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

Page 13

by Rachel Abbott


  Keith jumped slightly. ‘Oh. Right. It seems the bloke who volunteered to valet the car on Sundays didn’t just do it for the tip. After Edmunds went to the casino, he borrowed the car and went off – to use his mate’s phrase – “on the pull”. He said it was easy to pick up women in a flash car like that. He always returned it in the early hours and then slept in the car until his morning shift.’

  Becky knew where this was going.

  ‘And where’s this guy now?’

  ‘Missing. The car park attendant didn’t say anything because he said it never occurred to him that his mate was the one who had been killed. He believed what everyone else did. Then, when he didn’t turn up for work, he wondered if he might be the killer.’

  ‘And he still didn’t say anything?’

  ‘Seems that way, sir.’

  ‘Stupid bugger,’ Tom muttered. ‘Okay, Keith, get back to the incident room and you and Becky brief the team. We need a name, and then we need someone to identify him. But – and this is critical – we do not release this information to the press. It’s possible this guy was the intended target, but we don’t know. And until we do, Edmunds’ life could still be at risk, if he’s not dead already.’

  After Keith and Becky left the room, Tom sat back in his chair and forced his shoulders to relax. At least it sounded as if they might have found out who the victim was, and hopefully that would give them a new set of leads. He was about to head to the incident room when his mobile rang. He groaned when he saw who it was, but tried to put a friendly smile into his voice.

  ‘Hi, Kate. Sorry, it’s a bit hectic here right now, so unless it’s anything vital I’ll have to be quick.’

  ‘Well, it depends on your definition of vital, I suppose. It’s about the happiness of our daughter, but if you think your latest murder investigation is more important then I’m sure it will wait.’

  Tom silently counted to ten.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘She sent me a text this morning to say that she wanted to talk to me, so I called her before she went into school. She said you’d had words.’

  ‘We did. Well, she had words with me. I told her the truth, or at least the part she allowed me to tell her before she stomped off, and she didn’t like it.’

  ‘The truth about what?’

  ‘She asked if you’d suggested we should get back together for her sake when she was five. Apparently that’s what you told her, and she didn’t believe you. I confirmed you were telling the truth.’

  For once Kate was silent. Tom waited. Finally she said softly, ‘I didn’t think you would do that.’

  Tom chose not to respond, and Kate’s appreciation of his honesty didn’t last long.

  ‘Anyway, she’s coming home to me tonight, Tom. You can stand Louisa down. I’ll pick Lucy up from school.’

  ‘Is that her choice or yours?’

  ‘I’ve told her it’s the right decision, and now she knows I didn’t lie to her she no longer has any reason to move out.’

  ‘So where does that leave us all?’ Tom asked.

  ‘She’ll stay with me. I’ve persuaded her that this is her home, and although I’m sure you make her welcome, she must be able to see that she’s an inconvenience.’

  Tom felt his face flush with anger. ‘She is not, and never has been, an inconvenience. You know that. Don’t you think she deserves to understand? We both know that your offer to come back had nothing to do with any love you might have felt for me. I came very close to saying yes, but it would only have been for Lucy, and what sort of a life would she have had with two parents who had lost not only their love, but their respect for each other?’

  He heard her tut. ‘You are such a romantic, Tom. How many marriages do you know that exist on nothing more than a little tolerance thinly disguising a shedload of resentment?’

  ‘That’s cynical even for you. We may both know people like that, but there are also some great marriages, with couples supporting and loving each other. I wouldn’t want our daughter brought up in anything less.’

  ‘So if she came to live with you and Louisa, she would bear witness to this utopia, would she? Well, maybe at some point she will, but for now I’ve convinced her this is where she has to be.’

  Tom had never known his ex-wife to be so hard. ‘What’s going on, Kate? You sound bitter.’

  ‘Goodbye, Tom. I’ve said all I want to say.’

  She hung up.

