‘He’s a twat,’ I heard him mutter, shaking his head. ‘And Jagger’s an evil bastard.’
I assumed Jagger was the young guy standing behind Cameron, and I had to agree that he made me feel uncomfortable, although Cameron had seemed amiable enough. Nevertheless I felt deeply sorry for Scott, who had clearly found the whole encounter embarrassing for some reason. Fortunately I was spared the need to find the right words as two of the people Scott had been talking to at the bar dashed out through the door, full of life and laughter.
‘Was that Cameron Edmunds?’ a young girl with long dark hair asked.
The boy she was with frowned. ‘I didn’t know you knew him, Scott. What did he want?’
Scott let out a long slow breath, clearly trying to calm himself. ‘Nothing. He was taking the piss, and I shouldn’t let him get to me. Do you fancy grabbing a burger or something before the film? I’m starving.’ The other two seemed enthusiastic about the idea, and Scott turned to me. ‘You coming, Anna?’
I shook my head. ‘No, I’m good, thanks. I’ll just get on with some work.’
I could see he was disappointed. Perhaps he thought I had turned him down because of what Cameron had said, but it wasn’t that. The others seemed friendly enough, but I didn’t know how they would feel about me tagging along.
After what felt like too long, Scott nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll catch up with you some other time.’ He grabbed his jacket from where he’d draped it over the back of a chair and walked away, a few steps behind the other two.
Trying to ignore the little voice in my head telling me I was a fool, I dropped my head to return to my book. I read Eliot’s words. Prufrock’s indecision and his fear of rejection felt so very like my own, and I was ashamed of my diffidence. I wasn’t prepared to settle for a life of regrets, so I took a deep breath and lifted my head.
‘Scott,’ I shouted. He turned back towards me, his eyebrows raised. ‘Would it be okay if I changed my mind?’
13
Tom’s call to his ex-wife the evening before had gone about as well as he had expected.
‘She shouldn’t be travelling here on her own, Kate. I know it was daylight, but I didn’t know she was coming. What if I’d been away overnight? What if she’d never made it? How long would it have been before we realised she wasn’t where you thought she was?’
Kate sighed. ‘You don’t need to worry. I’m not an idiot. I monitor her all the time via her mobile.’
Tom wanted to point out that this was far from an infallible solution, and there was nothing to stop someone taking Lucy’s phone and throwing it in the canal, but there seemed little point in causing an argument for the sake of it, so he let her talk.
‘If she’s decided that she’s better off with you and your new woman, what can I do? Let’s hope for Lucy’s sake that this one lasts.’
Again he bit back his irritation.
‘Louisa and I have been together for over a year, as you know. And we took things slowly. I would never have asked her to move in with me if I thought it made Lucy uncomfortable.’
‘Well, maybe you’ve found your soulmate at last, Tom.’ He could practically taste the acid dripping off her tongue.
Kate had frequently been petulant with him since she had walked out of their marriage nearly ten years ago, although they generally tried to get on for Lucy’s sake. But this reaction was churlish even for her.
‘Anyway, pleasant as this is, I don’t have time to chat. Let me know when Lucy gets fed up and wants to come home.’
The conversation had told Tom absolutely nothing about why Lucy had decided to leave her mother’s house, and he didn’t know what to do next. He had long ago come to terms with the fact that living with Kate was better for Lucy – particularly when she was younger and Tom had lived alone. His hours were irregular, and Kate hadn’t worked since the day he married her, saying he needed to support her so she could give their daughter the best childhood possible. And now Tom was in the middle of a difficult murder case and couldn’t commit to being home at a sensible hour or to running Lucy back and forth to school. Louisa had offered to take time off work, saying she would take care of transport and make sure Lucy was never stuck in the house on her own, so it was a viable solution, but only in the short term.
As Tom walked into the incident room at the start of what he felt certain was going to be another long day, he could feel his irritation with his ex-wife returning. But a sea of expectant faces turned towards him, each member of the team knowing he had attended the early-morning post-mortem – a part of his job that he disliked intensely – so he forced himself to focus.
He made his way to the front, and the room fell quiet.
‘The pathologist has completed the post-mortem, although as always some results will take a while to get to us. But just as we thought, our victim – who for now we should assume is Cameron Edmunds – died of strangulation. And DI Robinson was right – he had been sprayed in the eyes with Mace.’
This was met with little surprise, but Tom knew his next revelation would make the team sit up and take notice.
‘Of more interest is the fact that when the pathologist examined Edmunds’ throat, it was stuffed full of ten-pound notes. Ten of them – although whether the value is significant, we don’t know. Yet.’
As he expected, there was a murmur as people turned to each other to comment.
‘Thoughts, anyone?’ Tom looked around at the faces. ‘Yes, Keith.’
‘We’ve tracked the victim’s movements, sir. He was at the private casino in town where he’s a director. His father used to own it, but he’s retired now. I understand Cameron Junior went there most nights and he’d been losing heavily. Could that be related to the ten-pound notes? Anyway, he left the casino at around six a.m. Apparently he often went somewhere – not sure where yet – for breakfast, but clearly not yesterday.’
