The Shape of Lies: New from the queen of psychological thrillers

by Rachel Abbott

‘Thanks for asking, but I’m meeting someone.’

  ‘Thought you said you didn’t know anyone?’

  I felt myself blushing.

  ‘It’s okay. You don’t know me from Adam. I get it. What’s your name?’

  ‘Anna.’

  ‘Well, good to meet you, Anna. I’m Scott, and as you’ve probably noticed from my accent, I’m from north Wales. I wasn’t going to suggest anything inappropriate, honestly. But maybe some other time.’

  Scott pushed himself off the wall and sauntered back towards the bar, where he deposited his empty glass. He turned and waved as he walked out of the door, and I wondered if I would ever see him again. I had been an idiot for saying no. He seemed nice.

  8

  There was a hum of conversation in the incident room as everyone waited for Tom to open the discussion. He stood in front of a whiteboard, shirtsleeves rolled up in deference to the heat, and glanced around the room as the last of the stragglers found a seat.

  ‘Okay, let’s make a start. You all know the details of this morning’s murder. It’s a nasty one that feels carefully planned with all the hallmarks of an execution. The killer came equipped with a double-length cable tie and, although it’s not been confirmed yet, probably something to spray into the eyes of the victim. So it’s unlikely to have been random. If I’m right, someone wanted this man dead, and we need to know who and why. Let’s go through what we’ve got. DI Robinson, can you kick us off, please?’

  Becky stood up. ‘All the evidence points to our victim being Cameron Edmunds. He usually appends the word “Junior”, and as you might suspect, there is an Edmunds Senior, but I’ll come back to him. We’ve been unable to get a formal identification so far. As it was his car, the victim is approximately the right age, and there is no sign of Edmunds at his home, we have no reason to suspect it’s anyone other than him, but we have no fingerprints on file. Although we’ve done an online search for recent photos, we’ve been unable to find anything – no social media accounts, as far as we can tell.’

  Becky referred briefly to her notes. ‘Edmunds lives in Prestbury. Married with four children under ten. We finally managed to get hold of his wife, but she’s not available to identify him until tomorrow. The children are being looked after by their nanny while Mrs Edmunds – Dawn – is taking a break at a spa in Surrey where mobile phones are frowned upon, so it’s been difficult to get hold of her. The nanny, rather bizarrely, didn’t have the details of where the mother of the children in her care was staying. Cameron Edmunds Senior is cruising somewhere in the South Pacific, according to his housekeeper.’

  There was a murmur in the room – probably mutterings about how the other half live.

  ‘We sent an officer from the local force to the spa to inform Mrs Edmunds that we believe the victim to be her husband, but she’s not prepared to drive back from Surrey tonight. She’s been detoxing all day and hasn’t enough strength to face the journey, even though she wouldn’t have to drive herself. According to the officer, she said, “I can’t see it makes any difference whether it’s tonight or in the morning if he’s dead. I’ll be home by midday.” So I think that paints a picture for us.’

  Becky raised her eyebrows at the assembled officers.

  ‘Edmunds’ car entered the car park at nine thirty p.m. last night. At the scene the pathologist gave a very approximate time of death as around six thirty a.m. Yes, he had been out all night, but apparently that’s nothing unusual. His wife hadn’t spoken to him since she went to the spa three days ago, so she didn’t realise he wasn’t at home.’

  ‘Do we know where he went between his arrival and when he was killed?’ DS Keith Sims asked.

  ‘Not yet. Apparently he spent several nights a week away from home. If his wife knows where he was, she hasn’t told us, and she didn’t seem too perturbed by his night-time absences.’

  ‘Did he have a mistress?’ Keith asked, and Tom saw Becky’s jaw tighten. She liked to get all the facts on the table before people started to throw random questions her way.

  ‘Can I suggest that DI Robinson gives us everything we have up to now, and then we can open up to questions?’ Tom said mildly. He didn’t want to embarrass Keith, although it seemed from the sergeant’s flushed cheeks that he had succeeded. But if it became a free-for-all, they wouldn’t get anywhere.

