Once I finish dry heaving over the waste paper basket handed to me by DS Darren and have a mouthful of my coffee I have gained enough composure to continue to speak.
"Are you ok to carry on Sydney, we can have a short break, or we can come back tomorrow?" Ginny offers.
"I'd like to just get on with this if you don't mind, so I can stop thinking about it. I'm ok, sorry about that" I indicate the bin beside me on the floor.
"It's fine, just tell us if you want to stop at any time, ok!?"
"Sure, thanks"
"If you don't mind can we go back a few steps to the incident at your home? What can you tell us about how the intruder ended up dead, what did you see? What can you remember?" she questions.
I think back, then begin to tell them what I remember.
I'm conscious but unable to move, face down, my right cheek on the floor, head at the foot of the stairs. I close my eyes and picture my hallway, the front door behind me, along with the stranger currently committing obscene acts upon my body. I can smell the beeswax polish on the floor, feel warm fluid that I later found out had been my blood running down my thighs towards my knees and I am aware that my mind is screaming for help but my body is not making a sound. There is a click behind me and for a split second I fear that he is about to shoot me, but I realise it is the front door opening when I hear Laura shushing Vinni as they come inside, their footsteps halting immediately as I assume they catch sight of the scene before them.
I hear Laura shout "what the fuck?!!" and I become aware of the intruder being pulled off of me.
I recall being wrapped in a pair of strong arms, whoever is holding me is kissing my head and running their hands over my scalp, stroking my hair, attempting to soothe me.
There is some indistinct shouting and sounds of a scuffle, maybe some fists thrown..... a thud.... rapid footsteps....... an ear splitting shout..... then silence.
"I remember seeing Lauras face, tears in her eyes, she had some blood splashed on her face. I didn't see who hit the man, I didn't even know he was dead until you guys arrived, and frankly I don't care who did it, I'm just glad someone came and saved me. I'm sorry I can't remember anymore than that!" I apologise
"No, that's great Sydney, Thankyou. I'm sorry to make you relive that, but it's important to corroborate the information we already have."
"Which is what?" I query
"Much of the information given by everyone we have interviewed so far matches up well, with one exception. Everyone has named someone different as the perpetrator."
How can that be? There were four of us there. It wasn't me, leaving Vinni, Yanni and Laura! I refuse to believe that Laura would kill someone, and don't want to believe that Yanni would either. I find it far easier to believe Vinni could have done it, but am still not convinced of that fact, mainly because he hates me and thinks I'm bad for his brother. He wouldn't risk his future freedom for me.
"I can't imagine any of the people in my home that night doing that deliberately, it must have been an accident."
DS Darren delivers the most shocking words I have heard since sitting down in this room almost two hours ago....
"Sydney, our SOCO's have completed the forensic examination of your home, looking for evidence, taking samples, finger prints, shoe prints and photographing the scene. Based on the results of those tests we are confident that, other than those we already know were present, there was another person in your home that night. Have you any idea who that could have been?"
There is no holding it back this time. I grab for the bin and throw up the coffee I have just finished. Ice cold fingers grip my throat, freezing my vocal chords, stealing my voice.
I'm pretty certain I do know who that was.
"Harry!" I whisper, my voice trembling, palms sweaty, stomach trying to turn itself inside out.
"Who's Harry Sydney?" Ginny gently coaxes.
"He is the worst living creature on Earth. Narcissistic, cruel, vindictive, smart, wicked, charming, sly... he is my..... was..... my husband. The root of all my trauma, the reason I take anxiety and depression medications and cannot function if I don't. He is the most terrifying monster, hiding inside a beautiful human mans body, using his looks and contrived kindness and humility to torment others. He has an innate ability to make a person believe that the cause of everything bad that happens between him and them is their fault. He is more dangerous than anyone I've ever met, and I have interviewed three convicted murderers!"
"So his name is Harry Benfield?" Clarifies DS Darren, scribbling notes.
"Erm...... no, no. His name is Hartwell, and yes, I do mean 'The' Harry Hartwell, famous underwear model turned Hollywood actor, spoiled only son of national treasure Henry Hartwell."
