I Know What I Saw

‘First of all, Officer, looking at the letter, it’s not addressed to the deceased, it seems to be addressed to a Mabel. And secondly, if the letter was found at his address, it obviously wasn’t sent to Mabel, whoever she was, so I don’t see the relevance of this.’

Conway isn’t fazed and seeing his face turn smug begins to worry me.

‘Actually, Miss Cullen, in the letter that your client has already agreed he was sent by the deceased, she signed it Mabel. Was that a pet name you used for her?’

‘It was,’ I say, and although Jan shoots me a scolding look, I don’t have a choice. I’m going to have to accept it.

‘We believe that you meant to send this letter but didn’t, for whatever reason. In it you say that you can’t let her go. You say, it’s beyond your control. And you say it one, two – five times – it’s beyond your control. What did you mean by that?’

The memory of that letter flashes in my mind in a burst of colour. There was something in that phrase that I remembered. It meant more or less than it seemed to at the time, but I can’t remember now which: was it more or less? It feels like it might have been a joke. But there is sentimentality there that doesn’t fit a joke.

‘It was a joke,’ I say.

‘Doesn’t sound like a joke.’ Blake speaks for the first time. Conway looks across at her with reproach.

‘Not a joke, joke. An inside joke but I can’t remember now what it is,’ I say.

Jan begins to wriggle as though she is climbing out of her body.

‘I’m going to remind you of my advice, Mr Shute.’

‘No comment,’ I say.

‘Okay. Just so’s you understand I’m going to still ask the questions.’

What was just warmth in the room is now squeezing me tight. The air begins to cloy at my throat and the urge to leave the room becomes desperate. I look over at Blake who hasn’t broken a sweat. Conway too sits as if in complete comfort. But still the room wraps itself around me.

‘Okay. Maybe to just change gear a bit. I want to ask you about the money. For the tape I am showing the suspect RTG/6, a copy of a bank statement for an account in US dollars. You would agree that this statement shows your name and the name of the deceased, Michelle Mackintosh?’

Jan’s eyes begin to widen but I can’t read why.

‘No comment,’ I say, gasping for air.

‘Well, it’s there anyway on the document. And as we pointed out in the last interview, we can see there that two hundred and fifty-three thousand dollars and twenty cents vanishes out of that account a couple of weeks before her death. Can you tell us who withdrew that sum in cash?’

‘No comment.’

‘It must have been her or you, since it’s a joint account. Was it her?’

‘No comment.’

‘Was it you?’

‘No comment.’

‘We have done some investigating since our last interview and according to the bank’s microfiche records, the person that withdrew this money was you. What was the reason for that? Did she agree to you withdrawing it?’

‘No comment.’

‘Actually, we know that she didn’t countersign the withdrawal. So, my question is, why did you take this money out before she died?’

My mouth has dried and I have a desperate urge to swallow. But the sheer cliché of it, gulping like a cartoon character, stops me.

‘Did you have money problems, Mr Shute?’

‘No comment.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, you look as if you have money problems.’

‘That’s not a question,’ Jan says before I can say my two words.

‘Okay, well, here’s a question. What did you do with it?’

‘Enough. I am requesting a break in the interview at this point.’

I’m not sure why Jan is so edgy about these questions but I am myself desperate to stop. I need to get out of the room, even for a few minutes. I pull my shirt away from my neck and take a deep lungful of sticky air.

‘Certainly,’ says Conway with a sneer. ‘We are pausing this interview to allow you to have a consultation with your solicitor, Mr Shute. The time by my watch is fourteen thirty-nine.’

37 Thursday

‘Why did you stop the interview?’ I say.

I think I know why – I am just too embarrassed to accept it. I was foundering. Every question was another rock, every answer a lurch into peril. This bland room we’re in makes me queasy. My breathing is still a toil.

‘I need to make sure about this,’ she says seriously. ‘The money. What happened to it?’

‘What?’

‘The money. What did you do with it? Where did it go?’ she says. Whatever patience there was in her voice is hanging on by a fingernail.

‘I haven’t got it,’ I say in the end.

‘No shit,’ she says, looking me up and down. ‘I know you haven’t got two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on you. But what happened to it? Where did it go? Speedboat? Renoir? Casino?’

‘You don’t understand. I kept it.’

Jan squints at me as if I have started speaking code.

‘Xander,’ she says, tilting her head. ‘What are you talking about? Kept it where, in an account?’

‘No. In a trunk. At Seb’s.’

She hears this and slowly sinks into a seat along the wall. ‘Xander. What are you doing to me? Please tell me it’s still there.’

‘I can’t. It’s gone.’