‘You had something you wanted to ask me,’ you say.
‘Yes.’ I take a breath. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened.’ Tormenting myself with all the things I did wrong, the clues I missed. ‘And I have to know why you did what you did. You must have known I saw you taking photos of me. You knew what Sophie was doing and you did nothing about it.’
‘I was trying to protect her. She spent her whole lifelooking out for me. When I saw it was going too far I tried to get her to stop.’
‘Not hard enough. My children could’ve died—’ My voice becomes a squeak and I swallow hard. Now is not the time for emotion.
‘I almost died trying to stop her, Doctor Lawson.’
‘Why did you let her do it, and why did you follow her so much? I thought it was you. I thought you were stalking me. All those photos you took and put on your wall.’
You close your eyes. ‘I like taking photos. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the way I make sense of the world. I know I’m not normal. I see the way people look at me, but I can’t change who I am.’
Neither of us speaks for a moment.
‘Do you know Rachel Finley?’ I ask then. The answer doesn’t matter but it’s been bugging me.
‘No,’ you say, looking at me again. ‘The first time I heard the name was when you asked about her in the hospital and then when the police came to tell me what happened. Rachel was with you in the house, wasn’t she?’
‘She was one of Sophie’s clients. Her kids go to the same school as mine and Sophie used her to get my children from school.’
You nod and I realize you know all this already.
‘You took a lot of photos of Rachel, and Bernie said he saw an older blonde coming to the house sometimes. Was it her?’
You pull a face and give a light snort. ‘Good old Bernie. Nothing gets by him. I think he must have seen my boss from the restaurant. She came to the house a few times to taste some new dishes I’d worked on. We didn’t do it at the restaurant because she didn’twant to upset her head chef. We had a bit of a thing, but it didn’t last long. She’s going through a divorce and it got too complicated. As for the photos of Rachel, I was keeping a close eye on everyone Sophie saw in the end and that’s why I have photos of them.’
I want to push the point. A close eye? Is that what you call following your sister wherever she went and taking hundreds of photos of her and everyone she saw?
‘I’m sorry for what happened to your children,’ you say then.
‘And I’m sorry about Sophie.’ The reply is automatic. It’s the kind of throwaway comment that is easy to say when someone is gone, but deep down, in a place I don’t like to go, I’m glad she’s dead. I know now that Sophie was very ill. I think in her head she saw me and the children as though we were living her life over again and thought she could change history and stop her guilt. I’m sorry for the pain her death has caused Matthew and Nick, but ill or not, I can’t forgive her.
I wait for Matthew’s next question. Why didn’t I wait? Why didn’t I do more to save Sophie? I wait for Matthew’s anger to rise up, his recrimination just like Nick’s, but it doesn’t come.
‘Poor Sophie,’ he says in the end. ‘I feel so guilty about what happened. I wish I could change things.’
‘Don’t you blame her for what she did to you? She pushed you in front of a bus.’
‘She panicked, that’s all. I was threatening to go to the police and she was scared. Sophie had it tough growing up too. Mum put all her energy into me and I know Sophie was left out a lot, and then she had to look after me after school when our nan couldn’t doit any more. My childhood improved astronomically when I was adopted by the Dovers, but Sophie’s didn’t.
‘After years and years of it, she blamed me and wanted to get me into trouble by burning some paper to show our mum how I used to set fire to things. It went horribly wrong and the kitchen curtains caught fire, and she never forgave herself. I’ve always felt responsible for what happened as well. If the Dovers hadn’t adopted me then Sophie would still have her mum. Sophie wasn’t perfect, but she was my sister and I will always love her. I know she didn’t want to be saved but I want to keep her memory alive and remember the good in her.’
A silence settles over us. I try to process everything you’ve told me about your childhood and Sophie. Maybe one day I’ll feel some sympathy for you and Sophie, but I don’t have it in me right now. It’s still too raw.
I stare at you and the dark eyes I still see in my nightmares. You might not have been my stalker, but when I think of the hundreds of photos on your bedroom wall, I can’t see you as innocent either.
‘I’m sorry,’ DS Church had said to me the last time we spoke about Matthew. ‘The Crown Prosecution Service think it’s too difficult to prosecute Mr Dover for harassment. All the evidence we have points to Sophie, and the photos you’ve mentioned burnt in the fire. I’m afraid there isn’t enough evidence.’
DS Church filled in the gaps from that day. ‘After Stuart phoned me to report the dolls and the flowers on your doorstep, I had a colleague phone all the florists. I was sure an order for that many pink carnations would be remembered, and it was. A florist on LongMead Road remembered the purchase. A cash buyer, but they had Sophie on CCTV coming in to collect them.’
‘And Matthew?’ I asked. ‘Where did he go?’
‘He never made it further than the car park. He told the hospital staff he was worried about his sister.’
‘What will you do now?’ Matthew asks, pulling my thoughts back to the room.
‘I’ll carry on.’
