The Scandal

by Nicola Marsh

  Because if that was a possibility…

  I shudder as I park in my usual spot out the front of the station.

  I need to find another suspect.

  ASAP.

  Twenty-Eight

  Elly

  I have a headache, the persistent kind behind my eyes that no amount of paracetamol eases. Lack of sleep does this to me. I left the cottage around midnight, getting to bed around one, but I need time before I go to bed. I cleanse, tone, slather on serums and eye creams and moisturizers. It’s a calming process. A ritual. I need to take my mask off because for those few hours when I’ve removed all traces of my outer persona and I’m in bed, alone, I can finally let my carefully erected barriers slip and be myself.

  It’s exhausting, projecting an image. I live in constant fear that somehow my past will find me and destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to build. Or worse, my present will implode if my secret gets out. I need to tell my friend my way. I can’t imagine her finding out any other way. I’m not callous, I’m fucked up, and soon the people I value most will know it.

  No prizes for guessing why I’m an insomniac. The lack of sleep combined with the headache makes me grouchy so when I see a group of receptionists clustered around the front desk I march across the marble tiles of our specialists’ foyer, my heels making an angry clicking sound. When I reach the desk, I slam my hand on it. “Stop gossiping and get back to work immediately.”

  They turn to me in unison and the first thing that strikes me is the tear stains on some of their faces, the runs of mascara streaking their cheeks with black.

  Feeling like a heartless bitch, I lower my voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “One of our patients was murdered last night.” Sadie, the front desk receptionist, dabs at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. “That girl Jodi, the pregnant one?”

  Spots dance before my eyes for a moment and I reach for the desk, needing the support.

  “Are you sure?”

  Sadie stares at me like I’m an idiot. “My boyfriend works at the M.E.’s office.”

  I can’t believe this. While I never met this girl she’d insinuated her way into my life via Ris. I was helping facilitate her appointments, keeping an eye on her, making sure she received the top-notch ob-gyn care Ris wanted for her.

  I blink away the spots, hating to appear weak in front of my staff. “Do they know what happened?”

  Sadie shakes her head. “They found her at home this morning, that’s all I know.”

  “Right,” I say, but it isn’t.

  Crime in Gledhill is low-key. I know this via Claire. DUIs are commonplace. The odd break and enter. Teens vandalizing or dealing party drugs. Domestics.

  Rape under the influence of GHB…

  I quickly quash the memory. Besides, I didn’t report what happened to me to the cops, despite Claire’s insistence I should. What would’ve been the point? I’d been in Gledhill less than two months and had been intent on rebuilding my life. Having my past revealed in court, the stupid, gullible woman who’d fallen prey to a bigamist… I would’ve made a lousy victim and the perp would’ve been acquitted.

  If I knew who raped me, that is.

  All I have is a vague memory of him on top of me: his weight, his strength. Maybe it’s a good thing I can’t remember more. It’s enabled me to put it behind me. But there are the rare times when I actually sleep that I wake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, my subconscious desperately grasping at an image, a shadow…

  It’s the not knowing that’s the worst.

  I’d had my revenge on my ex by giving up his child for adoption. I would relish the chance to make the monster that violated me pay for what he did.

  “She seemed really nice when she came in here for her appointment the other day,” Sadie says, to nobody in particular.

  The rest of the girls titter in agreement but it’s time to break up their gossiping session. I need time to think. “That is sad news but we’ve got a busy day ahead with booked out appointments for all doctors and specialists, so get back to work, please.”

  A few girls shoot me venomous looks they think I can’t see while Sadie ushers them away. I’m not well liked here. I don’t care. I’m a tough boss who expects perfection and young people today often don’t work hard enough. They’re an entitled generation of takers. They perpetually annoy me with their addiction to social media and dating apps and high expectations.

  It’s only when I reach the sanctity of my office do I allow the mask to slip. I sink into my chair and reach for an iced water. It does little for the pain behind my eyes. I pinch the bridge of my nose. That does little too.

