‘But as I’m alive and well, why the fuck do you need to get into my safe?’
Tom was struggling to hide his contempt for this man. ‘Two men are dead, one of them possibly because the killer thought it was you in your car, the other perhaps as a result of his association with you. So we have to investigate you – every aspect of your life – to determine why someone wants you dead and why someone killed Roger Jagger.’
Cameron’s jaw was clenched, and Tom was certain he was worried about the contents of the safe being examined.
Good.
‘If I open it, you have to let me remove some personal items first.’
Tom looked him in the eye. ‘Not a chance.’
51
I can’t concentrate on anything. Over and over I run through all that’s happened, starting with Monday and the radio programme. It seems this was Scott’s way of throwing down the gauntlet, showing me that he was coming for me. Then came reminders of our past sins – confirmation that he was behind it all. And the murders. Scott had every reason to hate Cameron and Jagger, but the Scott I knew was gentle. What could have happened to him in the last fourteen years to make him so vengeful, and why now?
Then a thought hits me. If the radio programme was intended to warn me, how could Scott be certain I would be listening? It would all have been a waste of effort if his intention was to scare me but I never heard it. Cameron’s murder wouldn’t entirely have been a surprise, given his history; the arrival of the pizzas would have been confusing but nowhere near the warning that I believed it to be, and the rest I might have put down to some prank. It was the broadcast mentioning Scott and Spike that made the threat feel real. Somehow he had to have known that I would hear him; that the threat of revealing the scams would hurt me. He talked about the significance of the dates too, so I know he intends to expose me to the world for the worst of my sins. None of it would have worked if I hadn’t been listening.
Even without Dominic’s assertion that someone is watching the house, I am certain Scott has been spying on me. He stole the photos for the crowd-funding page from Facebook, so he must have been stalking me online too. How easy it is to forget how much of our lives we display for the world to see without a thought as to who might be watching. He could have joined public groups that I belong to as well.
That’s it! The TOTGA Facebook group. Of course.
I reach for my mouse and log in to my timeline, certain what I’ll see. I’m confident he hasn’t faked a friendship with me, but there are several hundred members of the group that religiously follow ‘The One That Got Away’, and every week – until this one – I have taken part in the chat. Anyone reading the comments would know that I am a regular listener, although I haven’t participated since Monday, when I first heard Scott’s story. But he must know that I heard him this week, because why else would I have suddenly decided to pay a visit to his mother?
I never doubted he was dead until this week. Jagger seemed certain of it too, but it’s true that I left him before he took his last breath. I can see his face now, contorted with pain, gasping for air. I knew he was dying, but I had walked away. In the moments before I turned my back on him, his eyes had watched me, begging me to stay, to help. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. And for that reason I believe there is only one person Scott could hate more than he loathed Cameron and Jagger. Me.
I drop my head into my hands. I have to do something, stop him from hurting anyone else. I can’t just sit back and wait to see what happens next. I lift my head and pull my keyboard towards me. If I’m right, there is one way that I can contact him.
I log into the Facebook group and I start to type.
I’ve not had a chance to comment this week – it’s been a busy one! But like the rest of you, I would LOVE to meet Scott and hear what he has to say for himself. I wonder why he’s decided to talk about this now, after so long? Any thoughts? Won’t be able to check in until later – I have to go and see an old lady in a hospice. Poor soul is so confused she keeps seeing her son who’s been dead for years. As I said, a hectic week.
I decide not to wait to see if he responds. He will understand that I’m going to Wales and want to see him. He knows where to find me. No matter what he thinks of me, no matter what he intends, I can’t live like this, waiting for the axe to fall.
I hate lying to Jennie again, but I tell her the police have called to ask me to pick up my car. I look at her trusting smile and wonder if she is the one person who might understand. But I can’t risk it.
‘They’re interviewing everyone who was in the vicinity at the time of the murder and they want me there. They’re doing a reconstruction, hoping that being in the car park will jog memory. It’s likely to take a fair chunk of the day to get through everyone, and they wouldn’t give me a fixed time.’
