The Optician's Wife (27 page)

Owen and I stood sombrely watching as the box was lifted on to the men’s shoulders and taken indoors. Mr Armstrong came back and told us that everything was in place and that they were ready to proceed as soon as I said the word. I explained we were waiting for Eric.

Armstrong nodded and disappeared off. He had been so respectful and humane up until that point but on that day I felt as if something had changed. For some reason he couldn’t look me in the eye. At the time I put it down to the gravity of the situation.

As I watched Armstrong disappear around the corner with the coffin bearers I heard a car pull up and turned to see that Eric had arrived. He parked, got out and came towards us. His attempt at being smart was somewhat laughable. He had a rather grubby, un-ironed blue shirt on, with a pair of black jeans, trainers and a black tie, which he had no doubt borrowed.

‘Morning.’ He said scratching the back of his neck.

‘Hi.’ Owen went over and gave him a nervous hug.

‘So, is this it?’ Eric looked around.

‘This is it.’

‘You didn’t manage to persuade the others, I’m guessing.’

‘No.’ The word was clipped. I was trying to ignore the bitter disappointment I felt towards my two eldest children. ‘Shall we go in?’

I let the way, followed closely by Eric and Owen.

Once inside the celebrant, Mr Peck, a man with thick glasses and a large belly, greeted us. He put his hand out and we shook.

‘I am sorry for your loss.’ He sounded genuine and I couldn’t contain my surprise. ‘Funerals are a difficult business at the best of times. I appreciate this is going to be harder than most. Shall we proceed.’

I nodded and led the way into the empty chapel. The coffin was at the front of the room on the catafalque with only a single bunch of white roses resting on the top. The three of us sat on the front right hand row, all gazing at the wooden box containing Larry’s body. It was so surreal.

The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. And then the music started to play. From the speakers on the wall the song ‘Behind Blue Eyes’ by The Who filled the room. A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed hard, even though I had requested it and knew it was coming. It had been our song. Larry used to play it and said it made him think of me. I thought that was really romantic.

The committal did not take long. It was a very short service. The celebrant managed to say a few nice words and avoid the pink elephant in the room. Then we watched as the curtains closed around the coffin and I looked down at Owen who was sat sandwiched between Eric and me. His little face was pale and he didn’t take his eyes off the coffin. Even after the velvet curtains shrouded it he just sat still staring. Then Bach’s ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’ came pouring out of the speakers and we all remained seated trying to make sense of what had happened. As the orchestral piece came to an end the three of us looked at one another and stood in unison. It was over.

We left the chapel and stepped out into the fresh air. Eric removed a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and put them on, shifting awkwardly on the spot. ‘So, what do we do now?’

‘We go home and try to get on with our lives.’

‘OK. Well, I’m glad I came. If either of you ever need anything you know where I am. I’ll be in touch, yeah?’ he put his arm around my shoulder and kissed the side of my head.

‘Sure. Thanks for coming.’

I watched as he went over to his car and drove away. I felt bitterly alone.

‘Right, kiddo, let’s call a cab.’ I started to remove my mobile phone from my handbag when I noticed a figure waving at me from the car park. DS Small was leaning against his car with his shirt sleeves rolled up, his head tilted towards the warm light. I scowled at him. How dare he. Next to him was a police car with two officers standing beside it. I really didn’t want to talk to him but I could see I had no choice so I approached the man.

‘Owen, go inside and wait for me.’ I pointed to the waiting area at the entrance to the chapel. Owen did as he was told.

‘What the hell do you think you are doing here? You’re not welcome.’ I shouted, as I got closer. ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?’

‘Well hello, Mrs Miller.’ Small flashed a row of white teeth at me. ‘Lovely day.’

‘I could slap you.’ I said through gritted teeth.

‘Ah, but that would be assault.’ Small waggled his finger in the air.

‘We’re grieving. This is harassment. I’m going to put in a formal complaint.’ My chest was all puffed up.

Small looked down at his feet and smiled. ‘I think you are going to be spending a lot of time down at the station from now on.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I wanted to wipe that pompous grin off his face. He looked up at the uniformed officers and gave a little nod.

