lour, I watched the change in her eyes. It wasn’t long after
Alex’s trial. She tilted her head, taking in my new look,
and there was just this momentary flash of deep sadness.
‘Are you shocked, Mum? Do you disapprove horri-
bly? Because if you don’t want me to do this. The name
change, I mean. If it’s going to really upset you—’
‘It’s fine. The new hair suits you. And if this is what
you need to do to put that blessed man behind you, then
it’s fine by me.’
‘And you think you can cope? Me using my second
name? That won’t freak you out too much?’
And then my mother did that thing with her soft grey
eyes. The smile that was set deep within them, to try to
reassure me.
‘I’ve watched you lose sleep, Jenny. I’ve watched you
lose weight. I’ve watched you take those pills for depression to cope with the trial. Don’t think I don’t know about that.
And the truth? It has broken my heart into pieces, and if I
could get hold of that man, I wouldn’t be responsible for
what I might do to him. Leanne is right to have suggested
this. I chose Alice for your second name because I love it. I can get used it. I will practise. You make a beautiful Alice.’
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‘I’m not going to tell them at the new job. I feel so
bad about that. A journalist, a supposed seeker of the
truth, starting out with a lie myself … What does that
make me, Mum?’
‘It makes you unlucky. Someone who met a snake, my
darling. Lots of writers use a different byline. A maiden
name or whatever. You have good reason. And it’s not a
made-up name. It’s on your birth certificate. It’s a name
I chose for you.’
‘But do I look different enough from the newspaper
picture? I’m very afraid they’ll find me out anyway.’
‘You look beautiful. My beautiful girl. And the media
didn’t run much about you.’
I could feel my lip trembling as she hugged me. I
still wasn’t at all sure about what I was doing – morally
or practically – but I didn’t want Alex to win. To put
an end to my career. To stop me writing. When Leanne
first suggested changing my name, I thought she was
mad. I said no – absolutely not. I was sure I would slip
up, maybe answer the phone as Jenny and be the subject
of another story. An exposé? But, over time, I just got
angrier and angrier about Alex, and I didn’t see what
other option I had.
New name. Clean page. Fresh start. What did I have
to lose?
I was still staying with Leanne when I decided to
consider her idea. She started calling me Alice to see how
it went. After a while, it felt OK. And then when – as
‘Alice’ – I was offered the new job as a trainee reporter in
Devon, it suddenly felt doable. Far enough from Scotland
for stories and contacts not to overlap, hence less likely
for anyone to find me out. I knew that I would see less of
Mum and Leanne than in recent times and wondered how
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I would manage without their support, but it couldn’t be
more difficult than Scotland in terms of the geography.
‘I’ll still phone and visit as much as I can, Mum.’
‘Course you will.’
And then she asked the same question the police had
kept asking me.
‘Are you sure there isn’t anything you haven’t told me,
darling? About Alex? About how all this dreadful business
started? He didn’t hurt you ever, did he?’
‘No, no.’
‘And there wasn’t some trigger? Something that might
have started—’
‘No.’
I answered too quickly. Too loudly. I felt myself blush.
I was still tired and weak and overwhelmed. But the truth?
At night, something new had been bothering me. One very
private thing. One small, embarrassing and intimate thing
that I had not yet told the police because I couldn’t bring
myself to believe that it could have anything to do with
what had happened. It was too embarrassing. Too personal.
I had been to counselling and they kept saying over
and over that I was not to replay events and blame myself.
That Alex was responsible for his perversion. His lies. His
behaviour. Not me.
I had been duped. Tricked. This is not your fault. You
must not blame yourself.
But for all the reassurance, I couldn’t help – in the dark
and silence of the night – still wondering. Picking over
our time together. I felt so guilty for not seeing through
Alex when he had the scene with the girl on his phone.
And this other niggling thing. The other private, per-
sonal thing that was about Alex but which I had stupidly
brought up once and it had made him so very upset.
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I didn’t want to believe that it could have anything
to do with it all.
Because if it did? Would that make it my fault after all?
And was it my responsibility to mention it to the
police? Even this late in the day …
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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Matthew
‘Are you sure you don’t want a chair, Mel?’
Matthew watches Melanie Sanders press her hand
into the small of her back, making her spectacular bump
protrude even closer to the one-way glass between them
and the interview room.
The police station in Scotland is smaller than any
Matthew served in during his time in the force. It is also
cleaner and brighter and tidier. He looks at a pinboard on
the opposite wall with various posters neatly displayed.
Recent appeals. Helpline numbers.