  28

  I hear the front door slam as Dominic leaves to take Bailey to school. I watch him from the window and see that he’s limping. Sometimes his leg is fine, but today it seems to be troubling him, and as always I feel a heavy beat of guilt.

  There have been so many times I have wanted to tell him about Cameron, Jagger and my debt. But how could I, knowing that everything about our life together is in jeopardy and it’s my fault? If it had only been the threat of violence, I could have turned to the police. But there was more, so much more, and if Dominic knew it all – who I really am – I would lose him.

  Not for the first time, I wonder if everyone’s life is composed of a series of roles, and I am not alone in striving to play each one to the best of my ability. Which of them is the real me? The head teacher – reliable, honest and assertive? The mother – gentle, loving, affectionate? The wife…?

  I stop trying to think of adjectives for that role. I want to believe that I’m a good wife, but I’m fooling myself, because when I consider the other role – the clever, artful, disciplined, emotionless persona that few people know – I am forced to evaluate different words to describe my role as a wife: deceitful, duplicitous, scheming… I could go on, but I stop.

  It would be better if I went to school. If I’m busy I will have something to focus on that might take away the gnawing anxiety that threatens to suffocate me. If I stay here with Dominic all day, his tolerance and good humour will paradoxically aggravate me.

  I stand in my daughter’s bedroom doorway and watch her. She’s still asleep, her little body worn out by the events of the previous evening. I’m about to creep over and drop a gentle kiss on her forehead when she stirs.

  ‘Mummy?’

  ‘I’m here, darling.’ I sit down on the edge of her bed. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Okay.’ She sounds a little forlorn as if she’s trying to be brave, and I stroke the hair back from her forehead. ‘The man won’t come again, will he?’

  There is a prickle at the back of my neck. ‘What man, darling?’

  ‘The one Daddy says has been spying on us.’

  I try to disguise my shock at the thought that Dominic has told Holly this. The poor child is terrified.

  ‘Did you see him? Is that what scared you?’

  ‘No, but I heard a man talking on the golf course and I thought it might be him. Daddy said not to tell you because you might be worried.’

  I feel a stab of regret. Dom must have seen how concerned I was when he mentioned the man watching the house, and in his efforts to protect me from further anxiety, he’s made the children his co-conspirators. They are the ones that should be protected. Not me.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure no one’s watching, Holls. I haven’t seen anyone, so don’t worry. Okay?’

  She gives me a shaky nod, and after a few minutes I tell her I’ll go and get her a drink.

  Poor Holly. Is Dominic right? Is Scott watching us? He had plenty of time yesterday to get back from Colwyn Bay and break into the shed to leave the photo while I was wandering up and down the beach, but I can’t let him frighten my children. He might think I’m fair game, but they are not.

  My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of voices from the sitting room and I realise Dom has left Sky News running. Walking through the door to switch the television off, I stop dead. On the screen is the face of Cameron Edmunds. It’s an old picture, and a bad one, captured as he was leaving the casino, but it’s definitely him. I’ve been scouring the Internet for updates on his murder but have heard nothing ne
w. I’m still waiting for the knock on the door, and the threat of the police questioning me in front of Dominic is hanging in the air above me, blocking out the sun and darkening my world.

  I reach for the remote and turn the volume up.

  ‘Police are still refusing to confirm or deny that the body found in the Manchester city-centre car park is that of Cameron Edmunds, but earlier this morning his wife stepped out of their Cheshire home to give a statement to the press.’

  The screen cuts to a young woman standing outside open high wrought-iron gates. Her blonde hair is elegantly styled, and she is so thin that even her immaculately applied make-up can’t disguise how haggard she looks.

  ‘The police have asked me not to speak to you, but I’m fed up with you all hanging around my house. You’re upsetting the children, and I’d like you to leave, please.’ She swivels her head from side to side, leaving no one in doubt that she means all of them.

