The Optician's Wife (15 page)

I went over the last few days in my head. So much had happened so quickly and now everything was unravelling.

At two-fifteen on the afternoon of January 16
^th
a team of police officers showed up at my door and requested to come inside. Not knowing what was going on I let them in. The kids were at school and Larry was at work.

They proceeded to inform me that my neighbour, who had been laying the foundations for a summer room, had come across what appeared to be human bones at the end of their garden. Since the remains were discovered so close to the edge of our property I was informed that a warrant had been obtained under section 8 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, which allowed them access to my garden to carry out an excavation. Realising there was nothing I could do to stop them, I let the team in to begin their search.

I explained that the majority of our rear garden was covered in concrete slabs that needed to be removed before the dig could begin. As the officers set about doing this I called Larry at work. He told me to sit tight and wait for him. He was leaving work early and would make his way over.

The rain was coming down hard that afternoon and the fading light put an abrupt end to the dig. Policemen were left over night to guard the site while Larry and I snugged up in bed, wondering what would happen next.

On January 18
^th
a police search advisor arrived and took charge. The excavation resumed and by lunchtime a number of human bones had been recovered by two members of the team.

Soon after that we were both brought in for questioning.

Then, I’m told, Scenes of Crime Officers were brought in. They were there to preserve the evidence found. I was told that the remains were taken to Cambridge Police Station before being transferred to the department of medicine at the university. After being examined there they were then handed over to another doctor whose role it was to establish the identity of the victim. It didn’t take them very long to conclude the bones belonged to Mark McCarthy.

I hadn’t seen or spoken to Larry since arriving at the police station two days earlier. In that time, I had been subjected to a number of interviews totalling nearly nine hours.

Finally, exhaustion won and I lay down and closed my eyes, pulling the blue blanket up over my head. Re-living the nightmare wasn’t helping one little bit.

Then it occurred to me that this was all Dawn’s fault. If she’d never married bloody Ian McCarthy none of this would have happened. I clenched my fists until my wedding ring felt tight around my finger. I wanted to scream and felt as if my lungs were going to burst. It wasn’t fair and I told myself that the next time I was taken into the interview room I wouldn’t cooperate. I’d talked till I was blue in the face and answered all their questions, but that got me nowhere.

When I woke up my neck was so stiff. It was the first thing I noticed, even before the cell itself. The feeling in my body was something I didn’t recognise. It was age. I was feeling old. Old and tired. And emotional. The older I get the more I know it’s time to let go. The bitterness that built up in the teenage me had always been there. For a long time, I’d kept it buried. The happiness I’d found with Larry helped to keep a lid on it. I didn’t even know I was unhappy until I met him. He opened my eyes and helped me to see clearly for the first time in my young life.

I thought back to those days and tried to remember the young me. Had I had a crystal ball I’d never imagine it would have all ended here in a police station. Little Deborah Campkin being questioned about a murder. It was unthinkable and I chortled to myself for brief minute. Then I looked around the cell walls and the gravity of the situation put it’s hands around my throat and started to choke me. Much like Mark had done all those years ago. I tried hard to remember if that was the beginning or if things had started to unravel before that. The answer was not one I was prepared to face just yet.

At six-thirty breakfast was delivered. It consisted of some lukewarm porridge and a glass of very acidic juice that seemed too alien to be related to an orange. Prison food, I thought to myself. But I wasn’t banged up yet. They still had to prove it. And I knew they couldn’t.

After devouring all the food, despite the fact it was tasteless, I waited for the next round of questioning that I anticipated was due any moment.

Sitting on the squeaky plastic mattress staring at the heavy door and twiddling my thumbs I tried to imagine what the morning routine looked like for Carol.