  Jodi Van Gelder is dead. Murdered.

  An image flashes into my head, of lying next to my lover last night and asking him about her.

  He feigned cluelessness.

  Was it real?

  My lover is a man who hides many secrets.

  Is this another?

  Only one way to find out.

  I need to see Claire and discover what she knows.

  Twenty-Nine

  Claire

  When I’m back at the station I pull up the new active file on Jodi Van Gelder, which has already been updated to include a plethora of relevant information. I type in any pertinent questions I can think of, then flip the page of my notepad to a blank one.

  I scan the screen and jot down information that needs following up. Namely why this twenty-five-year-old woman who hadn’t been out of Manhattan before arrived in Gledhill.

  It’s a no-brainer. She wanted to tell the baby’s father her big news. Ris had virtually said as much. So I need to retrace her steps when she first came to town and discover if the father knows. Because if the father is aware of Jodi’s pregnancy, and he didn’t want the baby for a variety of reasons – namely he’s married and it would ruin his reputation – that’s one big motive for murder right there.

  I like this theory. It distracts me from the possibility my otherwise stable, reliable husband who lost it last night, did this out of anger and revenge.

  I tap a few more keys and the relevant information pops up. Jodi arrived in Gledhill on the Hampton jitney a few weeks ago. The bus depot is where I’ll start investigating.

  After filling Ron in, I set off to walk the few blocks to the depot. I’ve walked this route many times as I like being away from the office for lunch. The Atlantic wind is oddly balmy today, like we’re in for a storm, but the gusts are refreshing and help clear my mind.

  I pass the gourmet delicatessen with its pricey caviar and expensive cheeses from all around the world, the bookshop I can never resist popping into, the electronics store with the latest devices artfully displayed in the window, and an artist’s gallery where the average painting sells for a hefty five figures.

  I pick up the pace as I pass the last shop, determinedly avoiding looking in the window. But I can’t help it; like the vehicular accidents I attend where I don’t want to look but have to, I find my gaze drawn to it against my will.

  My heart lurches as I glimpse the ornate Baby Bubs sign swinging in the breeze and hear the soft tinkle of wind chimes. I stare at the window display – the latest in sophisticated jogging prams, a pristine white cot, an oak cradle and a plethora of stuffed toys – and resist the urge to press my nose up against the glass.

  I’ve been into this shop so many times since we started trying to have a family twelve months ago that I know the layout by heart. The entrance is adorned with blue and pink mobiles that flutter as customers pass into the quaint shop filled with everything expectant parents might need. Pushers, strollers, diapers, nursery furniture, toys, breast pumps, and the cutest clothes that I’d been drawn to repeatedly.

  I’d sifted through rompers covered in delicate pink butterflies and miniature denim jeans and blue T-shirts emblazoned with trucks, imagining my very own girl or boy to dress and raise and love.

  My throat tightens with emotion and my eyes burn with tears so I wrench my
gaze from Baby Bubs and continue toward the depot, lengthening my strides to put as much distance between me and baby heaven as possible.

  Jodi’s murder is bad enough but every time I think of that poor unborn baby boy who never had a chance I can’t breathe. It’s inhumane, taking an innocent life, and even if I didn’t have a vested interest in Jodi’s baby I would feel just as shattered.

  I’m one block away from the depot when Phil, the old guy who sweeps the boardwalk because he’s lived here his entire life and sees it as his duty, waylays me.

  “I’m doing my duty, Officer, honest.” He winks and salutes me, his false teeth startlingly white in his tanned, wrinkled face as he grins.

  This is our in-joke. Whenever he spots me out walking he’ll make a beeline for me.

  “Of course you are, Phil, you’re an upstanding citizen.” I salute back and force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look like a wince. Not that it’s his fault I’m on the verge of breaking down in tears. I should’ve taken a squad car to the depot rather than walking today, knowing I wouldn’t be strong enough to avoid glancing at Baby Bubs.

