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

Page 24

by Rachel Abbott


  There’s not much I can say to that. He’s right. I was panicking, but I couldn’t tell him why.

  ‘How long before you’re home?’

  ‘It looks like the weather’s about to break, and when it does, there’s going to be a storm, so I guess I’ll be about an hour and a half. Sorry, darling. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.’

  I look out of the window. The air has been getting heavier and heavier as the week has gone on, and I see a flash of lightning against the dark sky.

  ‘Drive safely,’ I say softly.

  By ten o’clock I’m pacing up and down, frantic with worry. I’ve tried Dom’s mobile at least twenty times, but he hasn’t answered. Where is he?

  It’s hours since I spoke to him, and he was only in Lancaster. The weather is dreadful, and I pray he’s not been in an accident. Why doesn’t he call me?

  I feel this is punishment for my earlier thoughts about the mundane nature of my marriage. I remind myself that I consciously chose my husband for his reliability and consistency in preference to the thrill of danger and uncertainty, and however confused I am right now, I want him home and safe.

  56

  Tom pulled up outside the modern detached house that he had visited so many times in the last few years and was relieved to see lights on inside. It was still early, although the sky was becoming blacker by the moment, but at least it seemed someone was in.

  As he stepped out of the car, the first heavy drops of rain splattered onto the pavement and his head, so he ran for the shelter of the small porch and pressed the bell.

  He heard footsteps on wooden flooring and the door opened.

  ‘Oh! I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘Hello, Kate. Can I come in?’

  Kate turned her head to glance over her shoulder and up the stairs. Tom guessed that Lucy was in her room and, if she was running true to form, would probably have headphones on, listening to something on her phone or Snapchatting with friends.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Kate said ungraciously.

  She set off down the hall towards the kitchen without another word, and Tom followed, watching as his ex-wife headed straight for the fridge and pulled out a half-empty bottle of white wine. Tom wondered if it was the remnants from another night, or whether she had already started drinking. She splashed some of the wine into a glass.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Mr Holier Than Thou. You know how to drink too. Don’t forget, I’ve known you for a long time.’

  She was right. There was a period after Kate left him and took Lucy to live two hundred miles away when Tom had drunk far more than he should have, but it was no longer true. He enjoyed a glass of wine and an occasional whisky, but that was it.

  ‘I’m not judging you, Kate. It’s not like you, that’s all. You’ve never been a heavy drinker.’

  ‘You haven’t lived with me for ten years, so you no longer have any idea what I get up to in my own time.’

  This was true, although throughout those ten years Tom had been picking Lucy up and dropping her off regularly, and in the spirit of making things as normal for their daughter as possible, he had often popped in for a friendly-ish chat with his ex-wife. She had found it difficult initially, resenting the fact that Tom had been able to resist her charms when she had offered to come back to him the minute her new relationship had fallen apart. But despite their history he had never wanted to hurt her, sensing she struggled to deal with the consequences of the decisions she had made, and over the years their relationship had become easier. Until now.

  ‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on? We’ve always agreed that for Lucy’s sake we would be civil and never use her as a bargaining tool. We also agreed that neither of us would blame the other for the break-up of our marriage. So what’s changed?’

  Kate gave him a hard glare, as if he had done something wrong. If he had, he had no idea what it was.

  She turned her back, took a swig of wine, filled her glass again and slammed the bottle down on the worktop. He waited.

  Finally she turned back towards him, but her gaze was fixed on the floor. ‘Do you remember I asked you for some extra money to fund a trip Lucy wanted to go on to London a few weeks ago?’

  Tom nodded.

  ‘Part of that trip was to the Stock Exchange.’ She lifted her eyes. ‘Guess who was giving the talk?’

  He knew the answer just from looking at her face. Declan. The man she had left him for when Lucy was three years old.

  ‘Surely Lucy didn’t remember him, and he couldn’t possibly have recognised her.’

  ‘You’d have thought not, but he had a list of all the pupils – he had to have their names to get passes for them. And it turns out he has been checking out my Facebook page. Lucy is on my profile picture. He put the name and the face together, and hey presto!’ She took another gulp of wine.

  ‘So what? Kate, it doesn’t matter if she knows about Declan. We never lied to her.’

  She looked at him over the rim of her glass. ‘No?’

  ‘We told her all along that things between us hadn’t been good for a while, that you found someone you thought would make you happier, but that it didn’t work out.’

  ‘Yes, but we omitted to mention that you were perfectly happy and didn’t actually know that things weren’t too good.’

  For a moment Tom wished he didn’t have to drive because he would have quite liked a glass of wine himself.

  ‘This is stupid. How does this matter now? Yes, I was hurt, angry, all of those things. But neither of us is blameless. The fact that I didn’t know something was wrong says a lot about where my head was. What did the idiot say to her?’

  Kate smiled for the first time. ‘You were never a fan, were you?’

