Dead Wrong. Noelle Holten
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with embarrassment into the corner. ‘One of his teachers told me that Bill smelled funny, like he never washed, and they had seen nasty bruises on his legs and arms.’
His mother glared at him before turning around and flashing a smile at the social worker. ‘There must be some mistake.’ She looked at the broken watch she wore on her wrist. ‘Oh, is that the time? We’ll have to reschedule as Billy has an appointment and we can’t be late.’ His mother pointed at the door.
The social worker left reluctantly, glancing back at Bill and smiling. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
All hell broke loose when his mother came back into the room.
‘You little piece of shit. Are you trying to get me in trouble?’ She poked him in his chest, but he didn’t understand why. He never did.
‘I … I didn’t say anything, Mum … I swear.’ He clenched his hands repeatedly.
‘You fucking little liar. Dirty, piece of shit. I should throw you out with the rubbish. That’s all you are, a piece of dirty trash. The rats can have you.’ And then the blows came, raining down on him until his mother had exhausted herself and needed her drink or drugs, whatever she had in the house.
Bill dragged himself up the stairs, into his bedroom where he lay on the floor. Shivering cold. His mother never washed or changed the sheets on his bed. The smell of piss burned his nose.
One day she would see who the piece of trash was.
Bill was looking forward to his meeting with the police today. He specifically requested DC Maggie Jamieson, someone he had spent a lot of time thinking about. She was a fascinating and worthy opponent and he couldn’t wait to watch her squirm. He remembered their first interviews together and the way she tapped her pen when she was thinking about something. How she delicately placed her hair behind her ear. He smiled. He knew what perfume she liked to wear and what she smelt like after a day of interviews in a small prison cell. He rarely had any memorable visitors, or any real mental stimulation, so he was going to savour this.
He looked at his reflection in the stained mirror screwed to the wall. Ran his fingers through his hair with a smile. He wished he could have worn the new suit he had purchased for his court appearances. Smart, equal to his visitors. But he would have to make do with his new haircut and freshly shaven face. He wondered if Maggie would recognize him and be impressed by the effort he had made for her. Gone was the gaunt unhealthily thin heroin addict he had been. Time spent eating starchy prison food and going to the gym had soon sorted him out. He had taught himself to speak properly. Listening to his psychiatrist’s posh accent. Watching television programmes and mimicking the voices. He liked the way he looked and sounded now and the way that people glanced at him. They respected him, feared him, maybe even admired him.
He gathered together his appeal paperwork, rehearsed his arguments again in his head. Imagined Maggie leaning closer across the table in the interview room. Thought about her begging him to drop his appeal, imagined reducing her to tears, ending her career. Walking to his bed, he crouched down and left the psychological reports under his pillow. If they wanted to look into the darkness of his mind, they’d have to do that homework themselves.
Bill enjoyed games, especially those that fucked with people’s minds. He was smarter than them all and he’d had longer to prepare.
He sat crossed-legged on the floor, completely still, controlling his breathing as he waited for the guard to come and retrieve him. He stared up through the prison bars, biding his time until he was free again. Eventually the guard called his name and led him towards the legal visit area. As he passed the other inmates they hooted and banged against the bars of their cells. Those on the landing moved out of his way and lowered their gaze as he passed. The officer brought him to a room, and he sat at a table to wait for Maggie.
After a few moments, he saw her through the room’s plexiglass windows and he took a sharp intake of breath. He hadn’t realized what it would be like to see her after all this time. He felt himself stiffen.
Bill stood as the door opened. Electricity coursed through his veins. Breathe, Billy-boy. You need to keep calm. He took a deep breath and counted to ten as DC Jamieson entered the room.
‘Where’s DI Rutherford? Will she not be joining us?’ He rubbed his hands together.
‘The DI is on her way. Why don’t you have a seat, Mr Raven.’
She seemed to be trying to hide her fear under a mask of confidence, but he could see right through it. Just like he could with the guards. He watched her closely as she pointed to the plastic water jug on the table.
‘Would you like a drink?’ She began to pour herself a cup and raised her eyebrows waiting for his answer. He thought he saw her lip twitch.
‘Yes, please. The new medication I’m on can leave my mouth very dry.’ He licked his lips slowly and she looked away. ‘You’re looking very thin these days, DC Jamieson. I hope this situation is not the cause.’
Maggie ignored the comment and sat down across from him. She took a pad and pen out of her pocket. She began to fidget with her notebook. Just as he was about to say something, DI Rutherford entered the room.
‘Good morning, Mr Raven. Hello DC Jamieson. Shall we just get started? Where’s your solicitor?’ DI Rutherford walked quickly inside. Raven knew he would need to watch this one.
‘As I’m helping you with your enquiries, and not being interrogated, I told him not to join us. I hope I’m not wrong.’ Raven smiled. ‘I’m happy to get started. I wouldn’t want to keep you any longer than necessary. After all, you have a killer to catch, don’t you?’ He laughed.
The DI frowned.
‘Something funny, Mr Raven? There are families who want answers and the public want to feel safe again. I don’t think this is anything to smile about, do you?’ The DI stared at him.
He folded his hands together before answering. ‘Oh, it’s no laughing matter. I’m so sorry if my facial expressions annoy you, but as I explained to your colleague earlier …’ He took a sip of water. ‘Sometimes my medications can play havoc with my feelings. I was smiling at the fact that I’m here to help bring the real killer to justice.’
Maggie squinted and eyed him cautiously.
DI Rutherford leaned in. ‘Mr Raven, you said you wanted to help us with our investigation, so do you have some information to pass on? I have to admit, I wasn’t too keen on this meeting, but your solicitor convinced my DCI that this is an avenue we should explore. Please,’ she stressed, ‘do not waste our time.’
‘No time will be wasted. I can assure you. I’m here to help – you know that – so should we start from the beginning?’
Maggie refused to look away from Raven; his soulless eyes would not haunt her this time. Her leg shook restlessly under the table. DI Rutherford would be pissed off if Maggie hijacked the interview.
‘I’ve had a lot of time to clear my head in here,’ Raven said, as his eyes flicked over Maggie. ‘A lot of time to think. Can you imagine what it’s like to be kept in a cell on your own for a crime you didn’t commit? Ridiculed by the media and disowned by your friends?’ He leaned back in his seat and spread his legs wide, that smile that Maggie hated creeping across his face. ‘It’s taken me this long to recover, for the medication to start working, for the heroin and crack cravings to die down. Only in the past month have I started to piece together what happened.’
Maggie clenched her fist under the table, but