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“Can you state your full name, please?”
“Katie Harris.”
“Can you tell me how you know Mr Jaxon Adams?”
“He’s my boyfriend.”
“How long have you been in a relationship with Mr Adams?”
“About 6 months.”
“Are you aware of what Mr. Adams does for a living?”
“Yes, he is a lorry driver.”
“And what makes you think that is his occupation?”
“He told me.”
“Do you know the name of the company he works for?”
“Umm, no, I don’t.”
“No? Why not?”
“I never asked.”
“Have you ever been to his workplace or seen him driving a truck?”
“No, I haven’t. But it's not like he would drive his truck home and park it on the drive, is it?”
“The house you were in this morning, who does that belong to?”
“Jax.”
“Are you aware how much the houses on that street are worth, Miss Harris?”
“I’m not sure.”
“In excess of 2 million pounds.”
“Wow.”
“Wow, indeed. And you think a lorry driver owns a house of that value?”
“I’m sorry, I am not sure what you are implying here?”
The inspector sits back in his chair, twiddling his pen in his fingers. This is so surreal. My heart is racing. I feel like I need to be careful what I say or do, even though I have done nothing wrong.
“Where were you on Saturday 23rd of December, between the hours of 12 and 3 PM?”
“Bella Hairdressing. The King Hotel”
“The King Hotel? You answered that very quickly and specifically, considering it was over 4 months ago, Miss Harris?”
“Yes, well, I’m a hairdresser and the Saturday before Christmas is the year’s busiest day in my industry. That week before Christmas, I spend my days in the salon and any rest time in my accommodation, which is also in the hotel. I am sure the whole building has CCTV, so you will be able to confirm that.”
After what seemed like hours of more questions, they finally let me go. I haven’t seen Jax and nobody will tell me what is going on.