I shrug with an air of hopeless resignation, and Jen tuts at their lack of consideration. As I turn away I bite my lip and keep it clamped between my teeth so it won’t wobble, telling myself that I had no choice but to make up this convoluted story. I take a deep breath and call a taxi.
I ask the driver to drop me off at the car park entrance. I’m scared to go through the foyer in case the detectives are there, so I walk down the ramp and use my keycard to get through the gate. Memories of the night before hit me and I shiver. It may be warm outside, but here – underground – it’s always cold. And dark. I glance warily over my shoulder, as if I’m expecting Jagger to be lurking there. I can’t believe he’s dead, and I’m balancing an intense feeling of relief with one of uneasiness about what Cameron might do next.
I thought Jagger was invincible, and I’m sure he did too. I picture his narrow features and the mean look in his eyes when he crept up on me last night. I used to think he was a psychopath, but I was wrong. He was just a thug with a brain.
Who killed him? Was it Scott? It would make sense. Maybe he’s taking revenge on all those who hurt him, but what does that mean for me? I stop and lean against a pillar for support, my knees suddenly incapable of bearing my weight. He loved me once though, and despite all that happened, all that I did, I can only pray it means something to him.
A police officer in uniform is standing at the bottom of the ramp, clipboard in hand. My instinct is to turn and run, but he’s seen me and I can’t let him realise I’m nervous. I can see figures moving around, searching under the cars, the gloom illuminated by bright arc lamps. They must have been at it for over twelve hours now.
‘Can I help you?’ the police officer asks.
‘I wondered if I could collect my car,’ I ask, pushing my hands into my pockets so he can’t see them trembling.
‘Registration number?’
I give him the details.
‘You’re in luck. Fortunately your car’s about as far away from the scene as it could be, and we’ve already searched that area.’
He walks me to the car, and within minutes I’m clear. I’m not sure how I will be able to drive into that car park again, but I don’t doubt I’ll be back.
I can’t face school until all of this is over, and if I’m going to be absent for the rest of the week, I need a good excuse. I’m going to have to lie again, but I’m hoping my slightly shouty voice over the sound of traffic will help convey a sense of urgency, and any quiver in my voice will be attributed to my distress at the news I’m about to share.
‘Jennie, it’s Anna. What a dreadful week this has turned out to be.’ I make a sound that hopefully will come across as a sob. ‘My mum has had a fall. She’s been taken to hospital in Cumbria and I’m on my way there now. Tim Brighouse can take over from me – that’s what a deputy is for after all – and there’s nothing so important as my poor mum right now.’
Jennie is full of concern, as I knew she would be, and my sobs become real as I hang up. If I can’t fix this, it will break my heart to admit how I have betrayed her.
The thought of betrayal brings Dominic sharply into focus. He won’t be so easy to fool. I wipe my tears
away to call him, and I’m relieved when it goes straight to voicemail.
‘Dom, I’ve picked my car up from the car park and I’m on my way to a meeting with the trustees. I’d completely forgotten, with everything else that’s been going on. I should be home at the normal time. I’m supposed to switch my mobile off in meetings, but after last time I’ll check it at every break in case you need me. See you later.’
I’m so glad he didn’t answer. After this morning and the visit from the police I’m not sure what to say to him right now.
I think back to the message I left on the Facebook group under the thread ‘Who are Scott and Spike?’ I wonder if it will be enough to spur Scott into action. There’s no chance that Dominic will see it. He thinks social media is the work of the devil, and Jen isn’t a member of the group. I checked.
More than anything, I’m hoping that Scott will read my words. I need to see him, flush him out of wherever he’s hiding, stop him in any way I can from doing what he’s promised to do. I have four days until he’s back on the radio. Four days in which I hope he will take the bait and reply to my message.
I’ll be waiting for him.
