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

Page 23

by Rachel Abbott


  ‘Let me speak to him.’

  ‘I’m not going to wake him. He’s fine. What the hell’s the problem, and where are you?’

  Once more I lie. ‘I’m sitting outside the trustees’ office about to go in for a meeting. I left you a message.’

  ‘So what’s the Bailey anxiety all about then?’

  I try to slow my breathing. ‘Sorry. I heard something on the news about a little boy who’s been abducted, and it frightened me.’

  ‘Really? I’ve had the news on and I didn’t hear it.’

  ‘You must have been on a different station. Just give him a kiss from me, won’t you?’ Dom must think I have lost it altogether, but now I know my son is safe, I need to avoid further questions. ‘Oh crap. They’re watching me from the window. I need to go in. See you later,’ I say, and end the call.

  Taking another deep breath, I go back and read the rest of the message from Scott.

  I’d love a chance to reminisce, talk about our days at uni and especially those last days in Nebraska. Remember my old home? Course you do. You’ve already been to my town, haven’t you? Nothing gets past me! Let’s meet there tomorrow. 10 a.m. suit you? At the house. I’m “dying” to see you. Love Scott xx

  My mouth is dry, my hands shaking. I stare at the message for minutes. I feel as if the world has gone silent around me, the buzzing in my ears drowning out the birdsong. Putting ‘dying’ in speech marks says it all. That has to be why he’s here. It has to be revenge for what I did to him – for leaving him to die.

  For a moment I wish I hadn’t started this, but there’s no way I can refuse to meet him now. He’s been watching us and he feels like a constant threat to my children. Unless I deal with him now, I will forever be looking over my shoulder, scared to allow Holly and Bailey out of my sight.

  I briefly think about the police. But what would I say? I have no evidence that Scott has been following my family or that he was the one to break into our shed. And his messages say nothing that would look odd to anyone other than me.

  But whatever he has planned, there is one thing that Scott knows about me that nobody else must ever know. He knows what happened to our baby. So I take a deep breath and force my fingers to be steady as I type my response.

  I’ll be there.

  54

  ‘Right, Mr Edmunds,’ Tom said. ‘Could you please either give me the combination to the safe, or open it yourself, and then stand back so that we can remove the contents?’

  Cameron gave Tom a hard stare. ‘Why would I do that?’

  Tom wasn’t having a great week, and his tolerance was in limited supply. He slammed the folder he was holding onto the desk.

  ‘Because if you want us to catch Roger Jagger’s killer, you will save us all some time and just bloody well do it.’

  Tom saw Keith quickly disguise a startled expression, but Cameron must have realised he had little choice so pushed himself up from his chair and strode over to the safe.

  Tom didn’t know what he was expecting to find, but he wasn’t particularly surprised to see stacks of notes, mostly fifties by the look of things, piled at the back of the safe. In front of the money was an old-fashioned leather-covered ledger that looked like the kind of book companies used to keep their accounts before computers took over the world, and a large brown envelope.

  Pulling a forensic glove from his pocket, Tom lifted the ledger and envelope from the safe. ‘You can close the safe again, for now,’ he said.

  He wasn’t interested in the money as such, only in its source, and he was hoping the ledger would give him that information.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Edmunds, while I take a look.’

  He opened the unsealed envelope and pulled out about thirty photographs. Every picture had been taken in a casino, mostly at the blackjack table or by the roulette wheel, and each showed a different male player. The photos had one thing in common: a smiling girl at the centre of each image, her arm draped over the shoulders of the man or leaning over to place chips with his arm around her waist. There were six different girls, and most of the images had faded slightly, suggesting they were several years old.

  ‘What are these?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Just photos.’

  ‘I can see that, but why are they in your safe?’

  ‘What do they look like? They’re some of the prostitutes who hang out at the club, okay?’

  Tom wondered if they had been taken in order to blackmail either the men or the girls – some of whom looked no more than eighteen – but there was no evidence of that, so he put them to one side for now.