  Becky continued: ‘The blue car parked next to his had been there overnight too. We’ve traced the owner, who had come into town for dinner and had too much to drink. He’d originally parked on the road but was scared the car would be towed if he left it there overnight, so he’d taken a risk and driven it into the car park – only a hundred yards away – and taken a taxi home. We’ll be checking his alibi, of course. He doesn’t remember seeing the Mercedes, which might be indicative of how much he’d had to drink, or maybe it wasn’t there. It’s something to think about.’

  As Becky paused and consulted her notes, Tom pondered the Focus driver. The Mercedes wasn’t an easy car to miss, particularly as it was parked so close. Did Edmunds leave and come back later?

  ‘Finally,’ Becky said, ‘we’ll also need to check the wife’s alibi, although I find it hard to believe she drove all the way up from Surrey, whizzed into Manchester to kill her husband and then drove back to the spa without her absence being noticed. That’s not to say she can be ruled out – she could have paid someone else to do her dirty work for her.’

  Becky was looking around the room. For now there wasn’t much to add.

  ‘We have a phone,’ Tom said, ‘but it’s not registered to Edmunds. It’s a burner with a prepaid SIM. We won’t call any of the contacts until we know what we’re dealing with, but it may come in handy to trace where he’s been recently. Any questions?’

  ‘Are we going to search Edmunds’ house?’ a young detective asked.

  ‘Not yet. I’ve talked to DI Robinson about this, and while the wife has to be a suspect – even if she didn’t kill him with her own hands – there are four children in that house with no one but the nanny to explain to them what’s happening. We’ll wait until the wife is back and take it from there.’

  Tom waited as a smattering of questions were asked and looked at the faces around him, all as eager to get cracking on the investigation as he was. It seemed Edmunds was well off, given his address in one of the most expensive areas of Cheshire and his fancy car, but they hadn’t been able to find any evidence of employment other than a non-executive directorship of a casino in Manchester. Anyone who lived an extravagant lifestyle with no apparent income was a person of interest to the police, although apparently, when asked about her husband’s job, Dawn Edmunds had answered that it was ‘spending his father’s money’.

  Tom decided it was time to rally the troops.

  ‘Right. We’ve got plenty to get on with, so let’s focus and catch this killer! We don’t want the good people of Manchester feeling terrified to go into a car park, so the sooner we crack this, the happier I’ll be. Enquiries into our victim’s history and finances are being pursued overnight, and two people have been tasked with trying to get hold of any CCTV from the streets surrounding the car park. First thing tomorrow we need to go and talk to the parking attendant who was in charge of the office overnight. I couldn’t get anything out of him, and neither could DI Robinson, but he was clearly anxious, and I got the feeling it wasn’t just to do with a body being found in his car park. Keith, you go, and take Lynsey with you.’

  Lynsey was a young detective who had joined the team just before Becky left for maternity leave, and she was proving to be astute and focused – a good foil for Keith’s pedantic adherence to protocol.

  ‘For now, though, I suggest we all get off home. Come back fresh tomorrow and we’ll see where we’re up to,’ Tom said. ‘Either DI Robinson or I will attend the post-mortem, and by then Mrs Edmunds will be back to formally identify the body.’

  Despite the fact that it had been a long day, there was a buzz of animated chatter as the incident room em
ptied except for the small team tasked with continuing the investigation overnight, and Tom made his way back to his office. He had to update his boss, Detective Superintendent Philippa Stanley, but he hoped to get away by nine o’clock at the latest.

  He was about to put in a call to see if Philippa was still at her desk when his phone rang. It was Louisa. Even though they had been living together for several months, Tom still experienced a rush of pleasure at the thought of going home to her.

  ‘Hi, Louisa. Sorry, darling, but I’m not going to be back for a while.’

  ‘That’s fine, Tom. And it’s not why I’m calling. It’s about Lucy.’

