The officer nods slightly. “And you’ll see here,” she gestures to a blank box, “the dosage hasn’t been recorded.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t give her anything. And I would never leave that blank. Catherine was really strict about that—everything had to be documented properly.”
She studies me for a moment. “Is it possible,” she says carefully, “that you were tired? Or that you’d had something to drink and simply forgot?”
The question lands like an accusation. “No,” I say firmly, my pulse picking up. “I would remember. And I was off duty. I wouldn’t administer medication when I wasn’t responsible for her care.”
She leans back slightly, making a note. “Alright,” she says. “Let’s continue with your statement. Sometimes details come back as we go through things.”
Three hours. That’s how long I’m stuck repeating everything, going over what I’ve said, checking everything matches up with records and logs. By the time I step out of the police station, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely feel them.
The air hits me, cold and sharp, and I sink down onto the steps, burying my face in my hands as everything finally catches up with me.
“I noticed you were in there a while.” Ray’s voice cuts through the noise. I flinch, my head snapping up. He’s standing a few steps away, hands in his pockets, his expression hard.
I swallow, forcing myself to look anywhere but directly at him.
“What took you three hours to say?” he asks.
“They asked about her medication,” I mumble.
A beat passes. “Where are you staying?”
“With Holly,” I say quietly. “For now. I’ll go home once the police say I can.”
“They’ve asked you to stay in London?”
I hesitate. “Just until they finish their enquiries.”
His posture shifts slightly. “They think you’re involved?”
My chest tightens. “No. Yes. I don’t know,” I admit, my voice shaking. “They said I gave her morphine at three in the morning. But I didn’t. I was in bed with you. I didn’t give her anything.”
“Then why do they think you did?”
“Because of the medical notes,” I say, my panic rising again. “It looks like my handwriting.”
I search his face, looking for something, anything. Support maybe, just a flicker that tells me he gives a shit, but he’s cold, just like he was the first time I met him.
“Did they find the agency nurse?” I ask, and I hate how hopeful my voice sounds. He shakes his head, crushing that hope instantly, and a sob leaves me. “Then how am I supposed to prove it wasn’t me?” I cry.
He shrugs like it’s of no importance at all and I fight the urge to scream.
“You know I didn’t do it,” I say, my voice breaking. “Right?”
He doesn’t answer straight away. “Anika might’ve asked you to help her,” he says finally.
I gasp and I’m on my feet before I even realise I’ve moved. “No,” I shake my head, anger burning through the fear. “Why would she ask me that? She never told me she wanted to die.When she hinted at things like that, I thought it was a bad day, or a joke. People say things like that, Ray.” My chest heaves. “Did she ask you?” I demand. “Did you know she wanted to die?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Did you tell the officers I was with you? That I was in your bed, Ray?”
He straightens his jacket, glancing around like this conversation is already over. “Take care, Wynter.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Just like that?” My voice cracks. “Fuck, I wish I’d never met you.”
He scoffs. “The feeling’s mutual.”