  He flipped open the ledger, which had been maintained beautifully. The writing was neat, and a couple of summary pages referenced individual detailed pages further into the book.

  ‘Explain this ledger to me, please,’ Tom said to Cameron, who had returned to his chair, rocking back as if indifferent.

  ‘It’s a list of people who at some time or another came to me as a friend to ask if I would lend them money.’

  ‘Why would you lend money to so many friends?’

  ‘What the fuck has this got to do with who killed Jagger? Isn’t that the priority?’

  Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘It seems to me that someone was seriously pissed off with either one or both of you, and, looking at this, money has to be high on the list of motives. We’ll be investigating every single one of these so-called “friends” to see what they have to say. It would save us a lot of time if you talked us through the list so we can prioritise.’

  Keith pulled out his mobile phone and placed it on the desk.

  ‘You are not under arrest, but we would like to record this conversation, so I need to caution you. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  Cameron shrugged. ‘Look, the ledger was Jagger’s province. I’ve told you what it is. I’ve always had money. I’ve tried to help people where I can.’

  ‘And do you always get the money back?’

  ‘Some fail to find the funds to repay me, but most, generally speaking, manage it.’

  ‘What happens to those who fail?’

  Cameron stared at Tom for a moment, and it seemed he had finally realised that Tom wasn’t going to give up. He sighed and shook his head as if it had nothing to do with him.

  ‘Jagger could be quite persuasive.’

  ‘And I’m sure you know that any form of harassment used to recover a debt constitutes breaking the law.’

  ‘I never asked him about his methods.’

  Cameron’s mouth twitched, as if he knew Tom couldn’t touch him now that Jagger was no longer available to be questioned. With a minimum of two hundred names in the ledger, Tom’s team had a huge task ahead of them. Their first job was to either implicate or eliminate each person from the two murders, but all they needed was just one of them to give evidence that the money had been demanded back with threats, and Cameron Edmunds would be finished.

  Tom pulled up a chair to the desk and sat down to skim through the ledger, knowing it would require a much more detailed look but hoping something would leap out at him. Most of the entries seemed straightforward, showing what appeared to be an initial sum borrowed, the rate of interest – which had increased substantially in recent years – and the date of each payment.

  There were gaps in some of the payment schedules, but almost all of them recommenced within a few weeks. These people should be questioned first and it would be interesting to find out how they had been persuaded to start paying again. One entry stood out. The initial date of borrowing was fifteen years ago. Repayments were sporadic, and then a note had been made: ‘Hold until September.’ After September, two thick black lines had been drawn across the page, and there was no more income recorded.

  A couple of pages further on was a second entry, also with a hold notice. Under that was a question mark, and then – seemingly fr
om nowhere – repayments had started again eighteen months ago, over twelve years since the hold notice was added. And the repayments were substantial.

  The first name was S. Roberts. The second was A. Osborne.

  ‘Tell me about “S. Roberts”, Cameron,’ Tom said, having dispensed with calling him Mr Edmunds as it showed a level of respect he didn’t feel the man deserved.

  ‘Scott was a friend at university. He begged me to lend him some money. I believe he had a girlfriend with expensive tastes. I was happy to help out. He asked for a repayment break, which I granted him, but he died – many years ago now.’

  ‘And “A. Osborne”?’

  ‘She helped out at my father’s casino for a while, so I gave her a break too. She never came back to university but turned up again not long ago and was happy to repay her debt.’

  Tom stared hard at Cameron, who returned the look without wavering. Tom found it hard to believe that the woman had sought Cameron out with the intention of paying off her debt after all that time, and the repayments seemed out of all proportion to the original loan, so she had to be high on the list of people to interview. And he had no intention of taking Cameron’s word that Scott Roberts was dead either.

  He closed the book with a thud as Becky poked her head round the door. ‘Boss, I’ve just had a call from Lynsey. We think we’ve got something.’

