I shake my head.
‘How does she feel about your marriage?’
My throat seems to be silted up with sand. Somehow I manage to say, ‘She’s dead.’
Pauline shifts from one foot to the other. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘Right.’ She glances at her colleague, then asks more confidently, ‘So how about college friends? Or someone at work?’
‘I didn’t go to college. Or university.’
Another silence.
‘I was never very academically . . .’ I shrug, not looking at Dominic. ‘I volunteer at a food bank. But I doubt anyone there would have done something this nasty. They’re all thrilled about the wedding.’
Dominic nods. ‘Same here.’ With a wry smile, he indicates his scrubs and ID badge, not having had a chance to change yet. ‘Nurse in A & E, as you can see. Triage, mostly. I’ve got no enemies there.’
‘That you know of,’ I say.
He raises his brows. ‘That I know of,’ he repeats slowly, looking at me. ‘Yes, true enough.’
‘Though this attack looks like it was aimed more at you, Catherine,’ the sergeant says. ‘It was your wedding dress that got cut up, after all. Not something belonging to Dominic. Pretty vicious attack, too.’ She studies the dress on the bed. ‘Looks almost . . . frenzied. Like whoever did this really hates you and wants you to know it.’
My skin crawls and I say nothing, horrified.
Ahmed clears his throat.
‘Do you mind if we take the dress away?’ Pauline nods to her colleague without waiting for permission. ‘Bag it up, would you? We’ll get forensics to check out the bloodstains. But my guess is, it’s animal, not human.’
‘Hold on, aren’t you going to dust for prints?’ I ask, staring at her. ‘The bathroom window must be where they got in. There may be fingerprints.’
‘It’s not really a big enough priority,’ she says apologetically. ‘Nothing was taken, after all. Feels like a prank to me. A nasty prank, agreed. But with so many more serious crimes on our caseload, I’m afraid there isn’t enough here to justify calling a crime scene investigator.’
‘Seriously?’
Pauline sighs at my tone, and puts a hand to her radio. ‘I can let forensics know, if you insist. But I can’t promise when it will happen. There was a shooting earlier. You may have seen it on the news. Some kid, only fourteen years old, shot dead on his way home from school. His mum’s in the hospital, too. Our duty forensics officer is on scene. It could be several hours before she can get here. In fact, you may not even get a visit until tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Dominic glances at the bed, aghast. ‘But . . . we don’t have anywhere else to sleep.’
The sergeant shrugs, waiting. ‘You still want me to make the call?’
I study Dominic, who is clearly exhausted, his shoulders slumped, then shake my head. ‘No, it’s okay,’ I tell her reluctantly. ‘You do what you have to do.’
I’m not happy though. I can’t believe that someone can invade our home and it isn’t considered a high enough priority for the police to check for fingerprints.
‘Whoever did this must be sick in the head,’ Dominic mutters, watching as the constable puts on thin latex gloves and starts to bag up the sticky shreds of wedding dress.
Ahmed is sympathetic. ‘Not the first time we’ve seen something like this, mate. There are some sick people out there, trust me. Usually turns out to be a disgruntled ex, though.’
Dominic makes a helpless gesture. ‘I told you, I don’t have any ex-girlfriends who’d be that bothered about me marrying Catherine.’ He holds out a hand to me, his smile wry. ‘Not exactly God’s gift, am I, darling?’
I say nothing, but lace my fingers with his.
Pauline takes us briefly through a witness statement. First she suggests what we should say and then scribbles our responses on her clipboard. When she’s written down all the details, she reads out the finished statement and asks us to confirm it’s correct. I sign first, then Dominic.
‘That’s about all we need at this stage,’ she tells us briskly. ‘We’ll check if there are any CCTV cameras covering the back of the building, and let you know if we find anything.’
Ahmed strips off his gloves and pushes them into his pocket. He smiles reassuringly as he shakes both our hands. ‘Good to meet you. And good luck with the wedding.’
‘Thanks,’ Dominic says, grinning.
The sergeant’s radio crackles with another call-out. Pauline turns away to speak into it briefly, then comes back into the room.
‘Okay, we have to leave urgently, I’m afraid. But someone will be back in touch soon.’ She nods to Ahmed, then smiles at me. ‘It’s a real shame about your wedding dress. But it could have been worse. A dress isn’t a person; you can always replace it. All the same, I’d seriously suggest fixing the lock on that bathroom window as soon as possible. Crime prevention, yeah?’
On his way out, Ahmed hands me a police incident reference number in case I need it for insurance purposes.
Dominic cuddles me in silence for a few minutes after they’ve gone. His strong arms feel comforting and familiar. But it’s going to take more than a hug to wipe out the memory of what happened to my wedding dress.
‘It’s finished now, okay?’ Dominic peers into my face. ‘I don’t want you to fret about this. That policewoman was right. It was horrible to come home to, but I’m sure it’ll turn out to be a one-off.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I see all sorts of wacky shit at the hospital. This isn’t so crazy. People can behave very strangely when they get an idea in their heads.’
‘But what idea has someone got about me?’
‘Christ knows.’ He squeezes me tight. ‘There’s probably no logical explanation. Don’t get hung up on it.’
‘And why wouldn’t they dust for prints?’
‘You heard what she said. Nothing was taken. Nobody was hurt. It wasn’t a high enough priority. And they got a call to go elsewhere.’ Dominic makes a face. ‘Policing is like nursing. It’s a high-pressure job, you’re constantly reacting to circumstances, and some things will automatically take precedence over others.’
‘But there was someone here, for God’s sake. In our flat.’
‘I know, and I’m angry about it too.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s not a reflection on how upset it made you, babe. That’s just the way things go sometimes. The police made a judgement call based on the evidence to hand. Enough said.’
Staring into the bedroom, I shudder. I’ll have to lie down on that bed tonight, knowing that our flat has been invaded, my privacy violated by some crazy person or persons. How can I even think of sleeping here? It’s too horrific.
‘I could have been attacked if I’d been in the flat at the time. Do you realise that?’
‘But you weren’t.’
‘I need to change the bedding,’ I mutter, and pull away from him. ‘We can’t sleep under that duvet cover tonight.’
‘Good idea. I’ll find a fresh cover.’
‘There should be one in the airing cupboard. Bring a clean sheet too. And matching pillowcases, if you can find them.’
I strip off the duvet cover with loathing, then the sheet and pillowcases, and carry them in a bundle to the washing machine. It’s late, but I put the machine on anyway, then wash my hands thoroughly with soap and hot water.
By the time I return from the kitchen, Dominic is already making up the bed again with clean linen, his movements deft and professional, as though he’s at work.
‘What if the police are wrong,’ I ask, leaning against the door frame to watch him, ‘and whoever did it comes back for another go? Only next time they take a pair of scissors to me, instead of my clothes?’
‘Not going to happen, baby.’
‘Easy for you to say. You’re rarely here on your own. And you’re a man. I’m no weakling, but I’m not exactly built to defend myself against crazies, either. It didn’t seem like the police cared about that.’
‘There is another possibility, of course.’