I Know What I Saw

‘Look, this isn’t easy for me. My memory isn’t – these last years haven’t exactly been what you might call ideal,’ I say, feeling my temper unravelling.

‘I understand that, I do, but still I need to know. Why are you telling me you think?’

‘Because I’m not sure if I imagined it. But then I remember the details so vividly. I saw her being killed. I am sure of it. I just don’t know if—’

‘But maybe you’d have seen some of the police pictures at the time, if you knew her that well?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know she was dead. Or at least I don’t remember knowing. Could it have been me?’

‘What?’ she says.

‘It might have been me.’

She puts the pen down and looks at me seriously.

‘If you’re saying that, then you’re saying “no comment”. Simple as. But, take it from me: with what they have now, it’s not going to look good if you go “no comment” again. We can get away with it once, play the disclosure card. But this is one of those cases where you are going to want to get your defence in now. Nice and early. So, let me ask you again. Are you certain that it was someone else?’

I think about this. What Seb said to me yesterday still rings true. I couldn’t have done that to her if I loved her, could I? Now, when my back is against the wall, I will fight, but back then I wasn’t a man of violence. I hated it. I had always believed that violence was a car swerving out of control: when you lose your temper, you’re just a passenger in your own body.

And yet my memory is dashed or repressed or whatever the word is for what has happened to it. It feels not exactly wiped-out, but collaged. Some parts are bright and daring, others dark and patchy. It’s the juxtaposition that is unsettling. The memories don’t flow from one to another; they lurch around like dreams.

‘I’m certain,’ I say.

‘Good,’ she says. ‘Why were you in the house? Were you invited in by the deceased?’ The deceased. The word jars. She was a person.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Well, do you want to have a think?’ she says. ‘Why might you have been there?’

I do have an answer but I’m not sure how it’s going to sound.

‘I was living out at the time. It was cold – I needed a day or two to put myself together. And Grace had seen me on the streets and gave me her spare key. She was going away for a while. Said I could use her place to clean up. That must have been why I was there.’ I think of the key I had on me when I was arrested. I don’t know what’s happened to it.

Janine raises her eyebrows at me. ‘So, then what? Did she not go away in the end?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t remember it the way I’m telling it. In my head, it wasn’t her place, it was just an empty house that I used as a squat because I had nowhere to stay. I didn’t even expect it to be empty, it just was. I mean I think the door was unlocked.’

She had been taking down what I had said but now she has stopped. ‘I don’t know what to do with what you’re telling me, Xander. Did you have a key or was it unlocked?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say. I feel the blood gather into my cheeks, flushing.

She sighs. ‘Okay, Xander. My advice is that you go “no comment”. We might need to go down the psych route here. I know the police thought you were fit to be interviewed but this doesn’t feel right to me.’

‘Psych? You as well? I’m not mad. And I’m not seeing a psychiatrist.’

‘It’s up to you, but this is serious. They’re going to be charging you with murder. You can’t dick around here, you’re looking at life.’

‘Charging? They’re charging me?’ I say, shocked. ‘I thought they might decide there wasn’t enough to charge me.’

‘We have to be prepared for the possibility.’

‘But I thought you said they had nothing.’

‘That was before they searched Sebastian’s house. Now they’ve got something. And it’s not looking good.’

‘But Seb stopped them. He said that the warrant wasn’t right.’

‘Well, whatever time they had was all they needed.’

36 Thursday

By the time my consultation with Jan is over, it is noon. I watch her finishing up her notes and marking certain passages with a yellow highlighter. I feel as if I am in competent hands, but I know that even competent hands can’t produce magic.

‘Thanks, Jan,’ I say, standing to leave. ‘It’s a lot to think about, but I’ll have better answers in a day or two once I have thought it through.’

There’s too much for me to process right now. I know myself. I need to go somewhere, cast away whatever of the world has stuck to me, so I can think clearly. I can get there, given time. I turn at the doorway to find Jan looking at me quizzically.

‘Where are you going?’ she says.

‘Back. Home. Or Seb’s.’

‘We have an interview.’

‘We’ve finished, haven’t we?’

‘Not with me. The police.’

‘What? Now?’

‘Yes, now, Xander. Are you feeling okay?’ she says, getting up.

‘Sorry. I didn’t … Did I know this?’ I say. The room seems to be tilting.

‘They want to interview you again this afternoon about the new evidence. That’s why you’re here. They made an appointment.’

My heart stops for a second.