  He peers at me, eyes narrowed. “Something bothering you?”

  I want to respond with “Where do I start?” but I settle for, “Policing is rough sometimes.”

  “Well, everyone around here knows you’re doing a stellar job, so keep up the good work.”

  With another salute, he turns away and heads back to the boardwalk, his enormous frayed broom dragging behind him.

  I wish I had as much confidence in my abilities as Phil does.

  One of the upsides of walking is being interrupted by greetings along the way and I crave that today.

  The disruptions in a small town when I’m on a case can be annoying but today I appreciate the distraction.

  Focusing on Jodi’s movements has dislodged the image of an irate Dane from my mind but not for long. It’s back all too soon, front and center, making me doubt my husband when I shouldn’t. It’s absurd. People lose their temper all the time. It doesn’t mean they channel that anger into murder out of some warped sense of revenge.

  The bus depot sits on top of a small rise in the center of town. It has five docking stations for embarkation and disembarkation, and several external cameras for security purposes. Perfect. I speak to the manager and explain the situation. He gives me instant access to the cameras. While I hate computers generally I love how fast it is to pull security footage from a camera because of them.

  I type in the relevant date when Jodi arrived and the bus number. It takes less than five seconds for the screen to come alive with passengers disembarking off the jitney. I scan the faces. Jodi’s last. She probably bunkered down in the back of the bus as most young people like to do.

  She crosses the road; strolls along the boardwalk for a while, before entering the Sea Breeze café opposite. I fast-forward to the precise moment she exits the café and heads for the library.

  The library…

  I’d pulled her phone records already and seen she’d run out of data on her cell, meaning the library, with its plethora of computers, would be the perfect place to research information about her baby’s father.

  After thanking the depot’s manager I walk the short distance to the library. I enter and inhale like any book-lover would do. There’s nothing like the smell of books to get my nose twitching.

  I haven’t read anything lately. Haven’t had the desire or the concentration. But I devour thrillers. Ris thinks it’s odd, how I like reading crime when I’m submerged in it every day at work but I find it fascinating, delving into the machinations of devious minds, fictional or otherwise.

  I know the head librarian, Agnes. She’s a wizened but spritely septuagenarian born and bred in Gledhill. She knows everyone, has a keen ear for gossip and has been helpful in other cases.

  She’s the woman I need to speak to. She’s not behind the front desk so I search the aisles, spotting her on her knees, shelving returned books.

  “Hey, Agnes, got a minute?”

  Her eyes light up when she sees me in uniform. She knows I’m on ‘official business’.

  “Claire, lovely to see you.” She holds onto a shelf and struggles to stand.

  When I instinctively move to help, she holds up her hand. “I’m old but I’m not dead.”

  She winces and flexes her right leg. “Damn arthritic knees.”

  Her pained expression clears and she taps her temple. “Lucky I’m still as sharp up here. What can I do for you?”

  I glance around and see a few borrowers lurking in the aisles. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”

  Her eyes widen and positively gleam with excitement. “Sure. This must be important. Follow me.”

  She leads me to one of the small conference rooms. The door barely closes before she’s asking questions. “I heard the police found a dead body this morning? Has this got anything to do with that?”

  It never ceases to amaze me how fast bad news travels. “Where did you hear that?”

  She taps the side of her nose. “The owner of the boutique next door is an avid reader. She came in first thing, said she’d been buying coffee at Sea Breeze when she overheard two of the receptionists from the medical center discussing it. Apparently one of them has a boyfriend who works at the M.E.’s office.”

  She clasps her rheumatic hands together and leans forward. “So it’s true, then?”

  “Don’t be a ghoul, Agnes.”

  She puffs up in outrage, her frizzy gray hair bristling like a halo. “I’m a concerned citizen, that’s all. If there’s a murderer on the loose I need to know.”