  Tom just gave her a look.

  ‘He asked if her mum was called Kate, and then – according to Lucy – he smirked and whispered, “Did your dad ever forgive her for doing the dirty on him?” or something equally foul. We had always made out that our marriage was effectively over before I left you for Declan, and he blew that wide open.’

  Lucy would have been mortified if any of her friends had heard and would have come back ranting and raving at Kate.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? We could have talked to her together. You know I wouldn’t have let her believe that. And why did you think it would help to tell her that I refused to get back together?’

  ‘Why not? It’s true.’ Kate’s mouth turned down at the corners, and for a moment Tom thought she was going to cry.

  ‘I don’t get it. I’m sorry, but I can’t see why we couldn’t have dealt with it properly, instead of putting a child in a position where she has to take sides.’

  ‘Maybe I wanted her to take sides.’

  ‘Why, though?’

  This time he could see that Kate was definitely hanging onto her composure by a thread. She shook her head, but her eyes were full of tears.

  ‘Kate?’ he said, his voice gentle. He could feel her pain, but he had no idea why she was so upset.

  Kate swallowed hard. ‘I wanted her to love me most. Just for a while. She’s always told me that I’ll never find anyone half as good as you, and when Declan told her it was all my fault I knew she would hate me. She would have got over it, I’m sure, but I don’t know if she would have got over it in time. So I told her I’d offered to come back and you’d turned me down.’

  There was something wrong – there had to be. Even though Kate had always felt Lucy loved him more, needing all of Lucy’s love was new.

  ‘What is it, Kate? Tell me. Let me help. What do you mean, “in time”? In time for what?’

  This time she let the tears fall.

  ‘I’ve got cancer.’

  Friday

  57

  The weather broke with a vengeance last night, the storm raging as I waited by the phone for news of Dominic. I called the local hospitals, checked to see if there had been any accidents on the M6, tried his mobile again and again, while simult
aneously trying to persuade the children that all was well and Daddy would be home soon.

  Eventually I managed to get them to bed with a promise to send him straight up to see them when he got in, knowing that Bailey at least would be asleep by then.

  In the end I heard his car at just before one in the morning and rushed to the door.

  ‘Thank God, Dom. What happened? Are you okay?’ I said, following him as he stomped into the sitting room and flung himself into a chair. ‘I was so worried about you.’

  ‘I’m fine, no thanks to the moron who forced me off the road. The bastard didn’t even stop.’

  He sounded livid, so I went to sit on the arm of the chair and reached out to him, but he was in no mood to be soothed.

  ‘With all the rain, maybe he didn’t see you.’

  ‘Bollocks. Course he did.’

  ‘Surely you don’t think he did it on purpose?’

  ‘Either that or he was a bloody blind idiot. It said on the radio that cars were aquaplaning on the M61, so I came off the motorway. The stupid bastard was right behind me, his headlights blinding me, and then he edged out as if he was going to overtake. I drove as close to the side of the road as I could to let him past, but then he cut in front of me and I skidded off into some bushes. Bumped my head, scratched the front of the car too. Wait till you see it.’

  ‘Oh, Dom, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me? You must have known I would be frantic with worry.’

  ‘My bloody mobile couldn’t get a signal – must have been a black spot. I was standing out there in the pissing rain, but the few cars that passed weren’t interested in being flagged down by some sodden guy at the side of the road, and it took ages before someone stopped to help.’

  ‘What did they do?’

  ‘Called the rescue service to tow me out. But they were busy and took forever to get to me. I should have called you as soon as I was back on the road and had a signal, but all I could think about was getting home.’

  ‘Never mind that. You’re here now. Have you reported it?’

  ‘What’s the point? I didn’t get a number.’ Dominic looked away from me.

  ‘What? What are you not telling me, Dom?’

  ‘I don’t want to scare you, but I think I recognised the car. I’ve seen it around here for the past few days. I told you someone was watching the house, but I’m not sure you believed me.’

  Scott, you bastard. I knew then that I couldn’t back out of going to see him, even if I wanted to. I had to get away from Dominic before he saw the rage behind my eyes.

  ‘Can I get you anything – a drink, painkillers?’

  He pushed himself out of the chair. ‘No, but thanks. My head’s not too sore. I’m just furious. I’d prefer just to go to bed, if that’s okay. I’m sorry you were worried, darling.’ Dom attempted a smile, but it was a weak effort as I’m sure was my own.

  I don’t think I slept at all, my mind turning over everything that had happened, speculating about Dom’s accident. Had Scott really forced him off the road? Why would he do that? I didn’t come up with any answers.

  It was hard to wake Dominic this morning, and for a few moments I worried that my plans for the day were about to be scuppered and I would be forced to take the children to school. But at the last moment he had pushed himself wearily from bed. ‘Go to work,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk later.’

