Yasmin lifts her chin, her lips tight. “I believed Rhys was having an affair. I thought if I made him think the tweets were connected, it might scare him enough to stop.”
“What about the woman who came to your house in London, making threats?” Leo says.
There’s a long pause. “There was no woman. I—I lied to the police.”
Leo notes the time of the admission on his pad. “I’m further arresting you for giving false information and attempting to pervert the course of justice. You remain under caution.”
“I’m sorry, I truly am.” Yasmin twists her hands in her lap. “I thought he was having an affair. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“You made your husband think he had a stalker. You gave a false statement to police.” Ffion leans forward, speaking slowly and deliberately. “You let your teenage daughters believe they were in danger.”
“I—”
The solicitor coughs. There’s a brief exchange of glances, then Yasmin rearranges her features into something approximating contrition. “I’ve been suffering with anxiety and depression, for which I intend to seek help.”
Intend to avoid a conviction on the grounds of mental health problems, more like, Ffion thinks. “Gaslighting your husband alleviated your symptoms, did it?”
Yasmin flushes.
“What’s the value of your husband’s life insurance policy?” Leo says.
The solicitor frowns. “My client has been arrested for harassment. I’m not sure I see the relevance of—”
“One point five million,” Yasmin says evenly. Everyone stares at her. “Not that it makes any of this any easier.” She wrings her hands and Ffion narrows her eyes. It’ll help, though, right? she thinks. Rhys was worth more dead than he had been alive.
“How do they work that out?” she says.
“Potential earnings, I suppose. Royalties and so on. Rhys took out the policy years ago. We never thought we’d need it.” Yasmin’s words become a sob.
The solicitor takes a packet of Kleenex from his briefcase. “Are you okay to continue?”
Yasmin nods, stemming the tears with a tissue. “I’m fine.” She looks at Ffion, perhaps noting the skepticism in her expression. “It’s for the girls, of course. The insurance money. Their school fees, their future. It’s going to be hard for them, now they only have me.”
When Ffion’s dad died, Mam had allowed herself a week to grieve. A week to clutch his old jumpers, to weep until her eyes were raw. Then she packed away his things and pulled herself together. She had a newborn baby to look after, a teenager spiraling out of control. Elen Morgan didn’t have time for grief.
“The twins seem to have a good relationship with their grandmother,” Leo says. “I’m sure that will be a great comfort.”
Yasmin sniffs. “Glynis thought Rhys could do no wrong. They have that in common, I suppose.”
“Do you and Glynis get on?” Ffion asks.
“Better since my father-in-law passed away. Jac and Rhys locked horns a lot. It caused friction between the four of us.”
Leo jots something down. “When did he die?”
“Two years ago, although he was on his way out for a year before that. Dementia. Not that Glynis ever admitted it. She’s very private. Proud, you know?”
“What was your marriage like?” Leo says.
“It was…fine.”
“Your husband was paying sex workers,” Ffion says bluntly. “I wouldn’t call thatfine.” She picks up the plastic evidence bag containing the mobile phone. “You bought this pay-as-you-go in an attempt to send untraceable tweets to harass your husband, right?”
“My client has already admitted to—”
“But you use this phone for something else, don’t you?” Ffion says. She watches the color drain from Yasmin’s face. “How long have you been having an affair with Jonty Charlton?”
Twenty