‘Christ.’
‘It does look like he was with some woman... on my bed. Do you think he was trying to make me jealous? I don’t understand it at all.’
‘Unless someone was there to hurt him,’ I say. ‘Someone he owed money to.’
Cait’s eyes brighten. ‘You mean someone threatening to kill him?’
‘Exactly. A gangland boss who wants to make an example of him. I’m sure the police will look into his gambling debts.’
‘They’ve no interest in looking for someone else. I’m a slam-dunk,’ she says, and sniffs like an old lag. I also think there’s a new Estuarine twang to her diction.
‘But no one can seriously think you could’ve done it,’ I say to reassure her.
‘Why not me? He could’ve pushed me to it. I hated him enough.’
‘But you didn’t kill him,’ I say.
‘The papers think I did it. Pushed to it by years of domestic abuse. They know about the time I had to use a knife to protect myself against him. They’ve already been to my family, school friends, work colleagues – scoured social media. Trial by the public, it is. One of my school friends told the journalist I threw a netball in her face once. They reported it as evidence ofbouts of rage.’
‘Sporting incidents aside, Cait, a jury will see that you’re a gentle soul.’
‘Not sure I like that version of me any more. In here, I’m a killer.’ She stares at me, her teeth gritted. ‘And it feels good to be that person, you know – rather than the victim again.’
We sit for a moment in silence, as Cait orFlamecontinues to try on her new identity. It’s not impossible for me to imagine. I transformed myself too. I was homeless, penniless, and depraved. I screamed into the void. But it doesn’t do you any good in the end so I made a decision. It’s your story. You decide which character you play, so don’t have to choose the victim, you can choose the hero.
‘My solicitor thinks I might’ve even been framed. That someone connected with Owen tried to make it appear like a lover did it.’
‘Look, Cait, just so I know – did you tell anyone about the other little incident?’
She shakes her head.
‘Thank you.’
‘It wasn’t for you, Lalla. I tried to tell my solicitor about it, and he put his finger to his lips and said, “If you tell the police about another violent incident you’re involved in, it certainly will not help your case. Don’t incriminate yourself.”’
‘Good advice,’ I say with some pleasure. I had no idea my improvisation would work out so well, although I do feel a pang of something in my gut when I see Cait’s situation.
‘Exactly. So, I can’t tell them, can I? It’s just so weird,’ says Cait. ‘Two dead bodies, both stabbed. One in your house, one in my house. What are the chances of that?’ She looks up at me and her pupils suddenly dilate. I fear that simple-minded Cait has just joined the dots into the shape of yours truly.
‘What is it?’ I say, as casually as possible.
‘Maybe the deaths are connected,’ she says, jabbing a dirty finger at me.
‘I don’t see how,’ I say.
‘Maybe Owen’s the link. Or they’re both linked to someone else. Or something else.’ She pauses. Something is swirling in her mind.
‘What are you thinking?’ I say.
‘Secret crime syndicate,’ she says, casting glances left and right and speaking in a low tone. ‘My cellmate, she knows everything. Been in and out for fifteen years. She’s an assassin for a crime syndicate. That’s totally confidential, by the way.’
‘It’s unlikely that they’ve bunked you up with an assassin, Cait. She’s probably in for nicking a pack of fags.’
‘She’s a killer, Lalla.’
‘Well, regardless of her crime, you didn’t tell her about Jason, did you?’
Cait shakes her head, then unhelpfully says, ‘Not directly. I just suggested that there might be another body somewhere.’