‘Deborah Miller, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be used in evidence against you.’

I felt the two officers close in around me. My exit was blocked, not that I intended to run.

‘This is a joke.’ I half-laughed.

‘No, madam, this is no joke. New evidence has come to light.’

‘What new evidence?’

‘The box, Mrs Miller. The box you put into your husband’s coffin.’

I felt the colour drain from my face.

‘How did you know?’ All the fight had left me.

‘Let’s just say we received a tip.’

I hung my head and let out a long loud sigh.

‘You didn’t think you’d get away with it?’

‘I did, actually.’ I looked up and eyeballed Small who took a few steps towards me and slowly lifted his hand to point at my brooch. The little diamanté fox with red stone eyes sparkled in the light and appeared to be taunting me.

‘That’s an interesting item.’ He mused fingering the piece of jewellery.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it is. Isn’t it.’

When I was shown into the interview room of the prison, she hadn’t arrived yet. I sat down on one of the two plastic chairs and looked around the stark room. High up in the corner of the room was a CCTV camera pointing down at me. The red light on the side of it glowed brightly.

HM Prison Bronzefield is a Category A prison on the outskirts of Ashford in Surrey. It is the only purpose-built high security prison for only women in the UK. One of the officers once bragged to me that it was the largest female prison in Europe. As if I give a shit.

I was transferred here when it opened in 2004 from Low Newton prison in County Durham. I don’t know why they didn’t leave me there. I was getting on OK. I’ve learnt to keep my head down.

I’m forty-nine years old. In early 1999, when I was thirty-three, I’d received a whole life sentence after being found guilty of the murder of eight people. I will never be released.

I now weigh over sixteen stone and my breathing is not as easy as it once was. My grey hair has been cut really short. A lot of the other girls in the prison keep away from me. Most of them know to give me a wide berth but there’s always one who thinks she’s tough and wants to show off to the others. I’ve been in fights a few times. Sometimes I come out of it better and other times I don’t. It’s the way it is in here.

At least I was given enhanced prisoner status. That means I’m allowed to have my own things around me in my cell. They got me a catalogue so that I could choose some stuff I wanted. I got a bright rug for the floor, some new mint green bedding decorated with little bluebells and a DVD player to watch films on. Believe it or not the prison paid the bill. They said I could order some make-up but I told them I didn’t want it. I never really went in for that stuff. And what’s the point in here? I’m not a dyke.

I even have a little job working as a cleaner on the wing. They pay me eleven pounds a week. It’s better than nothing and it stops me from getting too bored.

Most of the time I wear the green prison uniform but occasionally I put on a grey Adidas tracksuit just for a change. On that day I was wearing my tracksuit. It was a special day.

I heard the door to the room being unlocked and I turned to face the entrance. An officer showed her into the room and then left, locking the door again.

She sat down nervously, placing the Dictaphone on the table between us.

‘Hello, Deborah.’ She folded her hands together and rested them on the table. I noticed a large sparkling diamond ring on her engagement finger. Lucky bitch, I thought.

‘Hello.’ I looked at her through my glasses. My eyesight isn’t what it once was.

‘I’m Verity Holten.’ She was pretty and probably not much older than thirty. She wore her auburn hair in a silky bob, which emphasised her delicate jaw and neck. She had large dark blue eyes that were framed with just the right amount of make-up.

‘Yes, I know who you are.’

‘Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.’ I noticed she still hadn’t taken her green jacket off.

‘Not just down to me. I suppose you had to get permission from the Governor?’

‘Yes that’s right.’ She was finding it hard to look me in the eye. I was used to people being like that.

‘What is it?’

‘You look very different from the pictures of you,’ she admitted.

‘They are old. I was younger then.’ I ran my hand through my short hair. ‘People change.’

Verity didn’t say anything and just sat there looking at me strangely.

‘So.’ I leant back in my chair and it creaked. ‘What exactly do you want?’

‘I would like the truth.’

