Page 39 of The Mother-in-Law

‘All right then,’ Jones says. ‘Ollie, you’re with me. Lucy, you’re with Housseini.’

My first instinct is to be relieved that I have Housseini. Out of the two, he is clearly the good cop, so to speak. But I worry about Ollie going off with Jones given the strange mood he is in. He’s likely to get himself in trouble for something he didn’t do.

Housseini leads me to a room where a person is fiddling with a video camera. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it on the back of his chair, and places a manila folder on the table in front of him. ‘Sorry about the monkey suit,’ Housseini says. ‘Been in court this morning.’

I smile even though the idea of Housseini giving evidence in court makes me nervous. Despite the fact that I am apparently just here for a friendly chat, it occurs to me that it’s only a friendly chat until I’m accused of something. Then that video footage will be wheeled out in court. Then it will be used asevidence.

‘So . . . the autopsy report?’ I start, but Housseini interrupts, explaining that we are going to be recorded. Then we go through my particulars, my name, my address, my relationship to Diana. Housseini’s posture is casual, one elbow on the desk, his body angled to the side, one ankle on the opposite knee. As I answer each question, he nods encouragingly. His eyes, I notice, are the colour of maple syrup.

‘Can you tell me where you were between one and five o’clock last Thursday afternoon?’ he says.

I glance at the camera. ‘Um . . . well, I was at home with my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter until around 3.40 pm. Then the other two kids came home.’

‘Can anyone verify that . . . other than your daughter?’

I think about this. ‘Ollie came home from work early, around 2 or 2.30 pm, then he went out again to get our son, Archie. So he can verify part of the time.’

‘Why did he come home early?’

‘He wasn’t feeling well,’ I say, though it suddenly occurs to me that he didn’t seem particularly unwell. In fact, I recalled thinking he’d been in a good mood that day.

‘You said he picked up your son?’ Housseini says. ‘And one of your daughters was home with you. Where was your other daughter?’

‘Harriet had a playdate after kindergarten. She was dropped home by another mother, Kerry Mathis, around 4 pm. I came out and waved from the doorstep.’

‘And Ms Mathis will verify this?’

‘I’m sure she will,’ I say, though I cringe at the idea of the police contacting a kinder mum to verify my whereabouts.

‘Good.’ Housseini puts down his pen and sits back in his chair. He exhales slowly. ‘I understand that there was an incident between you and your mother-in-law a few years back. Do you want to tell me about that?’

‘Incident?’ I ask. I’m just buying some time, as clearly he knows about it. I’m not going to deny it.

‘An assault.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘That wasn’t an assault, exactly.’

‘You pushed your mother-in-law over, as I understand?’ Housseini watches me. ‘And she was unconscious for quite some time?’

‘I wasn’t charged with anything,’ I say. But of course, if Housseini knows about the incident, he already knows this too. He’s feeling me out, trying to gauge my reactions.

‘What do you think happened to your mother-in-law, Lucy?’

‘Well . . . obviously . . . I don’t know. I thought that’s what we were here to find out.’

‘It is.’ He’s looking at me too intently. ‘But I’m interested in your opinion.’

‘Okay. I think she killed herself . . .’ I say, with what I hope sounds like conviction. ‘I mean, you found a letter.’

‘We did find a letter. In her study drawer. Kind of a strange place to leave a suicide letter, don’t you think?’

‘I . . . yes, I do think so.’

‘Do you think it is in character for Mrs Goodwin to do something like this?’ he continues. ‘To take her own life?’

‘It was in character for her to be headstrong,’ I say. ‘Once she’d decided to do something, it was hard to change her mind.’

Housseini looks down at a manila folder on the table in front of him, then retrieves a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his pocket and places them on his nose. ‘The coroner reported high levels of carbon dioxide in the deceased’s blood.’ Housseini glances up at me over the top of his glasses.