
    Her small pointed face puckered up with a frown. I could see that she was wondering if I’d gone completely mad. Perhaps she thought I had developed a persecution complex. I persisted.
    ‘It’s important, Vanessa.’
    She decided to humour me; probably thinking it would be quicker that way to get rid of me.
    ‘She called me a couple of times, before she died, asking for you. I tried to tell her that you weren’t here but she wasn’t listening, or couldn’t quite take it in. She was a little confused.’
    ‘What did she say?’
    ‘I can’t recall exactly. It was a long time ago now. She had a bee in her bonnet about things being moved, but I think she must have just mislaid them.’
    ‘What kind of things?’
    ‘Books, jewellery, ornaments.’
    ‘Did she mention if any strangers had called on her? Or if she thought someone had been in the house?’
    ‘Alex…’ Vanessa said exasperated.
    ‘Did she?’ I pressed.
    Vanessa sighed heavily. ‘On a couple of occasions she thought she had burglars, but nothing was ever taken.’
    ‘How do you know? You weren’t there.’
    ‘No, and neither were you.’
    ‘I don’t think you need to remind me of that,’
    I snapped.
    ‘Don’t make me feel any more guilty than I already do. I should have done more for Olivia.
    I liked her.’
    There was a brief fragile silence. ‘Did she report it to the police?’
    ‘She might have done. She didn’t say. I’m not sure she wanted to involve them after what happened.’
    No, and I doubted whether they would have believed her anyway.
    ‘Why this interest, Alex?’
    I told her what Ruby Kingston had said.
    ‘I remember her and her daughter, Scarlett. ‘Bit of a weird girl, dressed like a hippy and very surly.
    I never did trust her.’
    ‘You knew her?’ I asked, unable to hide my surprise.
    ‘I thought she might be Olivia’s phantom mover of objects. I tackled her about it. She went right off the deep end.’
    That sounded like my neighbour. ‘Why her?’
    ‘She was your mother’s cleaner.’
    Now I was surprised. Why hadn’t Scarlett told me? Still we’d hardly had much