Her impeccably behaved children would be eating nicely while her dull yet picture-perfect husband got himself ready for work. No doubt she would spend most of her time checking that she had all the right documents in her briefcase and far less attention would be paid to her family. But I understood that. I could relate to it. She and I probably weren’t so different after all. Seeing us as equally for the first time helped me to decide where we could go from there. Until then our relationship had been strained. Of course it had, I’d been arrested for murder; but it was more than that. She was from a different world. A world where families were kind to each other and people wore suits to work. I decided Carol and I would be friends and that made my situation a whole lot easier to bear. If I had a friend in this place, I could survive.

Imagining Carol’s family led me back to thinking about my own. Sue-Ann was no longer a problem but Robbie… What had happened to Robbie? Who was looking after him? And little Owen. I hoped they were together and that Robbie was taking care of his younger brother.

I wasn’t going to respond to any more questions but I was well within my rights to ask what had happened to my children. Robbie wasn’t yet fourteen years old and Owen was only nine. It occurred to me that maybe they were my ticket out of that place. I was a mother, a responsible citizen. How dare they keep me away from my children? Especially given the fact that a corpse had been discovered in the garden they grew up playing in. The poor kids would be traumatised. They needed me then more than ever. With their dad also cooped up in the police station, what those boys needed was some stability. I was it.

The cogs in my brain were turning when a short, slender, Asian officer opened the cell door and ushered me out.

‘Come on, Miller.’ He was a self-important little bastard.

I got up slowly and stretched.

‘Have you ever tried sleeping in here?’

‘I’ve never broken the law.’

‘Good for you.’ I pulled my jumper down, aware of a cold breeze tickling my stomach and followed him out of the cell. ‘I want to know about my kids.’

‘You need to speak to the detective.’

‘I’m asking you. Where are my kids?’ I stopped in the hallway refusing to move.

‘I don’t have that information.’ He stood awkwardly aware of the size difference between us. I was a bit taller and much wider.

‘I have a right to know.’

Just then, the officer in charge appeared.

‘Come on.’ He winked at the little man standing in front of me. ‘I’ve got this.’

‘I’m not moving until I know my kids are safe.’ I looked at him coldly. The Pakistani officer stood between us waiting for something to happen.

‘Your kids are safe, madam.’ His sarcasm came as a shock and unaware of how I should respond I simply nodded and followed him to the custody desk.

‘I’m not answering anything until my solicitor arrives.’ I told him trying to regain some composure.

He ignored me and returned to staring at the CCTV footage on the small screen next to him. That feeling of being invisible returned. I hadn’t been that girl for so many years but his dismissal took me back. Feeling like a sulky teenager, I stood tapping my foot on the speckled lino floor. Sick of being treated like a criminal, I looked at the notice board instead of making eye contact with the uniformed men. Their opinions didn’t matter to me but I couldn’t stand the looks of disapproval. They made me feel like a naughty child and I didn’t appreciate it. I was a mother and I knew those looks only too well, having practised it myself a number of times.

Minutes later Carol Winter-Bottom appeared holding her suitcase.

‘Good morning, Mrs Miller.’

‘Morning.’ I wasn’t in the mood to exchange pleasantries.

‘Let’s go through.’ She stretched out her arm signalling for me to go first. I plodded along the corridor with my arms folded across my chest until we reached the interview room. I waited for the officer who released me from my cell to open the door before stepping inside. Carol followed me in and then the officer closed the door behind us.

‘When am I going to get out of here?’

‘The deadline is close. They only have a few hours left in which to charge you or release you.’ She sat down at the desk and opened up her briefcase while I remained standing, leaning against the far wall. ‘Mrs Miller, as my client I strongly suggest you think back to April 1989 and try to think how it’s possible Mr McCarthy came to be buried in your garden. The evidence is overwhelming. You admit that a sexual assault took place and we know that after supposedly leaving your home he was not seen again.’

‘I told you it hasn’t got anything to do with me. I didn’t kill him.’

‘Well somebody did and then they buried his body at the end of your garden. I know this is a difficult question but do you know who did kill him?’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Well, Mrs Miller, if it wasn’t you then the only other person it can be was your husband. You do realise that by denying the charges you are putting him in the frame?’ Her blue eyes looked at me accusingly.