‘If he was losing so much, where was his money coming from? Do we know?’ Tom asked.
‘We’ve looked at his bank statements, and money has been flowing in from his father. Enough to cover household expenses but nothing more – certainly not enough to cover his gambling losses. We’re checking for other sources now.’
‘Good. What else do we know? Yes, Lynsey.’
‘According to staff at the casino, he was sometimes seen at the tables with a woman. She often stood behind him as he played, although they arrived separately. No one was inclined to give me a name, claiming they didn’t know. We don’t believe them – misguided customer confidentiality, at a guess. We’re getting CCTV from the gaming hall to see if she can be identified.’
‘Good. Any news from Jumbo on traces found in the car?’
Becky stood up. ‘I’ve got an initial report, but they’re still working on it. The man has children, yet the car interior is spotless. According to the wife, who’s being driven home as we speak, the children aren’t allowed in his car and he has it valeted every few days. The car park where he was found offers a wash-and-valet service, so we’re checking if the Merc was cleaned by them, and how recently.’
‘Edmunds’ car entered the car park at nine thirty p.m. on Sunday night,’ Keith said. ‘That’s confirmed by CCTV at the entrance. We checked the arrival of the blue Focus, and it tallies with the time stated by its driver, just over an hour after Edmunds, at ten forty-five.’
‘And let’s not forget the fact that the Focus driver can’t remember seeing the Merc, even though it was about as close as it could be,’ Tom added. ‘I know we’ve made a start on the CCTV from the surrounding streets and the car park entrance and exit, but we need to stretch the period of interest to cover the time from when Edmunds arrived to when we shut down civilian access. I can’t say specifically what we’re looking for, but basically anything that doesn’t fit. And of course it goes without saying to check for any known villains entering or leaving.’
He could feel the buzz in the room as the intelligence was starting to come together, and it was at times li
ke this that he loved his job. They would find this killer, he was sure. But now it was time for him to go and speak to Cameron Edmunds Junior’s wife. Her apparent lack of interest in her husband’s death could be a cover for her grief, or it could put her in the frame as his killer.
On the other hand, it could be exactly what it seemed to be. Total indifference.
14
By the time I arrive at school, my nerves are shattered. Not only has the traffic been horrendous, but memories of Scott – and now of Cameron – won’t stop slamming through the meagre defences I have tried to build. No amount of persuading myself to think of something else, to prepare myself for the school day ahead, has stopped the flashbacks from following one another thick and fast. And when the police start to ask questions, which is surely inevitable, what will I tell them? What will I tell Dominic? How will I explain what Cameron was to me?
‘Someone doesn’t look very happy this morning.’ The school bursar pulls a mournful face as I walk into my office. Jennie Lucas is the one person who can be guaranteed to beat me through the school door each morning, and I don’t know where I would be without her. Shorter than me and slim to the point of being skinny, with an unruly mop of blonde hair, she exudes happiness and energy. I’ve never been great at making friends, but if I had to name them now she would be top of my list, so I try to force a smile.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I got stuck in a traffic jam that I could have avoided. I’m just hot and frustrated with myself. Ignore me.’
Jennie laughs. ‘I’d never do that. Sorry for teasing you, but you’re usually so cheery. How about a cup of coffee? And there’s some mail that might put a smile on your face.’
Jennie always opens the post and filters out the junk, so I sit down and start to wade through the neatly stacked pile of anything she considers worthy of my attention. Invoices, flyers that she thinks might possibly be of interest, an invitation to join the local WI…and then I see it about halfway down the pile.
I feel my body tense as I pick up a card with a colourful picture of a stack of books on the front. I stare at it, my mind spinning. I am miles away, and it isn’t until the smell of coffee hits me that I realise Jennie is standing in front of me, mug in hand. I look up.
‘I didn’t think you could still get those,’ Jennie says, putting the mug on my desk. ‘I thought everyone sent online gift cards these days.’
I don’t answer, my gaze falling back to the ten-pound book token I am grasping in my hand, a tremor running down my spine. Inside are the words ‘You’re a winner! Congratulations.’ I say nothing for a moment and I can feel Jennie’s eyes burning into the top of my bent head.
‘Can you give me a moment, Jennie? There’s something I need to do,’ I say, without looking up.
‘Sure.’
I hear a note of confusion in the single syllable, but Jennie turns away without another word and returns to her office.
I know what this is. Perfectly innocuous to those who don’t know any better, to me it is a sign that someone knows too much about my past. The pizzas told me something else. Whoever this is, he knows where I live. Now I have proof that he knows where I work too. He wants me to know he’s on to me. The radio programme, Cameron’s murder and two innocent-looking gifts are all inextricably linked to one person.
Scott.
But that’s impossible. So how has someone put all the pieces together? Who is he, or she, and why now, after all these years? Who is trying to frighten me?
I jump up from my chair and start pacing to ease the pressure building inside me. I no longer know what to believe, but I need to find out the truth – one way or the other – before the worst of my sins are exposed on the radio in a few days’ time.