  The shouts of the journalists can be heard, asking if it’s true that her husband is dead. Not for the first time I wonder how they can steel themselves to ask such insensitive questions.

  She looks from side to side, as if deciding which journalist to talk to, and it seems she has chosen Sky News, because she turns to face the camera.

  ‘I was asked by the police to identify the body, and I’m here to tell you that it wasn’t Cameron. So please can you get yourselves away from my house, away from my children and stop bothering us.’

  There are more questions, voices shouting in the background, but Cameron’s wife turns and walks back down the drive, lifting her hand and pointing what appears to be a remote control, and soon all that can be seen is the disappearing back of Mrs Edmunds through the bars of the gate.

  The studio anchor questions the reporter at the scene: ‘So, David, what do we make of Mrs Edmunds’ statement?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. We know that police have been at the house and several boxes have been removed, so it’s clear they’ve undertaken a search, but as it seems certain that the victim – whoever he was – was killed in Mr Edmunds’ car, they could have been searching for evidence that Edmunds is a suspect in the crime, if not the victim. The police have refused to comment, so we have to wonder if Mrs Edmunds simply wants to get the press away from her gate.’

  I tune out of the rest of the report. Is he dead or isn’t he? Was she lying, as the reporter suggested she might be? I feel torn. Half of me desperately wants Cameron to be dead. The other half needs him alive to keep the police from my door. He has ruined enough of my life already.

  29

  Then

  The sound of laughter drifted through the door of my room from the corridor. There was a big party that night and the other girls were pretending to be cool about it but were rushing into each other’s rooms, trying on clothes, testing out make-up. No one knocked on my door. I had told them I wasn’t going. They knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t tell them what; I was too ashamed. So I lay back on my bed, hands clasped behind my head, and listened to the music spilling from an open door and voices screeching along to Tom Jones singing ‘Sex Bomb’.

  Scott was due to come round that evening while everyone else was at the party. I was going to tell him what I had decided to do – what my plan was. I hadn’t seen him in the two days since he had told me the whole sorry story, and the situation was far worse than I could ever have imagined. There was more than the missing three thousand pounds of charity money to worry about.

  Once I’d got him up off the cobbles that night I made him tell me everything.

  ‘No more secrets, Scott. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.’

  ‘I do love you, Anna,’ he repeated for about the third time, his arms wrapped tightly round my shoulders as I half-carried him back to my room.

  Finally the words came, his voice quiet.

  ‘I lied about my parents. I’m so sorry, but I was too ashamed to tell you the truth. My family are so proud of me, but they don’t understand that when I leave uni I’m going to have a whacking great loan to pay off. My dad’s been off work on the sick for years, but Mum keeps saying, “It’ll be okay when Scott’s finished university. You’ll be able to take care of us, won’t you, love?” They have no idea. They expect me to be making a fortune, not to be saddled with debts, and I didn’t want them to be disillusioned.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘Last year one of the guys suggested we should go to one of the casinos in town. Maybe play on the slots or even have a bit of a dabble at roulette, so I went along – for a laugh.’ His eyes met mine for the first time. ‘Lots of students are doing it, you know. It’s not just me.’

  I knew this was true. There were posters all over campus, offering help to people addicted to gambling, but I said nothing. If I’d stopped him talking he might never have started again.

  ‘I became fascinated by the blackjack table, and one guy kept winning. He wasn’t just lucky, Spike; he knew what he was doing. The idea of winning big time using skill – like the guy that night – appealed to me. So I learned everything I could about blackjack – how to play the odds, how to be a winner.’

  Scott looked at me, a feverish glint in his eye, and I could see how much this meant to him. To my mind they were all games of chance, but there was no point saying so.

  ‘To start with I won a few, lost a few, and I wasn’t losing much but it felt like too much. The plan was to make money, so I decided to ignore all the strategies I’d researched and follow my gut instinct – same as most people, I guess. That’s when I started to get into trouble.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘Things spiralled out of control. I lost too much, and the more I tried to recover my losses by playing dangerously in an attempt to win big time, the more I lost.’