Finally Melanie lets out a long sigh. ‘You’re right. I’m
being stubborn. Trying to put on a show, but the truth is I
worry that if I sit down, I’ll never get up. Jeez – this baby is in training for the Olympics today. Through there…’
She points to a small room off the corridor and Matthew
darts through to collect a chair, watching several eyes in
the room turn to him in puzzlement.
‘I’ve lied,’ she confirms as she slumps on to the chair
on his return, signalling that he should close the door to
the corridor. ‘I’ve told them you’re ex-job and that you
have crucial inside information on this case.’
‘But that’s true – not a lie at all.’
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‘I might have added that you’re now a respected
profiler.’
‘Profiler? ’
‘Yeah. That shut them up.’ She’s smiling. ‘And we all
know what most of them think about profilers. They’ll
hopefully just gossip behind your back and leave us alone.’
They both stare through the glass. Alex is sitting next
to his solicitor but the interviewer handling the parole
issue has been replaced by Mel’s colleague Mark Fisher,
who is to lead the questioning about Alic
e. Alex is already
certain to be returned to jail for breaking the terms of his
licence, so has nothing to gain by cooperating.
Matthew does not expect him to be helpful. He strong-
ly suspects his brief will have advised him to say nothing
regarding this second inquiry. Sadly there’s no evidence
to put to Alex yet so this is just a fishing trip in case they get lucky. Matthew’s hoping he will at least be able to pick
up something from Alex’s face and general demeanour
while they wait for his phone to be fully checked.
‘So, Alex. Back to jail, then. That wasn’t very clever, was
it?’ Mark Fisher is a tad careful with his tone as he pauses, before slapping a picture of Alice – or Jenny, as she was –
on the table. A picture of her with her darker, longer hair.
Alex Sunningham looks down at the picture and
Matthew leans closer to the glass to watch his face. Not
a flicker. Whatever he may be thinking, Alex is careful
not to give anything away. Damn. He’s good, Matthew thinks. Very good.
Alongside him, Mel seems to be holding her breath.
‘So. Your fiancée. The one who knew absolutely
nothing about what was going on.’ Mark’s tone is still
steady. Confident.
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Alex glances at his solicitor, who is also looking at
the photograph.
‘I find myself wondering how you feel about your
former fiancée now, Alex? After your time in jail.’
There’s silence. No reaction at all.
‘Because here’s the thing. We think you may have
been stewing about what’s happened to you these past few
years. And that you’ve developed some kind of grudge.
An entirely unfair grudge. Is that true, Alex?’
Still nothing.
Matthew turns to Mel, who still appears to be hold-
ing her breath.
Mark won’t want to give much away in this early part of
the interview. Without any evidence, he’s simply goading
a bit. He will be looking for Alex to dig a hole – to hope-
fully give away a small detail that he couldn’t know without
involvement. A starting point for the interview proper. But
Alex doesn’t even look puzzled. His face is entirely blank.
‘Direct question then. Have you made contact or sent
any message to or had communication of any kind with
your former fiancée Jennifer Wallace since the court case?
And most especially since your release from jail.’
There’s a long pause. Again Alex, expressionless, turns
to look at his solicitor before turning back to face Mark.
And then it starts…
At first Matthew simply can’t believe it. He exchanges
a glance of astonishment with Mel. And then Matthew
feels the full irritation and hopelessness of the situation
as the noise gets louder and louder…
‘What the hell is he singing?’ Mel says finally.
‘Opera,’ Matthew replies.
‘Yes. I can tell it’s bloody opera. I’m not a complete
philistine.’
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‘You need to stop that … right … now.’ Mark keeps
his expression calm but raises his voice to be heard over
the singing while Matthew closes his eyes to listen.
You get quite a bit of singing in police stations. Drunks
mostly, as they’re led to the cells to sober up. Mostly it’s
very poor. Out of tune and the lyrics gibberish.
This is different. This is good. Matthew is surprised by something else too. A flicker of recognition. He listens
some more, trying desperately to place it. He’s frowning
as he thinks hard and tries to tune in.
‘I’m warning you, Alex, to stop singing right this
minute. This is a serious situation you’re in.’ Mark then
turns to the solicitor. ‘Can you please advise your client to stop wilfully obstructing our inquiries and to cooperate
with this interview.’
The solicitor shrugs as if there’s nothing he can do.
‘Look. If your client doesn’t stop singing, he will be
taken straight back to his cell until he quietens down.’
The singing continues…
‘He’s quite good, actually,’ Matthew offers, opening
his eyes.
