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‘I didn’t?’ I stifle the sob in my throat.
Her clear blue eyes are on mine. ‘You didn’t kill anyone.’
55
Rachel
My head is throbbing. There’s a pain behind my eyes. I know what she’s said is true. I’ve always known it somewhere because it fits with the perfect click of a missing piece.
‘The tissues,’ I say. ‘The tissues in my rucksack. I’ve just remembered, I didn’t have a hot flash outside the leisure centre, I had a nosebleed. That’s why I leaned against the wall. I stuffed the tissues in the front pocket of my rucksack, and by the time I came out of the class, I’d completely forgotten about the nosebleed.’
Blue Eyes takes a deep breath. ‘One thing at a time, but that’s good, that’s great.’
‘The knife. Oh my God, I did put it in my bag. After Jo, I woke up in the middle of the night and I went downstairs and it was in the cutlery drawer so I… I put it in my bag and I must’ve forgotten it the moment I’d done it, must’ve been half asleep, though when I brought it in from the garage is anyone’s guess. I’d felt scared walking home that night. I saw two lads vaping and I can remember thinking, what if they’re wrong ’uns, what if they come at me? But I must’ve been half asleep when I did that because what the heck is a knife going to do to protect me? I’d never be able to use it on anyone. I’d never have time to get it out of my bag let alone… But hang on, if I didn’t kill anyone, who did?’
She holds up her hand.Patience, woman.
‘The police found the clip file in your kitchen,’ she says. ‘And Ian’s clothes in the washing machine and the cigarette butts in the garage. Cigarette butts were found near the scene of the attacks on Anne-Marie, Ian Brown and David King, along with fabric fibres and hairs. The DNA from the cigarette butts matched with DNA from other cigarette ends found near the car park of Brookvale Leisure Centre. These also matched one of the cigarette butts that you kept and hid in the garage.’ She meets my eye, holds my gaze. ‘Hair strands found in Anne-Marie’s car matched hair found in your house.’
‘What are you saying? It wasn’t Mark, was it? I know it’s always the husband, but it’s not, is it? It’s not my Mark – please tell me it’s not.’
‘No, Rachel, it isn’t.’
‘It’s not Lisa. Oh God, please tell me it’s not her. Please, Amanda.’ I meet her eye, see the almost imperceptible shake of her head. ‘Oh,’ I say, and suddenly everything is obvious. ‘Ingrid.’
‘Matching cigarette stubs, hair and garment fibres left at the town-hall crime scene were found in Ingrid Taylor’s flat along with calendar entries in her iPhone detailing your movements over the past eight months.’
‘Eight? But she only moved in in the summer.’
‘The police arrested Ingrid Taylor almost a month ago, Rachel. In questioning, she revealed a worrying fascination with your whereabouts as well as an inappropriate interest in your husband, Mark. She had apparently taken a selfie in her underwear and sent it to him. Your husband revealed that she had been pestering him. Not his choice of words, but it seems she was calling at your house whenever you were out. We did some digging, spoke to people she knew in Helsby. There was an… incident. A woman accused Ingrid of sleeping with her husband. Ingrid attacked this woman, held a knife to her throat apparently… it all happened at a cocktail party. It seems they struck a deal: Ingrid was to move away and no charges would be brought.’
My chin is on the floor, manner of speaking.
‘Blimey,’ I say, breathless.
‘She was watching you, Rachel. And she was following you. Sometimes she would simply follow you, sometimes she would double back and call in at your home, knowing you to be out. She knew you were at a spinning class and called at your home moments after you’d left, eventually persuading Mark to give her a lift to the leisure centre so that her car wouldn’t be picked up on CCTV. We have captures of Ingrid following you into St Michael’s cemetery and on the road near the leisure centre. Fibres matching her clothing were found under David King’s fingernails. Footage of her was also taken from the CCTV outside the Red Admiral pub late on Saturday evening, the night Ian Brown was attacked.’
‘I can’t… I can’t take it in.’ The information hovers. I have heard it, I know I have, but it’s not made its way into my brain yet.
‘In interview, Ms Taylor exhibited several traits of narcissistic personality disorder.’ Amanda leans forward. ‘Arrogance is one of those traits, Rachel. She offered herself as a witness, convinced she’d been one hundred per cent successful in framing you for the murders. She didn’t request a lawyer until very late in the questioning, by which time she’d tied herself in knots. She’s not as bright as she believes herself to be – it’s completely in keeping with her personality disorder, the belief that others are less intelligent than herself. It appears that while other traits manifested strongly – a refusal to take responsibility for her actions, a strong desire for status, particularly through material goods, and a failure to acknowledge boundaries – it was arrogance that did for her in the end. She simply could not imagine that her story would not be believed. And so she did not get her house in order, so to speak.’
‘I can’t take it in.’ But my body knows it. My shoulders have lowered. There’s an ease in my spine, a looseness in my jaw.
‘If you remember, Mark helped her with a passport form.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it seems she’d booked herself a little holiday to the Seychelles, which she fully intended to take. She’s been charged with stalking with malicious intent, and with the murders of Joanna Weatherall, Anne-Marie Golightly and David King, and the vicious attack on Ian Brown. She claims she is innocent, which is textbook – the failure to take responsibility for one’s actions and the consequences of those actions. We tried to tell you, to explain it to you, but you were too ill.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Everything I’ve told you in the last two sessions is information you’d already been given. But you were convinced you were responsible for the attacks. Nothing could dissuade you, nothing.’
‘But I was there. For all the attacks I was there. How do you know it was Ingrid?’
‘Because she was there too. That’s what I’m telling you. There was CCTV footage, there were blood traces on her clothes and shoes matching three of the victims, mud samples taken from the soles… I could go on. There were notes in her phone, including the date of your spinning class, and the date of the anniversary of Kieron’s death, which she claimed not to know about even though your husband said he told her. But it appears she followed you regularly and often. She followed you the night you crossed the churchyard. It’s possible she knocked your head against the gravestone or hit you with something, but she hasn’t confessed to that and we have no proof.’
‘And you’ve told me all this before?’