  Tom felt his heart jolt. Lucy, his thirteen-year-old daughter, lived with his ex-wife, Kate. He saw as much of her as he could, but she was fast developing a life of her own, and he missed her. His job made him painfully aware of the potential threats to her safety, and he worried constantly that something could happen to her.

  ‘Is she okay? What’s up?’

  ‘She’s fine. She’s here.’

  ‘What, at our house?’ That was unusual for a Monday evening.

  He heard a brief mumbled conversation in the background, and the next voice he heard was Lucy’s. ‘Hi, Dad.’

  ‘Hi, Lucy. Sorry I wasn’t there when you arrived. Did your mum bring you?’

  ‘No. I caught the bus. There’s something I need to tell you, Dad. But it will have to wait till you’re home. You are coming home tonight, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course, and I’m looking forward to seeing you. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yes…well, sort of anyway. But I’m not going to say any more. I’ll see you later.’

  Tom didn’t like the sound of this one bit, but he was unable to persuade his daughter to tell him anything. He just hoped he could get the meeting with Philippa over quickly so he could get home.

  9

  The kids have taken longer than usual to get to sleep tonight. They seem more than a little hyper, and I can’t help wondering if the tension is rolling off me and onto them. Either that or they had too many fizzy drinks at Daisy’s. I am staggered by the ease with which my children seem able to pick up on my mood, even when I’m trying so hard to be jolly, but Bailey decided to have a major strop after his bath and Holly shouted at him for being a baby. This was my time with them, and it had descended into chaos.

  Dominic came up to see if he could help, but I found that even more irritating – maybe because I knew the children would calm down quickly for him. He rarely seems to get agitated by anything. Just as the children seem able to pick up my nerviness, Dom entering the room always has the effect of a warm blanket wrapped around them, holding them tight.

  ‘Go away, Dominic. We’re fine,’ I said, hearing how tight my voice was.

  He looked at me with concern. ‘If you’re sure.’

  I knew he wouldn’t argue. He reserves his fights for things of greater significance, only showing anger when people fall short of what he calls ‘acceptable standards of behaviour’. Unbeknown to him I do that all the time, and tonight will be no exception.

  Finally I manage to settle the children and go slowly downstairs. I feel stifled and stressed by the day’s events and I need to get out of the house, to find space to think. Through the partially closed door to the sitting room I once again hear the murmur of the TV, and as I push it open I see Dom is watching the news again. The screen is showing a car park in central Manchester, one that I know well.

  ‘What’s going on? Is this the murder you mentioned?’

  ‘Yes. They still haven’t named the victim.’

  He stops talking as the newsreader gives his report.

  ‘A man was found brutally murdered in a central Manchester car park early this morning. It is understood that he was in his own car, and that the assailant attacked him from the back seat of the vehicle. Police have confirmed that he was strangled, but as yet no other details have been released.’

  ‘It’s not safe anywhere these days,’ Dominic says, turning towards me, his eyes on my face. ‘Do you know where in Manchester that multi-storey is?’

  ‘No. It’s not one I recognise,’ I lie, wishing my husband still had his back to me.

  Dominic picks up the remote to turn the TV off, and his eyes move to the bag in my hand, then back to my face.

  ‘You’re going to the gym? You don’t usually go on a Monday.’

  I can sense the question in his voice. He doesn’t like patterns to be broken, but I smile as if I’m unaware of his feelings.

  ‘I know, but it’s been a difficult day, and I could do with running off some of the stress.’

  ‘Really? I thought you said there was nothing more exciting than a trustees’ meeting?’

  He’s right. I did say that.

  ‘That’s true, but we’re due an Ofsted inspection. It could come any day with practically no warning, and everyone’s a bit antsy, as you might expect. You don’t mind, do you?’

  Dominic shakes his head, as I knew he would. ‘Of course not. You go. You’re the worker and you deserve some time to yourself. Will you be late?’

  I hate it when he refers to me as ‘the worker’, as if I consider him to be a lesser being because he doesn’t earn a salary. I make a promise to myself to be extra appreciative of everything he does for this family, but tonight I need to be somewhere else.