‘Unhelpful, Matt.’ Mel is fidgeting with her wedding
ring – twisting it round and round, apparently exasperated.
And then Matthew suddenly recognises it. Yes. The
lyrics. L’amour, l’amour! … Ah! Lève-toi, soleil…
‘This is Romeo and Juliet.’ He feels a ridiculous sense of pride. ‘In French.’
Melanie turns to him, eyes wide. ‘And so who are
you suddenly – Inspector Morse?’
‘Sally likes opera,’ Matthew offers sheepishly. ‘She’s
got a recording of this. She doesn’t speak Italian, you
see. She likes this one because it’s in French. Gounod, I
think you’ll find.’
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Teresa Driscoll
Melanie shakes her head in astonishment as, inside the
interview room, Mark announces for the tape that he’s
pausing the interview to return Alex to his cell until he
stops singing. A sergeant then appears through the door
and Alex is accompanied out, still singing at full volume.
‘Well, that went well,’ Melanie says finally, then
stands. ‘Shall we get coffee from the machine? They’ve
given me use of an office while we wait to hear if there’s
anything on Alex’s phone. But I rather think we’re
wasting our time, don’t you? Unless we find any evi-
dence, we’re snookered. Bet you’re sorry you came all
* * *
In the small office, Melanie has a bulging briefcase with
notes from Alex’s previous interviews and the court case.
‘No videos of the interviews with him last time round?’
‘No, just transcripts. I went over them on the flight up.’
Just then, Mark pokes his head around the door of the
room. ‘Sorry, Melanie. Didn’t see that coming. A first for
me. An aria mid-interview.’
‘Not your fault, Mark. Take a break. Go get a sand-
wich. I’m going to go over the notes again. Let’s give it
an hour. See if the Phantom of the Opera gets bored with
his cell. If no progress, we’ll let them transfer him back
to jail and interview him inside once we’ve hopefully
come up with some evidence.’
Mark gives them the thumbs up and closes the door.
‘He’s a good operator – Mark. Not as good as you of
course,’ Mel teases. ‘But I don’t think anyone is going to
get anything out of our Mr Sunningham until we have
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something concrete to put to him. What a bloody waste
of everyone’s time.’
And then Matthew takes a deep breath.
‘Romeo and Juliet. Young lovers.’
‘Excuse me?’ Mel’s expression is once again pure
puzzlement.
‘I reckon our deluded narcissist is trying to cast himself
in the role of romantic hero. That’s what Gretna Green
was about. Why he wants to marry her.’
‘You kidding me? He seduces a fourteen-year-old and
thinks casting himself as Romeo will wash?’
‘But that’s precisely it. He’s deluded. Which means
he’s capable of anything. So can I look at the notes? All
the statements from Alice before the trial.’
‘No. Of course you can’t,’ she says – pushing the pile
of folders towards him and winking. ‘I’ll go make us
some coffee. See if you can spot anything I’ve missed.
I couldn’t find anything in the court notes or Alice’s
statements – or Jenny, as she was then – which suggests a
motive to target her now. Her part in the trial was pretty
small actually. It was all about the two girls, especially
the one he seduced and dumped.’
Melanie leaves the room, returning after five minutes
with drinks in large, chipped mugs. For the next hour
they work together through all the statements and the
notes on the trial. Matthew is surprised to find reference
to a third girl. Also just fourteen.
‘There was a third victim?’
Melanie takes in a long breath. ‘You are absolutely not
supposed to have access to that. But yes. Turns out a third
girl came forward but she didn’t want to give evidence
so she was interviewed informally. Same pattern. Alex
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groomed her, slept with her then dumped her. It was at
the very time he was getting engaged to Alice.’
‘What a snake.’
‘The team decided not to push her. They had enough
to nail him without her evidence.’
Matthew continues through the many sheets, ap-
palled at the bitter coffee and wishing they had time to
pop out for a decent one. It’s only after some forty-five
minutes that he puts the trial notes and statements aside
and scours through the files for any additional material
involving Alice.
And it’s then he comes across a single sheet of paper
folded within one of the old files of statements. The date
is odd. It is some time after Alex was arrested and charged.
Matthew smooths the paper to read half a dozen para-
graphs. It’s the record of a short conversation with Alice
– then Jenny – at a London police station. She’d turned
up to give some voluntary additional information to be
passed on to the police in Scotland, stressing that she didn’t want Alex to be made aware she’d said this. He reads it
carefully. There is a stamp to confirm it was referred to