  Tom felt a burst of energy at the thought of a breakthrough and pushed himself out of the chair.

  ‘Keith, can you stay here with Mr Edmunds, please? Give him a receipt for the ledger – and Cameron, please answer DS Sims’ questions about Jagger’s movements yesterday. And yours on Monday. We need to know where you were between leaving the casino and the body being found in your car. Don’t mess us about. The sooner we know who killed Jagger and possibly tried to kill you, the sooner you’ll be able to return to your normal life.’

  Tempting as it was, Tom didn’t add ‘until we lock you up’.

  He followed Becky out of the room.

  Tom left Edmunds Towers – as he privately thought of the house – ahead of Becky, who despite her claim to be driving more slowly these days still managed to beat him back to the incident room. She was bending low over a monitor with Lynsey when he walked in.

  ‘What’ve we got?’

  Lynsey turned to look up at him.

  ‘When we looked at the CCTV close to the car park where the first body was found, it was impossible to identify any suspects. The streets weren’t busy, but they weren’t deserted either, and no one stood out as looking particularly suspicious. I did notice one guy wearing a hoody with the hood up and his head down, though, which seemed odd given how hot it was even at that time in the morning, but there was nothing more than that to attract my attention.’

  Tom stared at the CCTV and watched the man walk down the road for a couple of seconds. ‘And?’

  ‘I picked him up again on a street close to the car park where Jagger was killed.’ Lynsey split the screen to show the two images side by side. ‘The walk is the same. Head down, not running but certainly not strolling. He looks like a man on a mission.’

  Tom could see she was right. This was way too much of a coincidence.

  ‘So where does he go?’

  ‘Ah, there’s the rub. He disappears into the car park under Manchester Central. He could have got into a car there, or he could have walked out through one of the many exits.’

  ‘Bloody car parks,’ Tom muttered.

  ‘We’ve got as many people as possible scouring CCTV from both before and after Jagger’s murder, and from Monday as well. We’ll get him, sir.’

  ‘Have we ruled out all the residents?’

  ‘Not entirely. We’ve got some interesting intel on one of them. I was at the apartment building last night, and a woman gave a false name. Anna Franklyn. Claimed to be Saskia Peterson.’

  ‘Does that make her a suspect in your view, or is she just some woman leading a double life?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t find any connection between her and either of the victims other than a very tenuous link: they briefly attended the same university. And the fact that she – together with about a hundred other people – has an apartment in the building above the car park where Jagger was killed. I don’t think she’s physically strong enough to have killed him, given how he died, so I don’t think she’s a suspect, but she’s lying about something.’

  Tom’s mobile phone rang. He looked at Lynsey and shrugged.

  ‘Yes, Philippa. What can I do for you?’

  He listened as she asked him to come straight to her office. The assistant chief constable was with her, demanding to know if they were looking at a serial killer.

  He hung up. ‘Anything else, Lynsey?’

  ‘Not really.’ She nodded at the screen. ‘I’ve written up the report, so I’ll email it to you.’

  Tom smiled his thanks and hurried towards the lift.

  55

  I’m dreading going home. I don’t know what to say to Dominic. It feels as if every word that comes out of my mouth is a lie, and I’ll have to lie to him tomorrow too, because nothing is going to stop me from going to see Scott.

  I need to be the hunter, not the hunted. I am much stronger than I was all those years ago, and I must summon every scrap of my strength to deal with whatever comes, to protect my family even if it means risking my own safety.

  Whatever it takes, I will win this battle.

  My new-found determination fades a little as I pull into our drive. Dominic’s car isn’t here, and that’s a surprise. He should have picked Holly up from school and he hasn’t called to say that he was going out. Where are my children?

  I fling open the car door, but before my panic has a chance to build, my question is answered. ‘Mummy!’