‘You mean you want me to spill my guts so that you can splash it all over the front of your fancy paper.’

‘I am here for the families of the victims.’

‘You’re here to sell newspapers.’

‘Yes, I work for
The Times
and yes, a lot of what we discuss is likely to end up in my article but that is not my sole purpose for being here.’ Suddenly she found the courage to look directly at me.

I examined her face for a moment deciding on my next move. ‘What makes you think I am going to tell you anything?’

‘The fact that you agreed to meet me suggests you are prepared to talk.’

‘Maybe I just thought I’d have some fun.’ I looked down at the nails on my left hand.

‘Is this fun for you?’

I didn’t like her tone. ‘I can get up and leave this room any time I like.’

‘That is true.’ She was keeping her calm and it riled me. ‘But before you do walk out of this room I think there is something you should know. My aunt was Joanne Hewitt.’

‘Now that’s a name I’ve not heard for a long time.’ I leant forward and smiled. Now she had my attention.

‘So, will you talk to me?’ Verity rested her hand on the Dictaphone.

‘Sure. We can talk.’

She picked up the Dictaphone and turned it on.

‘Interview with Deborah Miller, May second.’

‘So?’ I folded my arms and sat back. ‘Ask me something.’

‘During your murder trial in March 1999 you pleaded not guilty. Can you tell me why?’

‘Well, that’s a stupid question isn’t it?’ I chuckled shaking my head. ‘I didn’t do it.’

‘Didn’t do what?’

‘Didn’t do what they were accusing me of.’

‘So can you please explain then how you came to have knowledge of the whereabouts of the eyeballs.’

‘Like I said before, I found them.’

‘Where?’

‘In the freezer.’

‘And instead of handing the evidence over to the police you decided it should be cremated alongside your husband?’

‘He’d already been labelled a murderer and he was dead. I was trying to avoid any more hassle.’

‘Hassle?’ Verity made no effort to conceal her distain. ‘You are talking about the body parts of your husband’s victims.’

‘Well I didn’t know what he’d done until I found them. By then he’d already been arrested. I didn’t want to make matters worse for him. And I had my boy to think of.’

‘So without hesitation you took the evidence and placed it inside his coffin two days before he was due to be cremated. Did it not occur to you that the families of his victims deserved closure?’

‘No. Not really. I had my own family to think about.’

‘It didn’t occur to you that by withholding evidence you could end up in trouble?’

‘I did what I thought was best.’ Her look told me that she didn’t believe it. ‘That’s the truth.’

‘OK, let’s back up. Can you tell me how you felt when you discovered a collection of eyeballs in your freezer?’ she asked the question the same way a waitress might ask what you wanted to order in a restaurant.

‘Well, I was shocked, of course.’

‘Naturally.’ Verity’s sarcasm was beginning to wind me up.

‘If you want me to talk to you, you’re going to have to show me a bit more respect,’ I growled.

‘I apologise.’ Suddenly she didn’t look so sure of herself and I felt as if I were regaining some control of the situation.

‘So,’ I said changing the subject, ‘Dr Hewitt was your aunt.’

‘Yes.’ She shifted in her chair looking uncomfortable.

Inside I was smiling. ‘Sorry a
bout that.’

‘Can you tell me why you tortured her and left her with injuries that ultimately led to her death?’ Verity swallowed the words down.

‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘OK, have it your way. Do you know why your husband did it?’

‘I suspect he was pissed off with her.’

‘Because of the complications when you had your third child?’

‘Yes. Because of that.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem that upset about it.’

‘Why should I be?’

‘Because a woman was murdered.’

‘Rather her than me.’ I smirked knowing it would cause a reaction.

‘OK. That’s it. I’m done.’ Verity stood up and grabbed the Dictaphone. ‘I thought I could do this but I was wrong. This interview is over.’ As she swept past me I grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

‘You don’t just walk out of here. I’m not done yet.’

‘Let go.’ I could see the panic in her eyes.

‘Fine.’ I released her. She took a step back and she rubbed her wrist. ‘Do you want to know the truth. All of it?’