52
As Keith drove, Tom turned towards the back seat.
‘Get down below the window, please, Mr Edmunds. We’re nearly at your house now. Once we’re through the gates we can get you inside without being seen. We already have a policeman on guard outside, and he can stay there until this is over one way or the other.’
‘I assume there’s no doubt that the first guy was murdered because the killer thought it was me in the car?’ Edmunds asked, his voice muffled by the back of Tom’s seat.
‘We haven’t ruled him out as the intended victim, but with Roger Jagger dead, it does seem more likely they were after you. Who wants you dead, Mr Edmunds?’
‘Plenty of ungrateful bastards, I expect.’
‘Ungrateful?’
They turned off the road and pulled up in front of the gates.
Cameron lifted his head. ‘It’s funny how appreciative people are when you bail them out of trouble, and how quick they are to turn on you when that debt needs to be repaid, don’t you think?’
‘You know that to lend money you need to be licensed, don’t you, Mr Edmunds?’
‘When has it ever been illegal to offer a friend some money? I’ve helped a few people out, but I’ve not broken any laws.’
Tom turned back to the front. He had no evidence of criminal activity yet, but he was certain he soon would have.
Becky pulled up behind Tom’s car at the gates of the Edmunds’ mini-castle just as Keith leaned out of the driver’s window to press the buzzer. The gates quietly swung apart and both cars drove through and parked at the front of the house.
Dawn Edmunds opened the door herself, but stood back, a frown on her face. She had to be wondering why there were two cars, so Becky got out of hers to warn her what was about to happen. But just then the back door of Tom’s car opened and she saw Dawn’s face change to one of dismay. Becky glanced towards the man she presumed to be Cameron Edmunds. He was glaring at his wife, his eyes cold and black.
Neither of them spoke. Dawn stared at Cameron for no more than two seconds, then disappeared into the house, but not before she had given Becky a look of desperation. There was no doubt this was the worst possible outcome for her.
Tom gave a small shrug as he followed Cameron, who was already marching into the house. Becky sighed and signalled to Tom that she was going after Dawn, who was obviously intent on disappearing as she thundered up the stairs.
Becky knew which was Dawn’s bedroom, and she knocked gently on the door. Getting no response, she pushed it open. Dawn was curled up on the bed, her mouth a tight line, her cheeks flushed. When she looked up at Becky, her eyes were bloodshot.
‘Why’s he back?’
‘It’s his home, Dawn. Did you think he was gone for good?’
‘One can live in hope. I’m surprised that little shit Jagger’s let him come back on his own. I thought he’d be standing guard at the very least.’
‘Ah,’ Becky said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s not been made public yet, but I can tell you that Roger Jagger died last night. He was murdered.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘Jagger? Dead?’ She paused, her eyes never leaving Becky’s. ‘Maybe there is a God after all. What happened?’
‘It seems he was attacked from behind. The element of surprise – no one is immune to danger in those circumstances.’
‘Well, when you find out who did it, please let me know. I’d like to say thank you. Or maybe kick him in the nuts for failing to get Cameron too.’
Dawn suddenly grinned, and Becky found herself liking this woman. Horrified as she clearly was by her husband’s return, she had a dark sense of humour, and Becky smiled back, determined to find out the worst about Cameron Edmunds and free this family from his clutches.
53
I reverse my car into a spot in the hospice car park so I can watch people come and go. I wonder if Scott will take the bait. If he comes, I want to see him before he sees me. If I’m right and he’s been tracking my activity on the Facebook group, he’ll be checking to see if I comment and he’ll know I’m here. I have sent him a clear invitation.
As I watch the door, I think about the Scott I knew when he was barely more than a boy. He made mistakes – we both did – and we were so scared. But our fear wore different faces. In Scott’s case, the threat of physical violence hung over him like a black cloud. He tried to hide his addiction to gambling from me, and I turned a blind eye because it played to my own anxiety. I don’t know what frightened me the most – losing Scott, not being strong enough to support the person I loved, or recognising that I was an idiot who didn’t have the guts to run when she should have.