"Your ex-husband is Harry Hartwell from that police show on TV?" DS Darren confirms.
"Yes"
There is a short silence while we all contemplate that fact, the police officers eyeing each other while I watch them for any hint that they believe me.
"Sydney, the man who attacked you was named Billy McHale. You were correct, he was in fact from Liverpool, was 21 years old. He moved to London four years ago in an attempt to find his biological father. Have you heard his name before? McHale, sound familiar at all?"
I focus on Ginnys face and see compassion in her eyes, along with an intensely eager and all consuming need to know. She intends to solve this case and I have no doubt that she will, but I have told her all I can remember. I shake my head while biting my lower lip in thought.
"Should I know him? I have never been to Liverpool so I don't think I could have met him, unless it was in the last 4 years while he's been in London but his name isn't familiar at all. Sorry I can't be more help" I apologise.
"That's fine, thanks. We have discovered that Billy had indeed managed to make contact with his biological father since arriving here, and that father had managed to secure him some employment with a friend. Sydney, Billy had been working for your company as an intern for the last year, are you sure you hadn't met him before? Do you think you could look at his photo? It might help jog your memory, but only if you feel able, I don't want to distress you after what happened."
DS Darren slides a white rectangular sheet of paper across the table and I realise it is a photo which has been placed face down. That's kind, I appreciate the consideration of my feelings. I smile at him before thanking him and turning the photo over.
I don't know who Billy McHale is, but I do recognise this person.
He isn't Billy McHale.
This persons name is Everett. He's one of the interns, his job is basically to help with anything and everything required in getting stories out. Mainly grunt work, making drinks, fetching food, photocopying etc..... but as most of our job nowadays is done on computer the interns role has altered somewhat. Now they are allocated a mentor on arrival, someone to guide, teach and support them. Their main responsibilities now are logistical really, arranging interviews with celebrity PA's and managers and updating the diary of the journalist they are assigned to, organising press passes for awards ceremonies, reporters sometimes require a cameraman or photographer at short notice so the interns often take on that role too.
I explain that all to Ginny and Darren who nod periodically, listening intently to every word I say. Why do I feel so anxious talking about this?
"Do you have an intern assigned to you Sydney?" enquires Ginny
"No, actually I don't. Since my divorce my life has been, ermm..... pretty chaotic, my mental health suffered and just looking after myself became a huge struggle. I had barely enough energy to keep myself functioning, it wouldn't have been fair to take on an intern. My Editor recognised that and didn't allocate me anyone and allows me to work mainly out of office, definitely for the best"
Darren, pen poised as ever asks "Did you ever speak to Everett directly? Ever have a conversation, however brief and unremarkable it might seem?"
I ponder this for a few seconds before again answering negatively. I mainly work outside of the office and keep my own hours, preferring to pop in at night if I really need to when there are far less people around.
"Why? What has Everett got to do with Billy McHale? How do they know each other, and what does any of that have to do with me?" I probe
"Billy and Everett are the same person Sydney. We believe that Billy found his birth father and began to build a relationship with him very quickly upon arriving in London, strongly suggesting that he knew who he was looking for, and where to find them. We have spoken to Billy's mother and she told us that as soon as he was 18 Billy left for London to meet his dad and she hasn't seen him since, receiving only occasional texts from him that have become somewhat unpleasant and distant. She told us that she expected something like that would happen, describing his father as a cancer, a malignancy that she had prayed she'd managed to cut out of their lives permanently, but sadly hadn't! She informed us of her sons fathers name......."
I have the heaviest feeling in my stomach and am infinitely grateful that I spent so much time on the toilet earlier this morning, thankfully there is nothing left inside my body to shame me. If I'd eaten we might have a problem, such is the acrobatic movement of my gut right now!
I am so tense that my jaw begins to ache, I am clenching my teeth so tightly! I still have no idea where this is all going and my brain is whirring, working hard trying to figure it all out.
"Billy's father Sydney..... is Henry Hartwell!"
I am floored!