Blood Sisters(64)

‘I know.’ My voice comes out as a whisper.

‘Here’s the other thing, Alison. Martin says that during the class you just held, he made you write down everything that happened at the time of the crash. He says you admitted it was your fault.’

‘How could it have been? He was the one who was driving.’

‘So you did recognize him?’

Careful. I have to cover myself.

‘Look,’ I say, holding out my hands in a despairing gesture, ‘I just thought he was some madman who knew about the accident somehow. He made me write down things that weren’t true and threatened to kill me if I didn’t. I thought it was safer to go along with it.’

The policewoman’s face is blank. Does she believe me? There’s no proof. I made sure of that.

After Stefan had been knifed, I’d somehow had the presence of mind to shove my confession into my pocket. Then, when I went to change into the nurse’s clothes, I’d ripped it up, stuffed it into a sanitary-towel bag and put in the Ladies pedal bin. The ease of my own deception had shocked me.

‘Martin says that the deceased claimed you were his daughter.’

I manage a half-laugh. ‘First I’m accused of pretending not to recognize the man who killed a girl and brain-damaged my sister. And now I’m accused of having a father in the same prison. Doesn’t that sound like a rather improbable coincidence to you?’

The policewoman is still writing but I can see that my words have hit the mark.

‘Stefan was an old man,’ I continue, more boldly now. ‘An eccentric. The officers will tell you that. I can’t be held responsible for his crazy ramblings.’

I feel myself getting angrier as I continue. ‘This is a prison full of psychopaths. Some of my students hear voices. Who knows who is telling the truth in this place? Now can I go, please? I need to visit my sister. The one who can’t walk or talk, thanks to Crispin Wright, or whatever he calls himself now.’

There’s a flash of compassion on the policewoman’s face. ‘Would you check and sign your statement here, please.’ Her voice is softer now. But her next words fill me with foreboding. ‘Keep your phone switched on. We may need to ask you more questions.’

On the way out I am summoned to see the governor. He comes straight to the point. I am suspended.

‘As you know, staff cannot work alongside prisoners with whom there is a personal connection, either in the past or present. So we cannot allow you to work here any more until Mr Wright’s claims are investigated. This could take some time.’

‘I didn’t recognize him,’ I blurt out. ‘I didn’t mean to deceive anyone.’

The governor shakes his head. ‘Most people here didn’t set out with that intention, Alison. But all it takes is one false step.’ He looks out of the window. Two men are walking side by side. They are in orange, which suggests they are part of the garden team. They could be here for a so-called white-collar offence. Or they might be rapists or paedophiles or murderers at the end of their sentences.

‘Stefan,’ I say suddenly. ‘What was his offence?’

The governor’s voice is crisp. Clinical. ‘Murder.’

So, Stefan had been telling the truth. ‘Self-defence?’ I ask. There’s a hopeful tone in my voice. Just in case – and I mean just in case – he really was my father, I want there to be some excuse.

The governor’s eyes narrow. ‘He might have seen it that way. But the victims would say different.’

Victims? In the plural?

‘He said … at the end … that he didn’t have much time left anyway.’

The governor sighed. It occurs to me that a man in his position has to hide a lot of emotion but that, every now and then, it must come out. ‘His cancer treatment had failed. There wasn’t much more they could do.’

So he was terminally ill. Why is it so hard to tell the truth from the lies?

‘Can’t you give me one more chance? You got it wrong about the stationery cupboard.’

That hard look is back. ‘This is far more serious, although I should point out that you have made other mistakes too, such as failing to turn up for your classes between Christmas and New Year.’

‘But I had flu. I was too ill to call in.’

The governor shakes his head. ‘There’s always an excuse, isn’t there? Trust me, I’ve heard them all in this place.’

‘Just one thing,’ I say. ‘What will happen to Crispin now?’

‘Been shipped out. His sentence will likely be extended after what he did to Stefan.’

‘And me,’ I butt in. ‘He tried to strangle me.’

He bends his head in acknowledgement. ‘It will certainly be a long time before he’s let out. Goodbye, Alison. I wish you luck.’

Stunned by the speed with which things have happened, I stumble through the gates after signing out and handing over my keys. I am carrying a cardboard box of my personal possessions. Prison officers walking past stare at me. So do prisoners on their way to tea. It strikes me that Angela must have felt like this when she was asked to leave. Once more, I marvel at how prison can distort your emotions and perspective; how it can make you root for someone who has done wrong.

I ring my mother. She is at home. ‘I need to see you,’ I say.