A confession

The new widow sits on one of the rusty coloured chairs that the catalogue described as ‘Tangerine Blaze’.  They’re barely a year old, but already the fabric has faded, matching the neutral colours of the Family Room.  She, Veronica Crofton, shifts repeatedly because the seat, though it may look comfortable at first glance, is just a fraction too long.  The average person has to choose between letting their legs dangle or, the alternative which Veronica has opted for, keeping their feet on the ground and ignoring the backrest.  I wish I could say it’s part of our sophisticated interview technique, keeping people literally off balance, but the truth is that they’re budget chairs that were deemed to be an improvement on the ones that furnish the usual interview rooms.  These chairs represent the caring face of modern policing. 

Similarly it was Sergeant Perkins, being a fellow woman, who broke the news of her husband’s death to Veronica.  As if a man wouldn’t be able to understand the pain of losing someone you love.

Perkins glances in my direction with mounting frequency.  She can’t see me, but she knows I’m here; probably wondering what’s keeping me.  I’m not sure of that myself.  Why am I hesitating?  Perhaps it’s because of all people I never thought I’d see Veronica in here.  I never thought I’d see her again period. 

I can‘t remember the last time I ran into anyone from Fairdale Comp since I moved here.  No wait.  One time, when I was a constable, I ran into a drunken and disorderly ex-teacher.  As I recall, I gave Mr Faulkner a caution. 

It is as if I am seeing a fun house reflection of the girl I used to know.  Her face seems rounder and has a blotched complexion.  She is wearing a silky green evening dress with dark, rain stains at the bottom and she fingers her pearls like a rosary.  Her shoes are encrusted with ochre mud.  Must be from their drive...  The yellow tips of her dishevelled hair emphasise her dark roots.  It is almost as if she, like the chairs, has paled into the pastels of Interview Room 3 - sorry - The Family Room.  Crofton...  She used to be Valentine.  In a way that’s what she will be again.

Eighteen years ago she was the most dazzling thing I had ever seen with a cascade of naturally flaxen curls.  It made her stand out in the swarming corridors of Fairdale Comp as if a spotlight followed her.  A vivacious girl, she was constantly surrounded by a coterie of favourites. 

I used to like Veronica, used to like lots of people.  Not that I was especially popular, but I got on with most of the class and I had my mates, Carl, Scott and Jamie.  And Ollie, my best friend, Oliver Hartwell.  We could always count on Ollie to go quiet; his gaze would drift whenever she was about.  Scott used to call him our “Valentine Alert”.

This Crofton she married wasn’t in our sixth-form and as far as I know she wasn’t seeing anyone when we left school.  She wore a ring then too.  Not a wedding ring of course.  It was one of those American things, to promise that she’d remain a virgin until she got wed.  Veronica wore it with such pride, in a way only a person who has a choice in the matter can.  And she certainly had plenty of choice, not like most of us, who spent adolescence haunted by our chastity like it was an evil spirit.  What will her current ring really mean, I wonder, and how long will she continue to wear it.

Veronica wasn’t just good-looking, she had charisma.  If you got her on board with whatever project you had you knew it would be a success; coursework, charity fete, parties.  She was a social person even then.

The Croftons were on their way to some kind of get-together tonight, hence her dress.  That plan quickly got scuppered when she drove over her husband.  Her silver SLK appears to have backed out of the garage and collided with the Landrover that was parked on the drive.  Mr Crofton got caught in between.  The PCs accounts are sketchy, but they had their hands full; the ambulance arrived mere minutes after them.  It was dark, paramedics walking all over the place and it rained fiercely.  I usually count on forensics, but on such a night I don’t hold out much hope.  It is a blurred line after all, between accident and murder.  If you want to kill someone; use a car.

Perhaps it was mostly out of habit, but Ollie and I used to be inseparable; ever since we were about three or four years old.  We shared everything from nursery to football team to detention.  People used to refer to us as “The Twins”, which then made them laugh because we looked so different.  Though I never noticed him eat more than the rest of us, Ollie piled on the pounds in his teens.  Maybe it was just puppy fat, but we never got to find out. 

The relationship between Ollie and Veronica started with a few passing conversations.  Then they starred in a talent show together.  Not together-together, they both had different acts.  She sang and he juggled oranges, but they saw a lot of each other.  I should have been pleased for him and at first I was.  But I quickly tired of all his spare time being spent with her and without Ollie the rest of us drifted apart.  Perhaps it would have happened anyway, but who is to know.  So, I went out with Katie Tukovic and broke up with her three months later.  After a protracted courtship I failed to lose my virginity to Stephanie West and she dumped me shortly after.  Still, against all expectations, Ollie and Veronica were going strong.  I don’t believe in witchcraft, but the hold Veronica had over Ollie, even before they were a couple, is the closest thing to it I’ve ever seen.

I never found out who started the rumours.  It certainly wasn’t me, but suddenly everyone seemed to know that she had her purity ring as an excuse not to have sex with Ollie.  She was so damned proud of that ring and, in comparison to her, Ollie was so ordinary...  The real killer lie though was the one about Veronica and me.     

Perkins gently touches Veronica’s shoulder.  She has turned away from me, but I can guess what she is saying.  “I’m just popping out for a minute.”  She points at the door, then she makes the hand signal for ‘can I get you a drink’.  Veronica looks confused, like she doesn’t understand the question.  Then she shakes her head and Perkins steps away. 

Ollie and I were best mates.  He should have known I wouldn’t have gone with his girlfriend.  I would never have betrayed him and before Veronica he would have trusted me.  They get into your head, women.  They mess it all up.  Ollie sure was messed up when he confronted me.  When I saw him at the bus stop, I thought he’d come over to drown his sorrows.  We’d spend a few evenings there since he had started quarrelling with her.  He laid into me straightaway, threw a bottle that only barely missed me and shattered the glass panel.  It fell like frozen rain.  I said I didn’t know what he was talking about and called him insane.  He jumped at me when I said she wasn’t worth it, pushed me against the poster.  I was angry, of course I was.  Anyone would have been.  If it hadn’t been for Veronica Valentine we’d still have been friends.  Ollie wouldn’t have attacked me and I wouldn’t have pushed him.  He wouldn’t have fallen and the car wouldn’t have hit him.

The door opens and I’m out of time.  It will be hard to convince Perkins.  She probably feels sorry for Veronica, but then she doesn’t know her dark side.  Nobody does.  She has assumed Mr Crofton’s death was an accident.  Good thing I’m here.  I won’t let her get away with it a second time.  I’ll get a confession.

The End