‘My shoes? Oh, yes of course.’ Professionally, I’m not obligated to take them off, but I choose to comply. She watches as I remove them and place them next to her own, positioned neatly by the front door, which makes me think of something Erin might have told me during our phone conversations,something about shoes being by the door…
‘I thought perhaps you had already seen the photograph that we released to the press.’
‘No,’ she says, visibly upset. ‘I haven’t switched the TV on in days, or looked at my phone. I’ve been completely alone. I don’t want to read the news. I’m too frightened to go out of the house, even. I’m jumpy, loud noises scare me… well, they sound loud to me, even though they’re probably not loud to you!’ She tucks a piece of her hair behind her left ear, and I catch a glimpse ofher hearing aid. ‘I can’t sleep, can’t eat…’ Admittedly, she looks pale and drawn in the face, like a ghost, and her green eyes are sunken and a little bloodshot. There’s something different about her to the last time we met though. I’m not sure what it is yet, can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s definitelysomething.
‘I must look like such a fright,’ she apologises. ‘I’m glad my colleagues can’t see me now.’
‘I’m sorry, Tilly,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry any of this has happened to you. Is this from your colleagues?’
I nod at the greeting card on the table, one that says ‘You will be missed’ on the front. She nods solemnly.
‘The whole team signed it,’ she says. ‘I’m really going to miss them too. I can’t go back now, can I, even if they’d have me? Are you here to charge me, Dan?’ She blinks up at me, her eyes widening. ‘Is that why you’re here?’
‘No, no…’ I soften my voice, reassure her. ‘Just to talk. Let’s sit down, yeah, try to relax. I know it’s not easy with everything you’re dealing with right now.’
She slides into the seat at the kitchen table.
‘That isnota good photo of Samantha.’ She looks down at it. ‘She won’t like that one bit when she sees it. She’s much prettier in the flesh. When was it taken?’
‘When she was arrested, Tilly, in 2019, for the murder of a man named Bojan Radulovic. And her name is not Samantha Valentine, it’s Erin Santos.’
‘Erin Santos… Er-in San-tos…’ She lets the name roll off her tongue. ‘So who is she then? Why is she pretending to be someone called Samantha Valentine? What will this mean for me, Dan? Will you find her?Haveyou found her?’
‘Not yet, no. But we will.’ I nod.
‘I just can’t believe any of it.’ She lets her hands fall onto the table with a slap. ‘Was italllies? Was there really no abusive boyfriend? Did I kill an innocent man because I believed,because shemademe believe, that we were in danger, that he was going to kill us? Why would shedosuch a thing? Why would anyone?’ She covers her face with her hands, shuts her eyes. She’s painted her fingernails red – I’m sure they were natural when I last saw her. Seems a bit out of context somehow.
‘Tilly, have you had any contact with Erin Santos?’
‘What?’ Her brow wrinkles.
‘Did you send Erin Santos an email?’
‘No! Why would I do that? I’ve never evenheardthe name Erin Santos until you just told me. The woman in the photo is Samantha…my friend…’ her voice trails off. ‘Or I thought she was. I’m sorry,’ she drops her head, ‘this is all so much to take in, to process…’
I reach across the table, place my hand on top of hers. It feels soft and cold to touch.
‘I know, Tilly.’ I pat it. ‘But you’re sure you have never contacted Erin Santos by email, or otherwise?’
‘Iswearto you,’ – she pulls her hand away, starts to cry – ‘I have no idea who Erin Santos is, let alone have an email address for her. I don’t even own a laptop anymore – it’s with the police, and you can check my phone if you like.’ She pushes it across the table towards me. ‘Will I go to prison?’ Her bottom lip quivers. ‘I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t mean to kill Milo Harrison. She told lies,so manylies…’
‘I know she did, Tilly.’ I take a packet of tissues from my inside pocket and give them to her.
‘Father of three,’ – she holds them up – ‘always prepared, right!’
I smile. She remembered.
She takes a tissue from the packet and blows her nose, hard, into it.
I glance around her small, sparse apartment. It’s neat and tidy, but not what I’d call homely. I stare at a lone cup and a single used plate on the kitchen work surface.
‘It’s tricky to explain it all to you, Tilly, but you’re wrong in some ways.’
‘I don’t follow.’ Her green eyes are glassy with tears.
‘Samantha Valentine was, is, real, but only in Erin Santos’s mind. It would seem that she’s suffering from something called dissociative identity disorder, you may know it better as split personality. In effect, she’s two people in one mind, two very separate people.’
‘Oh God.’ She covers her mouth with a hand. ‘How do you know this?’
