‘Was,’ Detective Pritchard corrects me, ‘who hewas. And it’s Radulovic,’ she says, ‘Bojan Radulovic. We recovered his passport from the possessions we found inside his apartment, along with some other formal means of identification.’ She leans in a little closer across the table towards me, starts shaking herhead slowly. ‘The man you killed, Erin, was not Ari Hussain. His name is Bojan Radulovic.’
I wish she’d stop saying his name.
‘You’ve got thissowrong. Samantha will identify him! Is that where she is now, down at the morgue, identifying his body?’ I glance at Detective Pritchard expectantly, my nerves jangling like wind chimes in a hurricane. The look she’s giving me suggests that she knows something I don’t.
‘Erin, police officers conducted an area search; they’ve made door-to-door enquiries and spoken to Bojan’s neighbours. Every one of them has confirmed who Mr Radulovic was, and that he lived alone, in his apartment, by himself. No one has ever seen him with a woman – any woman, in fact – who matches the description you’ve given us of your friend, Samantha.’ She reads from her notes, ‘Slim build, long blonde hair, green eyes, around five feet four. You described her to one officer as,’ she pauses, ‘unforgettable…’
My brow has been locked in confusion for so long that it’s started to ache.
‘The neighbours definitely knew what was going on because they’d called the police on a few occasions, when they heard her screams through the walls.’ I glance at her, then back at Bill the solicitor. ‘Not that the police everdidanything.’
Detective Pritchard links her fingers together on the table.
‘Is that what Samantha told you, Erin? Because we have no record of ever being called to any domestic incident at that address. In fact,’ she says, ‘we have no record of ever being called to that address at all.’
I open my mouth to speak, but a series of stunned exhalations comes out instead. There’s been some kind of bizarre, inexplicable mistake.Mistakes plural.I turn, confused, to Bill again and he mouths the words ‘no comment’ with an ominous shake of his head.
‘But youmusthave it on record? She told me! Why are you saying all of this?’
I rub my temples again in sheer frustration and outrage. Is it even possible for the police to be this inept? I’m going to make an official complaint once this is over. They’re a disgrace.
‘Erin, you were admitted to Ashdean Psychiatric Hospital in March of 2024 after you were found acting erratically in a public place. Is that correct?’
‘I’d like to speak to my client in private,’ Bill the solicitor cuts in.
‘No need.’ I turn sharply to him. ‘Yes, I was.’ I raise my chin. ‘Only I don’t know what that has to do with any of this.’ I’m affronted she’s even brought it up.
‘You were detained by the Mental Health Act 1983 and placed in the care of Ashdean hospital in Leeds where you were treated for severe depression, including acute paranoia, delusions and drug-induced psychosis. The notes we have obtained state that you were considered a danger to yourself, and potentially to the public, and that’s why you were detained under Section 136 and subsequently held against your will.’
I shake my head in disbelief, though I’m clinging on to the idea that Detective Pritchard is still willing to hear me out and all of this will be easily resolved.
‘I wasn’t kept at Ashdean against my will!’ I protest. She’s got her facts wrong! ‘I was there perfectly willingly of my own volition!’ My incredulity is charting. ‘Hang on, so you think because I suffered a mental health episode in the past then that means I must be lying now? Isn’t that discrimination?’ My jaw swings open as I look at Bill. ‘They can’t be serious, can they? This isridiculous…’
His eyes are trained on me.
‘Please, Erin, you need to think about taking my advice.’
But it’s too late for that. I’m incensed that the police should bring up my historical mental health blip like I’m some kind of nutcase not to be trusted. What are they trying to say?
‘A neighbour of Mr Radulovic told us that he had mentioned to him that he was being stalked by someone, a female he’d allegedly had a recent sexual encounter with. He didn’t have a name, or a description to give us, only what Mr Radulovic had told him in passing. Do you have any idea who he may have been referring to?’
‘No. No idea,’ I answer abruptly. ‘Sam never mentioned anything about any stalker… Though it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been cheating on her. He was forever accusingherof cheating onhim. Typical narcissistic mind-games. Always accusing the other person of the exact behaviour they’re guilty of themselves!’
‘You said Mr Radulovic came at you with a knife outside Pengally Court?’
‘Yes!’ I want to jump up out of my seat. ‘No! Not Radulovic… You’re trying to put words in my mouth!’ This is starting to feel like an attack. ‘It wasAri, Ari Hussain. How many times have I got to explain it? He charged at me, at me and Sam, with it in his hand, so instinctively I took the knife from her, the one she had taken from the kitchen and… what was I supposed to do? It was kill or be killed!’ Anger suddenly rises up into my chest.What is this bullshit?
‘There was no knife, Erin.’ Detective Pritchard looks directly at me. ‘Mr Radulovic was not armed.’ She’s shaking her head again. ‘The only knife we found at the scene was the knife you used to fatally stab him with. We found no other weapon on his person, or at the crime scene. Mr Radulovic was holding his phone in his right hand when he died, a silver Samsung. Do you think you could’ve been mistaken about the knife?’
‘Mistaken? About someone coming at me with a knife?’ I actually can’t comprehend what I’m hearing, I really can’t! I try and replay the moment that Ari came at me in my head. I’m sure he had a knife because Sam screamed at me,He’s got a knife, Erin! He’s got a knife!But –oh my God– now that I’m thinking about it,didI actually see it? I’m pretty sure I sawsomethingin his hand, something shiny… I must’ve done, but it all happened so fast.
‘Look, why aren’t you speaking to Sam? She can resolve all of this. Where the hell is she?’
‘There’s no record of her existence, Erin.’ Detective Pritchard’s tone drops down to an ominous octave as she fixes me with a hard stare. ‘No current or previous addresses for her, nothing from the electoral register.’ She’s shaking her head again. ‘We can’t find a birth certificate for her, an NI number, any medical records, or employment history… and there’s nothing on social media, not one photo of her anywhere.’ She leans in towards me once more. ‘We can findnothingto prove that this Samantha Valentine friend of yours is a real, living person, Erin.’
I’m sweating beads of pure terror now, the itchy grey tracksuit top is sticking to me like fire. I sip some more water but my hands are shaking so much that I spill some of it onto my bottoms, watch as it seeps into the cheap, nasty grey fabric. ‘No-no-no. Thiscan’tbe right… Iknowshe exists! You need to find her! She’ll tell you who Ari is and what he’s been doing to her. She’ll tell you exactly what happened and that I acted purely in self-defence! Youhaveto speak to Samantha Valentine. She’ll explain everything.’
FIVE