  ‘I don’t know what time I’ll be back. I might have a swim too, so don’t wait up. I want to wear myself out so I can fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.’

  ‘Do you think it’s safe to go out with a killer on the loose?’

  ‘Dom, I suspect there is always a killer on the loose somewhere in Manchester.’ I walk over and drop a kiss on his head. ‘Love you.’

  Without another word, because I know my voice will shake, I pick up my gym bag and head for the door.

  The drive only takes twenty minutes at this time of night, but every second is filled with thoughts of the man on the radio who claims to be Scott. Who is he?

  Nothing that has happened today can be a coincidence. The timing – today of all days – the names, the mention of Nebraska. And, as if the radio show wasn’t enough, the pizzas and the message. Taken together they can mean only one thing.

  This is about me. It’s a warning. But a warning of what? A warning that someone is going to reveal my past in order to shatter my present and my future? But who? Why?

  Nobody except the two of us knows what we did and the depths – to my shame – that we sank to. And Scott’s dead. Did he tell someone else? Who, though? We agreed no one must ever know, and I was with him until the very end. I would have known if he had told someone.

  I can’t make sense of it, so the only thing I can do is drive the fear of exposure from my mind for a few hours in the only way I know how.

  I pull the car into my reserved parking bay next to the lift and get out, grabbing my gym bag from the back seat. The car park is quiet, and for a moment my mind is full of images of the multi-storey, less than a mile from here, where a man has been murdered. I used that car park regularly until recently, before I found this place. I shiver at the thought that it could have been me.

  I dodge into the lift and press the button for the sixth floor. It’s unlikely I’ll stumble across anyone who knows me, but I can’t take any risks. I have to be doubly sure.

  Pulling my keys from my bag, I select the newest, the shiniest. As the lift doors open, I glance along the corridor to check it’s clear then stride across to the door facing me and insert the key.

  I quickly push the door open and slip inside, closing it firmly and leaning against it for a moment. The entrance leads to a short hallway. At the end is a tiny living room and kitchen, but I make my way to the bedroom, throwing my gym bag into the corner by the door where I won’t forget it later.

  I can feel the thrill of anticipation, the knowledge that the next three hours will drive every negative thought from my mind and make me feel so much better – more
confident, more alive.

  Stripping off my jeans and T-shirt, I fling open the wardrobe door and pull out a short black wrap dress. Next I open the drawer that contains my box of tricks and start to apply make-up – dark red lipstick, black eyeliner. Finally I twist my hair into a knot, select a blonde wig and slip on a pair of stilettos.

  I am ready.

  10

  Tom had found it a struggle to get away from Philippa, who was in a chatty mood, but in a rare perceptive moment she realised she didn’t have her DCI’s undivided attention.

  ‘I can see you’re only partly with me, Tom, so whatever it is that’s more interesting than solving this murder, I suggest you go and deal with it so we can have you with us one hundred per cent tomorrow.’

  Tom stood up. He didn’t need to be told twice.

  ‘I’m off then,’ he said and wasn’t surprised when Philippa made no enquiry as to the cause of his distraction. If it wasn’t to do with work, she wasn’t interested.

  What on earth could be the problem with Lucy? All she had told Louisa was that she wanted to talk to her dad first, and she would rather not say anything until he was home.

  Now, as he pulled the car into the drive of his Edwardian semi, he could see the light on in Lucy’s bedroom. He had been tempted to call Kate to find out what was going on, but having been assured by Louisa that Kate knew where Lucy was, he felt he should leave it to his daughter to explain.

  ‘Hello!’ he called as he pushed open the front door.

  Louisa appeared in the kitchen doorway and smiled at him, indicating with her eyes that Lucy was upstairs. Just then there was the sound of a door slamming – it seemed impossible for his daughter to close a door quietly – followed by a clatter as she ran downstairs.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ she said, flinging her arms around him.

  Tom pulled her close but gave Louisa a puzzled look over the top of his daughter’s head. They had always been affectionate with each other, but as she had moved into her teens Lucy had been a little more sparing with her hugs.