  I thought about the lie he had told me about football practice and now it all made sense. He hadn’t wanted me to know that he was at a casino. I felt a paradoxical wave of relief that it wasn’t because he was seeing another girl.

  Scott turned his big, sad eyes on me, and I swam down into them and was lost. How could I let him down when he needed me so much? He dropped his gaze, and I knew there was more to come.

  ‘That’s when I made my biggest mistake. I borrowed money.’

  ‘Who from?’ I asked. But of course I knew.

  ‘Cameron. I started by borrowing a thousand pounds, just so I had enough to pay for stuff plus a bit on the side to try to win back the money.’ I stifled a groan. ‘I thought I could win a few games and pay him off quickly, but I couldn’t. His interest rates are massive, Anna. And I haven’t paid him for two months, so this week he demanded money. But all I could give him was the three thousand I borrowed from you. It wasn’t enough. I’m so far behind.’

  ‘Three thousand in interest? His rates aren’t bad. Ten per cent these days is good, isn’t it?’

  Scott stopped walking and turned to look at me. ‘It’s ten per cent, but that’s per month. On the three thousand that you borrowed he’s going to want three hundred handed over to Jagger every single month until you can pay back the three grand. If you miss a payment, he charges interest on that too.’

  I stared at him, a sick feeling in my stomach.

  ‘Why in God’s name did you send me to him? Why? You know I can’t pay that much. Jesus, Scott!’

  ‘It was just a quick fix to get us out of the mess we were in so you didn’t have to say the money was gone.’

  ‘You mean it got you out of a mess. I was never in a mess.’

  He dropped his head. ‘This is all my fault, I know. Look, I promise I’ll find a way to get you the money.’

  I wasn’t listening to his promises. All I could think of was my debt.

  ‘What will happen if I don’t pay?’

  ‘I’ve told you not to worry,’ he said, pulling me close again. ‘You don’t owe enough for him to do you any damage.’

  But Jagger had beaten Scott up that night, and I felt sick at the thought of what he might do
to me.

  ‘How much do you owe him?’ My voice sounded surprisingly calm. ‘No more lies, Scott. It’s all I can do not to walk away from you here and now, and never see you again. So how much?’

  Scott spoke the words so softly I wasn’t sure I had heard him properly.

  ‘Twenty grand.’

  I swallowed hard, resisting the temptation to yell at him again, to tell him what an idiot he was. Instead I tried to come up with a way out of the mess. He needed help, and more than I could give him. But every suggestion I put forward about involving the university, his parents, the police, fell on stony ground, and there was no disguising the terror in Scott’s eyes.

  ‘You don’t get it, Anna. If Cameron’s confronted or even arrested, Jagger will still be out there. He’ll kill me. You’ve seen what I got for being behind with my interest. I can’t risk exposing them.’

  Maybe that would have been the time to tell Scott it was his problem, not mine, and walk away. But I loved him. I loved every moment I spent with him. I’d been happier and felt more alive in these few weeks than ever before. I couldn’t give up on him now.

  Furious as I was at the position he had put me in, anger wasn’t going to help. We needed to work together to put this right. He had made a mistake. I would help him. I would come up with a plan.

  As I lay on my bed waiting for Scott, I realised the corridor outside my room had fallen silent. Everyone had gone to the party. But I stayed where I was, eager to tell him my plans – my idea for how to save him. And myself.

  By the time he arrived, I was sitting at my desk poring over my calculations. He slid through the door silently as if expecting someone to be waiting behind it and walked across to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered.

  I could hear the emotion in his voice and knew he was asking me, in his own way, if I felt the same. I stood up and turned to hug him. We clung to each other as if we were drowning, which perhaps we were, saying nothing, drawing comfort from the warmth of each other’s bodies, until finally I gently pushed him away and turned back to my computer.

 

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