Hit and Run, Maria Frankland [books like harry potter txt] 📗

“Before you go Denise, I want to know why you were sending texts to my husband on the day he died?”

“Who do you think you are, the Gestapo?” She laughs and folds her arms. I once read about body language. Folding arms is defensive. “I was texting him because he wasn’t fulfilling his obligations as a father.”

“Did you see him on Monday morning?”

“I don’t answer to you. I’ve already given a statement to the police.”

“So what happened to your car?”

Her gaze follows mine. “I had a bump.” Her tone suddenly softens. “A while ago. I haven’t been able to afford to get it fixed. It’s hard, you know, bringing a child up on your own.” A smirk crosses her face. “You’re about to find that out for yourself.”

“Just get lost, will you? And don’t turn up like this, at my home again.”

“I’ve got every right…”

“Look, I’ve got to get ready to go out. I’ll be in touch when I’ve got something to tell you. After my husband’s funeral.”

I don’t catch her reply as I turn away. I don’t want to hear any more. Shit – I need to get a photo of her car before she drives off. I shoot upstairs to find my phone. By the time I’ve found it and got to the window, she’s already gone. I’ll certainly mention the damage when I go into the station. If that doesn’t take the focus off me, nothing will.

* * *

Everyone harbours a darkness of some sort within them.

Some can suppress it.

I couldn’t.

Chapter 30

The solicitor, not dissimilar in looks to my dad, stands from behind the desk and shakes my hand. “Fiona Matherson? I’m Alan Wright. It’s nice to meet you.”

I’m not going to return the sentiment as to meet a solicitor, in this sort of situation, is far from nice. I can’t believe I’m back in this wretched interview room for the fourth time in less than a week.

“Have a seat.” He gestures to a chair as though it’s his office or something. “DI Green would like us to get started within the hour, but we’ve got plenty of time to discuss everything.”

“Has she told you anything else? About their evidence, I mean?”

“We need to get this paperwork signed first. In order that I can act for you. Without that, I get told very little.” He slides a sheet of paper towards me.

“How will I pay for your services?”

He peers at me, as though silently assessing my socio-economic status. “Because this is a criminal matter, my costs can be partially covered on a sliding scale, depending on your income by Legal Aid.”

I shrivel under his gaze, knowing how unkempt I am right now.

“Do you feel as though you may qualify for Legal Aid?”

I laugh, though it’s an empty sound. “Since my husband seems to have squandered all our savings somewhere, yes I think I might.”

He slides another form towards me. “This can be completed at home, as facts and figures will be required. try to get it back to me the next time I see you.”

I sign the first form, which he slips into his briefcase, and folds the other one into quarters. I notice again that my solicitor looks like Dad, apart from the beard. I feel it will help me to trust him. “It was my Dad who organised you to act for me. Do you know him?”

“Not on a personal level. He’s done some work at my house though. A pleasant man, as I remember. Anyway, we must get on with this. The clock’s ticking.” He glances at his watch whilst I consider he is probably being paid a tenner a minute.” We’ll start with the clear cut part,” he says. “The aggravated assault. You’ve been bailed for this.” He says aggravated assault like it’s an item on a shopping list.

I can’t meet his eyes. “Yes. I got drunk. I don’t normally drink. Not anymore. And I got myself into a situation with my husband’s ex. They’d been seeing each other again. Plus, I think she knows something about my money which has gone missing.”

“We’ll come back to the money side of things in a moment.” He clasps his hands together on the table. “Bryony Rose wants to proceed with pressing charges. So that charge will probably end up in court. Were there any witnesses?”

“Some of her neighbours overheard us arguing and pulled me off her.” I’m surprised I remember that moment so clearly, the mess I was in.

“That’s pretty straightforward then. But from the little I know of the situation from your father, the strain you have been under may go in your favour. We can argue diminished responsibility. However, the court will take a dim view of you visiting her house.”

“I know.”

“What happened whilst you were there?”

“We argued. I pushed her into a wall. Then I smashed a bottle and threatened her with it.” I stare at the graffiti-etched table. Let me out is scratched into where my hands rest. I’m glad it’s not as hot in here as it was last week. Nor do I feel as sick. I ate some fruit on my drive over. I’ve got to start looking after myself. “How did you threaten her with it?”

“I held it towards her throat.” I keep my gaze cast down and lower my voice. This isn’t one of my finer moments. “What will I get?”

“I take it you’ll plead guilty? Especially with there being witnesses?”

“I can’t really do anything else, can I?”

He shakes his head. “Have you been in trouble before?”

“A bit of scrapping when I was young. I was drunk then too. I’ve had a problem with it. Drink, I mean.”

He writes something on his notepad. “A lot will depend on the magistrate when we get to court. I think it will be sent to magistrates. However, if you end up having to account for the other charges, we could be looking at crown.”

The enormity of what I’m facing creeps over me like a fever. Crown