How many of us can look back to the days before we were fully formed emotionally and say that we didn’t make mistakes? For most, those mistakes remain in the past. Mine first came back to haunt me eighteen months ago, in the shape of Cameron Edmunds and Roger Jagger, but I had that problem under control. I was repaying the debt, saving my family from losing everything we had and my mum from losing her home. I hated the lying, but I loved the thrill of poker. It was such a heady mixture – the deception, the fear of failure, the ecstatic relief when a bluff worked, and the joy at a big win.
I was Anna Franklyn by day – a model of decorum – and by night Saskia Peterson – the exciting, sexy, audacious woman I had dreamed of becoming since I was eighteen years old.
And now this. Scott wants to hurt me – either emotionally, physically or both – and I bang the heel of my hand on the steering wheel. How dare he? If it hadn’t been for Scott and my desire to help him, my life would have been so different. If I’d reported him to the police for stealing the charity money, I wouldn’t have defrauded my friends and family, borrowed money from Cameron, put my home at risk. The thought of all we did never leaves me. It’s a heavy load that sits on my shoulders, weighing me down, and it’s all Scott’s fault. He has no right to make me suffer again.
I have to stop him before he does his worst. I can see the headlines now:
PRIMARY SCHOOL HEAD DEFRAUDED HER PARENTS AND FRIENDS.
I feel a fresh moment of shame because, scared as I am, furious as I am, I have to admit to a tiny frisson of excitement at the thought of seeing Scott again. Whatever else happened – however I felt by the end – he was my first love, and the trepidation that constantly threatened to derail us only served to heighten our passion. It was a time of intense emotion, so fierce that I have never experienced anything like it since, and have never wanted to, happy to settle for security and predictability.
I feel my eyes flood with tears as I acknowledge that I have chosen to replace the fiery heat I’ve fought shy of in my marriage with the thrill of the poker table. Dominic is a good man, but if ever there was a time to recognise the truth, it’s now, and I have to admit that sometimes I feel stifled
. The warm blanket that he wraps around us all sometimes threatens to suffocate me. I began to play poker because I needed to save myself, my marriage, my home and my mother’s home, but now I don’t want to stop. It’s the only time I soar to the heights of excitement that I crave.
I quickly brush my tears away with the back of my hand as a man gets out of a car and walks towards the door to the hospice. He is about forty, too old for Scott, and I feel a pang of disappointment. Whatever logic tells me and however much he is scaring me, deep down I can’t deny that I’m hoping to see him. Surely he will turn up?
My thoughts are disturbed by a ping from my phone and I glance down. A Messenger notification. The name of the sender is one I don’t recognise, and I know without looking that his profile will tell me nothing.
Swallowing the tightness in my throat, I open it.
Spike! How lovely to hear from you. I know that FB post was meant for me, but sadly I can’t get to Colwyn Bay to see my wonderful mother today, so I’m going to miss you. I hope you’ve not been waiting long! I’m surprised you managed to get away, especially with your little boy home from school. Is he not well?
My body tenses. How does he know about Bailey? He must have been to the house. I need to call Dominic. Without reading the rest of the message, I call home. There is no answer. Has Scott hurt my baby? I try Dominic on his mobile. It rings once, twice, three times. Any moment now it will switch to voicemail and then I’ll panic. But Dom answers. I can tell he’s in the car – I can hear traffic.
‘Where are you, Dom?’ I practically shout down the phone.
‘Calm down. I’ve just popped to the supermarket for something to eat. Why? Where’s the fire?’
‘Where’s Bailey?’ My voice is fast, urgent.
‘Christ, Anna, what are you all worked up about? He’s with me of course. He was feeling a bit better so I decided to risk taking him out, but he’s fallen asleep.’
The Shape of Lies: New from the queen of psychological thrillers Page 22