  She winks and pats her hair into some semblance of normality. “I’m a single gal, you know. I need to protect myself.”

  Her sense of humor never fails to make me smile. “That’s my job. I’m only a phone call away.”

  Thankfully, she doesn’t point out the obvious. Where was I last night when Jodi needed protecting?

  She rubs her hands together. “How can I help?”

  I need to choose my words carefully, not wanting to give away too much. “Whatever we discuss is confidential, you understand that?”

  Offended, she tilts her nose in the air. “Of course.”

  “I mean it, Agnes. This is a murder investigation and if you tell anyone it can compromise a conviction when we catch the perp.”

  Somber, she nods. “I understand.”

  “The victim arrived in Gledhill a few weeks ago via the jitney. I’ve checked footage and it shows her coming in here so I’m hoping you may have spoken to her, or seen what she was doing while she was in here. Tourists don’t usually visit the library. They can’t borrow books and the information kiosk is better for directions. So I think she was in here researching something or someone?”

  Agnes’s forehead creases in concentration. “We don’t get many tourists in here.”

  “This girl was pregnant?”

  Agnes’s frown deepens as I will her to think, to remember. When her frown clears and her eyes glitter with triumph, I’m hopeful this dear lady can provide me with the clue I need.

  “I remember that girl. Young thing, in her twenties.” Agnes mimics a small bulge over her belly. “Thin, so her bump was more noticeable, even though she was barely showing.”

  “Did you talk to her? See what she was doing?” I mentally cross my fingers.

  Agnes nods, her eyes bright and I know I’m onto something.

  “She used one of the computers. She was researching pharmaceutical companies.” Agnes leans closer, as if about to impart some great secret and I inwardly relax that Jodi hadn’t been researching medical supply companies like the one my husband works for. “She spent an awful long time reading about the staff.”

  She pauses, whether for dramatic effect or not I’m not sure. “She seemed particularly interested in Avery Thurston so I told her he lived on Sunnyside Drive.”

  My heart leaps, then sinks. I have my first solid lead.

&nb
sp; But it’s my best friend’s husband.

  Is he responsible for getting Jodi knocked up? If he’s the father of Jodi’s baby and he learned the truth that makes him the prime suspect in my investigation.

  Another fact slides into place. Ris told me Jodi turned up at her house the night of the supper party. Ris thought it had been a mistake, a client from the center searching for her.

  But what if Jodi had been searching for Avery?

  “Thanks, Agnes, you’ve been a great help.” I make a zipping motion over my lips. “But remember, not a word about this to anybody.”

  Agnes holds up her hand like a girl scout. “I promise.”

  “Thanks.”

  Anticipation buzzes through me as I try not to run back to the station. I know what needs to happen next. Call Avery in to take a paternity test, then go home and hug my husband for suspecting him even if he’ll never know it.

  But first, I need to fill Ron in and follow up with forensics to see what they’ve discovered. If there’s the slightest chance Avery is behind this I want to do everything exactly right so the resultant fallout on Ris is minimal. I can’t imagine what she’ll go through if she learns her husband got some girl young enough to be his daughter pregnant and then killed her because of it.

  Ten minutes later I’m back at my desk, typing my notes. I don’t hear my door close until it’s too late, the soft snick drawing my attention as I glance up to see Griffin leaning against it.

  “Got a minute?”

  I clamp down on my first urge to tell him to go screw himself and nod. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I heard about that pregnant girl being murdered. Anything I can do?”

  I shake my head, wanting him to get the hell out of my office so I can get back to my notes while everything’s still fresh in my mind. “No need for a psychologist. We’re working through forensics at the moment, waiting for a few results to come in. We’ll let you know if we need your assistance.”

  “Wow, I’ve never heard you give me the company spiel.” He pushes off the door and lopes toward me. A flicker of unease makes me grip the underside of my desk. I’m not scared of him, per se, but I don’t like his eerily serene expression. “I thought we were going to put that kiss behind us.”