‘Larry’s not like that.’

‘Did you tell him about the rape?’ The moment that word left her mouth she started to soften. Unable to meet her eye I stared down at my feet and didn’t say anything. ‘Look, Mrs Miller, if I’m going to help you I need to be in possession of all the facts. Anything you tell me is confidential.’

‘Well, I told him about after but I can’t remember exactly when. It was a long time ago.’

‘I see. Why didn’t you report it to the police?’

‘Back then I was involved with some stuff that wasn’t exactly legal and we didn’t need the police sniffing round so I kept quiet. It seemed like the only thing to do. Now I wish I’d said something and I might not be in this mess.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Carol sprang the question on me.

‘Oh, just, you know, being here, being questioned about it and stuff.’

My shutters had come down and she could sense it. She shook her head, gave a little sigh and returned to fiddling with her paperwork.

Ten minutes later the door opened and DS Small appeared with his counterpart. The pair looked very grave and I felt a sinking in my stomach.

‘Interview resumed at zero seven twenty between Detective Sergeant Dan Small and Mrs Deborah Miller. The accompanying officer is DS Richard Martin. Also present is Carol Winter-Bottom, the solicitor for the suspect. Have a seat, Mrs Miller.’

Begrudgingly I slumped down on to the plastic chair. I could feel the look of disgust coming from DS Martin. I wriggled in my seat.

‘Mrs Deborah Miller, I am arresting you for the murder of Mr Mark McCarthy on April 7
^th
1989. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be used in evidence against you. Do you understand?’

‘Why are you arresting me?’

‘New evidence has come to light.’

‘What new evidence?’

‘There was a thorough search of your house.’ Small couldn’t look at me. He looked pale. ‘We found the axe.’

‘What axe?’

‘The axe that was used to dismember the body of Mr McCarthy.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Your fingerprints and DNA are all over the handle.’

‘So? You’re arresting me for murder because an item found in my house has my DNA on it? It’s a joke.’

‘This is no joke, Mrs Miller, I can assure you.’ Small and Martin shared a look. ‘That wasn’t the only thing the forensic team discovered.’ I held my breath. Carol looked at me and I shrugged. ‘We’ve found an item of your clothing with Mr McCarthy blood on it.’

‘I need to speak to my client.’ Carol was flustered and desperate to call an end to the interview.

‘Do you have anything you wish to say at this stage?’ DS Small added solemnly.

‘No comment.’

When I discovered I was pregnant a week earlier I had cried. I didn’t want my body to be taken over by someone else but felt reluctant to return to the clinic for another termination. I thought all of that was behind me. I’d done with changing nappies and the late night feeds. But Larry said he was pleased and that we should keep it. So we did.

That afternoon I had an appointment with the doctor. Larry wanted to come and took time off from work to join me at the surgery. We sat side by side in the stuffy waiting room watching the clock. The doctor was running late, as usual, and we had to wait for twenty minutes before I was called.

Larry followed me into the room and we both sat down opposite Dr Ling. He was younger than I had expected.

‘How can I help you?’ he looked from Larry to me.

‘I’m pregnant.’

‘I see.’ He was smart enough not to jump into congratulating us just yet. There was a pause while he waited to see if I had anything to add. When I remained quiet he reached for a cardboard calendar that sat on his desk. ‘When was the date of your last period?’

‘I’m not really sure.’ I admitted. ‘They have always been a bit all over the place. But maybe twelve weeks ago.’

‘Right,’ he looked down at the calendar and started to do a mental sum. ‘If that is correct, then your due date is approximately the middle of May. Let’s get you booked in for a scan.’ He turned to the computer on his desk and started tapping away at the keyboard. ‘The hospital will send you a letter with a date for the scan.’ His round glasses reflected the brightness off the computer screen.

‘Thanks, doc.’ Larry stood up.