‘Hm.’ She taps a pen on the corner of her mouth. ‘Funny that. When we went round to your house a couple of hours ago and spoke to one of your neighbours, he said he saw you outside yesterday.’
I blink. ‘Oh. Yes, I went outside then but I didn’t even get to the end of the path.’
‘Lying will do you no good.’
Andy Brown interrupts. ‘Ms Lydon was hardly lying.’
He receives a steely look for his efforts. ‘She said she hadn’t been outside for eighteen months. Apart from last night when she was, in fact, outside.’
I swallow hard. This doesn’t seem to be going very well.
‘Tell me about your relationship with Doctor Thomas Miller.’
‘He’s, uh, been helping me with my agoraphobia.’
‘And how did you know that he was dead?’
Shit. ‘I didn’t,’ I stammer. ‘I just had a feeling that something was wrong with him.’
‘A feeling?’
I dig myself into a hole. ‘He was supposed to come round and see me,’ I lie. ‘He’s very reliable so when he didn’t come...’
‘Interesting. We found no trace of an appointment with you in his calendar.’
I can’t think of anything to say. I simply stare at her.
‘I tell you what, Zoe, why don’t we backtrack instead to Dean Salib? He collapsed and died of an apparent heart attack in your hallway.’
I lick my lips nervously. ‘Yes.’
‘In your statement to the police you said you had never laid eyes on him prior to that moment.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘So how exactly did you know his name when we couldn’t trace him?’
‘I...I...’
‘How many other people have you killed, Ms Lydon?’
Brown starts to protest but she speaks over him. ‘How many other times have you used your agoraphobia as an alibi?’
‘I haven’t!’
‘Why did Mr Salib come to see you?’
My shoulders slump. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Ms Lydon, do you see how incredible your story appears? You’ve been determined to stay abreast of the investigation by calling me constantly and asking questions ? such as whether I own a dreamcatcher or not. Haven’t you been trying to find out if you’re a suspect or not?’
I don’t know what to say. Nothing makes any sense apart from the truth and no one’s going to believe that. Not unless... I look at the solicitor. ‘Mr Brown, can you leave us for a moment?’
He’s obviously startled. ‘That’s highly irregular.’
‘Please.’
He looks at Rawlins who gives him a tight nod and pushes back his chair, scraping it along the floor so that my spine shudders at the sound. As soon as he’s gone, Rawlins leans over the table, knitting her hands under her chin. ‘This interview is still being recorded,’ she reminds me, ‘whether your solicitor is here or not.’
I suppose there’s not much I can do about that. ‘Look,’ I say, ‘I realise all this seems strange but I really was agoraphobic. Who would make up something like that?’
‘And now you’re suddenly cured,’ she says drily.
‘Yes, but that’s not important. You see, the thing is I have special powers.’
Rawlins lifts her eyebrows. ‘Right.’
‘I can go inside people’s heads. When they dream. I see what they’re dreaming. That’s why I knew Constable Hartman’s pet name was Ally Bear. And about the postman hoarding the letters.’
‘I was just getting to him,’ Rawlins says expressionlessly. ‘Go on.’
I decide that mentioning the Dreamlands is a step too far. ‘I was in Miller’s dream when he died, that’s how I knew something was wrong. And I found out that Salib knew I had these powers and he was trying to contact me.’
Rawlins folds her arms. There’s a furrow between her eyes; she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. Not that I can blame her. ‘I can prove it!’ I burst out. I reach forward and touch her hand. She jerks backwards and frowns at me. ‘If we sleep at the same time, I’ll be in your dream. I’ll tell you what happens. Then you’ll believe me.’
She stands up. ‘I think before we proceed with any charges,’ she says aloud for the benefit of the recording, ‘Ms Lydon needs to be assessed medically by an expert.’ She looks down at me. I’m filled with soul-sucking despair. ‘I’ll inform your solicitor.’
***
I’m put in a small cell to await the arrival of the doctor. Its depressing nature fills me with horror. I’m aware of how precarious my situation is and the thought of spending more than a few hours in here makes me want to beat my forehead against the stained breeze blocks. I know this is only a small town police station but, given the apparent fragility of my mental state, they could have provided padded walls.
At least I’m not hyperventilating. Yet.