Ignoring the coffee, I march through into the outer office. Jennie looks up at me, her grey eyes widening at the tautness of my body and my scowling face. I try to relax, attempt to smile, but I can see she isn’t fooled.
‘Jennie, I don’t know what I have in the diary for today, but everything has to be cancelled. I have somewhere I need to go. It’s personal. Please can you cover for me?’
She nods slowly. I trust her, but not enough to tell her what is going on. I don’t trust anyone that much.
I can feel her watching me as I hurry out through the door towards my car, and I imagine she must be wondering how something as innocuous as a book token could have caused so much agitation.
I could never find the words to explain.
I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, but if I do nothing my world will fall apart in less than a week. I can’t allow that to happen.
I hit traffic again as the ring road clogs up, a delay I could do without. I’m anxious about being away from school for too long – it’s irresponsible and impulsive – but what choice do I have? I need to find out if there is someone Scott was close to, someone he never told me about.
Finally I am on the M56 heading towards north Wales. I have no idea if Scott’s parents still live in the same house; I’ve had no contact with them since their son’s memorial service. Indeed, that was the first and only time I met them, but I had to go. I had to say goodbye to the boy I had loved so much.
Mr and Mrs Roberts had no idea who I was, or what my relationship had been with their son. They didn’t speak to me or single me out from the other students who had travelled from Manchester on a September day not unlike this one, and I remember the pain I felt that Scott had never told them about me. I had always believed we would be together forever.
I knew I was falling for Scott from the first time he smiled at me, and when he walked me back to my room after the trip to the cinema I remember waiting, hoping he was going to ask to see me again, terrified that he wasn’t interested.
As he said goodnight he leaned towards me and kissed me lightly on my cheek. ‘See you around,’ he said. ‘Tonight was fun.’
He lifted his hand in a wave as he walked away, and I felt his absence in a way I had never experienced before. The part of me that had been bubbling with happiness in his company suddenly felt like a hollow drum.
I had no idea if he would want to see me again. My experience with boys was so limited – the only boyfriend I’d ever had was someone I had known since I was five, and he didn’t really count. For both of us dates had been a convenience, each of us being nothing more to the other than someone to go to parties with. But Scott was different. He was funny, kind, thoughtful. He made his friends laugh, and I felt in awe of the ease with which he chatted, joked and even touched them in a way that I never could have – a hand on the shoulder of a mate at the bar, a hug goodnight for one of the girls who was feeling a bit low.
I spent a week pining for him, hanging about where I thought I stood the best chance of bumping into him, acting like a thirteen-year-old with a massive crush. I thought about how it might feel to run my hands through his thick dark curls, or to kiss that wide smile from his lips, but there was more to it than his looks. He seemed to offer a passport to another world, to a life filled with friends and fun that I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to achieve on my own.
A week after our cinema trip, I found Scott waiting for me as I came out of a lecture, sitting on a wall huddled into his coat as it had turned cold all of a sudden.
When he saw me, he grinned. ‘I checked the timetable and saw there was a lecture on Samuel Beckett. I had a feeling you’d be there, and I wanted to catch you to see if you fancied a curry tonight.’
I thought he was asking me on a date, and spent the day flushed with excitement. But of course I was wrong. I felt like weeping when we walked into the restaurant to see we were part of a table for ten. I consoled myself with the fact that he had come looking for me, had arranged to travel on the bus with me and walked me home.
That night he kissed me on the mouth. I hadn’t known how many nerve-endings there were in my lips until then, or that the lightest of touches could make every single one of them tingle. It was just one kiss, and it lasted no more
than two seconds, but as Scott walked away, I was struggling to breathe.
I hungered for more, but it took another three evenings of saying goodnight with a single kiss before he held me, his hands moving slowly over my body. Finally he asked if we could go to my room.
I don’t think I have ever, either before or since, wanted anything more. My body ached for him, but at the same time I was terrified. I was a virgin, and I thought he would expect so much more than I knew how to give. I didn’t know if I should tell him or not, but in the end I didn’t need to. He knew.
He was so gentle, so loving, and he took things slowly until he knew I was ready, lifting his head to look into my eyes, checking I was okay.
I was more than okay; I was in love. I wanted to tell him right then, but I managed to stop myself.
We saw each other regularly after that, but he still met his friends, sometimes with me, sometimes – and those times were unbearable – on his own. He encouraged me to go out and mix with other people, but I didn’t want to. I used the time when he was out with friends or playing football to catch up on the work that I had let slide.
I think back to the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach the first time I realised he’d been lying to me. I’d decided to sneak along to football practice, to watch him in secret from behind the small stand. I wanted to see him play, to watch him enjoying himself with his mates, to see his legs in football shorts and think about the last time his thighs had touched mine. I remember scouring the field, back and forth, thinking I must have missed him. I waited until the teams filed back to the changing rooms in case somehow I hadn’t recognised him on the field. But Scott wasn’t there.
At first I hadn’t been concerned. Maybe he’d changed his mind about playing. But the next day I asked how practice had gone, and he was enthusiastic about his part in the game. He even told me he had scored a goal.
The Shape of Lies: New from the queen of psychological thrillers Page 6