The Turn of the Key

And most of all, two pieces I never connected right up until the very end—the phone, and Maddie’s white, pleading little face, that very first day as I drove away, and her whispered, anguished the ghosts wouldn’t like it. And those two things were what did it for me with the police. My fingerprints on the phone, and my account of what Maddie had said to me, and the domino of effects her words began.

But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what I think, or what my theories are. It’s what the jury thinks that matters. Listen, Mr. Wrexham, I don’t need you to believe everything that I’ve told you. And I know that presenting even half of what I’ve said here would get you laughed out of court, and risk alienating the jury forever. That’s not why I told you all this.

But I tried to give just part of the story before—and it’s what got me locked up here.

I believe that the truth is what will save me, Mr. Wrexham, and the truth is that I didn’t, that I couldn’t kill my sister.

I picked you, Mr. Wrexham, because when I asked the other women in here who I should get to represent me, your name came up more than any other lawyer. Apparently you’ve got a reputation for getting even no-hopers off the hook.

And I know that’s what I am, Mr. Wrexham. I have no hope anymore.

A child is dead, and the police, and the public, and the press, they all want someone to pay. And that someone must be me.

But I didn’t kill that little girl, Mr. Wrexham. I didn’t kill Maddie.

I loved her. And I don’t want to rot in jail for something I didn’t do.

Please, please believe me.

Yours truly,

Rachel Gerhardt.



8th July 2019

Richard McAdams Ashdown Construction Services, internal post.

Rich, bit of a funny one, one of the guys working on the Charnworth redevelopment found this pile of old papers when he was ripping out a wall. Looks like one of the prisoners hid them. He didn’t know what to do with them, so he passed them to me and I said I’d ask around. I’ve only glanced at the top few, but looks to be a bunch of letters from an inmate to her solicitor before her trial—don’t know why they were never posted. The guy who found them leafed through, and says it was quite a well-known case; he’s a local from round here, and he remembered the headlines.

Anyway, he felt a bit awkward chucking them in the skip in case they were evidence or legally privileged or something and he ended up on the wrong side of the law by destroying them. TBH, I don’t imagine it matters now—but to put his mind at rest, I said I’d see it was properly dealt with. Is there anyone in management you could sound out about it? Or do you think just ignore and bin? Don’t want to get tied up in a load of paperwork.

The top part is her letters to the lawyer, but she’d also hidden a few letters written to her in the same place. They seem to be just family stuff, but I’m sticking them in the packet as well, just in case.

Anyway, be very grateful if I could leave it with you to decide what to do, if anything.

Cheers,

Phil



1st November 2017

Dear Rachel,

Well. It feels very strange addressing you by that name, but here we are.

I must start by saying how sorry I am about what happened. I imagine that’s not what you expected me to say, but I am, and I’m not ashamed to say it.

What you must understand is that I have watched over those children for the best part of five years now—and I’ve watched more nannies come and go than I’ve had hot dinners. I was the one who had to sit and watch while that baggage Holly carried on with Mr. Elincourt under his wife’s nose, and I was the one who patched everything up when she walked out and left the girls in bits. And since then, I’ve had to sit there and watch as nanny after nanny came and went, and broke those poor bairns’ hearts a bit more every time.

And every time they came, and they were another pretty young lass, I felt it like a cold hand around my heart and I lay awake at night and I wondered—should I tell Mrs. Elincourt what kind of a man her husband was, and what kind of a woman that Holly was, and why she really left? And every time I found I couldn’t do it, and I swallowed my anger, and I told myself it would be different next time.

So I confess, when I met you, and found out that Mrs. Elincourt had hired yet another pretty young girl, my heart sank. Because I knew what he would be up to, and whatever kind of girl you were, whether you were one to make the most of your opportunities, like Holly, or one who shrank from him, I knew either way those poor children would be the ones to suffer again when you upped and left, maybe taking him with you this time. And that made me very angry. Yes it did. I’m not ashamed to say that. But I am ashamed of how I treated you—I should not have taken my anger out on you like that, and I feel heart sorry when I think back on some of the things I said to you. Because whatever the police say, I know that you would have walked a mile over glass before you hurt one of those little lassies, and I told the officer who interviewed me so, I wanted you to know that. I said, I did not like that girl, and I made no secret of it, but she would not have hurt wee Maddie, and you are barking up the wrong tree, young man.

So anyway, that is partly why I am writing. To say all of that to you, and get it off my chest.

But the other reason is because Ellie has written you a letter. She put it in an envelope and sealed it up before she gave it to me, and she made me promise not to read it, and I said I would not. I have kept that promise, because I think you should keep your word, even to children, but I must ask you, if there is anything in that letter you think I should know, or anything that you think her mother should know, you must tell us.