  I hear the shout from next-door’s porch and I sag with relief. I can just make out Holly’s head over the hedge, and I assume Bailey – too short to be seen – is with her.

  Della pokes her head around her front door, drying her hands on a tea towel. ‘Hi, Anna. Holly collected from school, as promised. And Bailey’s perked up a bit, haven’t you, sweetie?’ Della looks down towards where I assume my son is standing. ‘Is everything okay with you, Anna? You look a bit peaky. Dominic said you were at the gym again last night when I popped round. Don’t go overdoing it, love.’

  Della’s brow is furrowed and I wonder what Dominic has told her. And where is he?

  ‘Everything’s fine – thanks, Della. I really appreciate you picking Holly up.’ I smile as if I knew all along that she had been asked.

  ‘Come on, kids,’ I say, and I walk to the end of Della’s drive so they can run to me, Bailey with his arms out to be picked up. He’s still such a baby. ‘Are you feeling better now, Bubbles?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ he says slightly mournfully, as if he’ll get more fuss if he’s not quite well.

  ‘Have you had anything to eat at Della’s?’

  ‘She gave me a sandwich after school,’ Holly says. ‘It was yucky egg, though.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t say that, Holly. It was very kind of her to look after you.’

  ‘I had soup for lunch,’ Bailey says. ‘Della said it would make my throat feel better.’

  Lunch? Why was Bailey at Della’s for lunch? So he wasn’t with Dominic when I spoke to him. Why did he lie?

  ‘Did Daddy say where he was going, Bailey?’ I ask, my voice as nonchalant as I can make it.

  ‘No.’

  He doesn’t offer any more than that, and much as I want to quiz him, I don’t want the children to feel my concern. I’m desperate to phone Dom, but I force myself to take deep breaths and acknowledge to myself that I’m probably overreacting, given everything else that’s been happening.

  Holly is in a chatty mood and I can’t just ignore her, but although I check my mobile every few minutes, there is no message from my husband. Finally, breaking all my usual rules, I give them both another sandwich and as a treat I sit them
down on the sofa to watch a cartoon. I take my phone into the kitchen and call Dominic.

  To my surprise, he answers after the first ring.

  ‘Dom, where are you?’ I ask.

  ‘Ah, sorry about this. I thought I’d be back by now. Busted, it seems.’ He chuckles.

  ‘That isn’t an answer. Where are you?’ I repeat.

  ‘On a wild-goose chase,’ he answers unhelpfully.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Do I have to tell you?’ He pauses, and I wait. ‘Okay, I suppose I do. I’m in Lancaster.’

  Whatever is he doing there? It’s where I finished my degree and did my teacher training, but we don’t keep in touch with anyone there, and my mum is much further north.

  ‘Anna,’ he says, a question in his voice, ‘are you okay?’

  ‘No, not really. Why Lancaster?’

  I hear a sigh. ‘You’ve caught me red-handed. It was supposed to be a surprise.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling, I’d hoped to be home by now so you’d never find out, but life is never simple, is it?’

  I have no idea what he is talking about.

  ‘I don’t really want to tell you, but you’re sounding all suspicious so I suppose I’ve got no choice. What’s coming up in the next couple of weeks?’

  I know what he means. It’s my birthday.

  ‘I can tell by your silence that you’ve guessed. Look, I would really like this to be a surprise, so can we leave it there?’

  What can I say? I know where he’s been. There’s a wonderful antique jewellery shop in Lancaster, and Dom caught me looking at their website recently. What he doesn’t know is that I was thinking of something for Saskia, not for Anna, but I’m certain that’s where he’s been.

  ‘Why did you tell me Bailey was with you?’

  ‘Because you were in a state of panic over something. I knew he was safe, but if I’d told you he was with Della you’d have phoned her, told her to lock her doors and windows and all kinds of stuff. And you’d have demanded I go straight home. And I checked, Anna. I phoned Della as soon as you hung up, just to be sure he was okay.’

 

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