  The temperature has dropped by at least ten degrees overnight, and as I drive to my destination – my rendezvous with Scott – pedestrians are huddled beneath umbrellas that struggle to stay open against a fierce wind, dark macs are back on, and there are no more bright summer dresses on display. And yet, cold as it is, I feel clammy. My chest is tight, my breathing shallow, and I dread to think what today is going to bring.

  I have told Jennie that I need to be with my mother and will be in Cumbria until Sunday but have promised to be back at work on Monday. That assumes I am still alive, of course. There is a vindictiveness about Scott’s actions that is so unlike the boy I used to know. He made mistakes, he let me down badly, but he wasn’t evil. If he has changed so much that he is prepared to seek revenge by taking two lives, what might he do to me? I shiver at the thought.

  Even if I escape unharmed, how can I persuade him to stop preying on my family, watching our every move, and from revealing my crimes on the radio for all to hear? If I can’t, I’ll be working on my letter of resignation on Monday and very possibly moving out of the home I share with my husband and children. I know Dom won’t let me stay.

  All night I have been going over my decision to go to Wales today, but I don’t know what else I can do. How else can I stop him? Scott seems intent on taking revenge on everyone who ever hurt him – Cameron, Jagger and now me. My hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter. I should feel glad he’s alive – it means I can stop thinking of myself as a killer – but for the first time I regret the fact that I haven’t brought some sort of weapon with me today, and right now I wish I had killed him fourteen years ago, as I always believed I did.

  I have no idea how he survived, but I think I understand why he never came home – why he wanted the world to believe he was dead. He would have been in debt to Cameron for the rest of his life. Instead, he left me to that fate.

  I take a deep breath to try to slow my breathing, but I can’t shift the solid ball of terror from my chest, and despite the cold blast from the air conditioning as I pull onto the M56 to head for north Wales, I feel a bead of sweat slither uncomfortably down my back.

  In spite of everything he’s done, though, a tiny treacherous piece of me wants to see him – the boy I loved with such fierce passion, who I would have done anything for even though it meant breaking the law and ignoring every value I held dear. At least, that’s how I felt until the very end – that last day – when he let me down so badly that I was prepared to watch him die.

  58

  Becky turned at the sound of Tom’s voice as he said good morning to the team, all of whom had come in at the crack of dawn. She had been looking forward to giving him some good news about the CCTV results, but one look at him and the smile slid from her face. He looked dreadful. There was an unhealthy pallor to his skin, and he had deep, dark circles under his eyes. He was smiling at everyone, but she could see it was an effort. What on earth was wrong with him?

  He must have sensed her gaze and he lifted his eyes to hers and shook his head very slightly. ‘Don’t ask,’ his expression said.

  With slightly less of a bounce in her step, she approached him with her news. ‘Hey, boss,’ she said quietly, ‘have you got time for an update?’

  ‘I certainly have,’ he responded, rubbing his hands together with more enthusiasm than was absolutely necessary.

  ‘We think we know who our man is. Lynsey was here all night, checking through CCTV from the car park our suspect disappeared into.’ For a moment Tom looked as if he hadn’t got a clue what she was talking about. ‘If you remember, after he left the scene of Jagger’s murder we managed to track him until he went into Manchester Central car park. Well, we think we’ve got him!’ Becky pointed to her screen. ‘We’re as certain as we can be that this is him, leaving in a car.’

  Tom peered closely. The man still had his hood up, but the hoody had distinctive branding on the shoulder.

  ‘Lynsey’s a smart girl. I presume we got the registration?’

  ‘We did indeed. Keith’s on it now. It’s registered to a Dorothy Matthews, who is obviously not the driver, but he’ll find out who was driving it last night. It’s still early, so hopefully we’ll catch her before she starts her day, and the registration number’s been circulated nationally on PNC. Shall I come and find you in your office when we’ve got something, bring you a cup of coffee?’

  ‘Please. And I presume we’re checking where the car went?’

  ‘Of course. We’re trying to trace where it was headed on ANPR.’

  Tom gave Becky what passed for a grateful smile and made his way out of t
he incident room, looking as if he were a million miles away.

  Becky started to plough her way through all the other intelligence that had come in overnight, deciding what was important and what wasn’t, but less than ten minutes later Keith came to her with a sheet of paper.

  ‘Interesting,’ he said, looking very pleased with himself. ‘Mrs Matthews sold her car last week to someone she described as a nice young man with a Welsh accent. She keeps meaning to post the registration document but hasn’t got round to it. But we’ve got the new owner’s name and address. We’re seeing what intelligence we can gather on him now.’

  Becky took the piece of paper from his hand. ‘Well done, Keith. I’ll go and brief the boss.’

  She hurried along the corridor to find Tom, forgetting the promised cup of coffee. His door was closed – never a good sign – so she knocked lightly before pushing it open. He looked up from his desk; the haggard look had returned to his face.

  ‘Tom, are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. What have you got?’

  Tom hated sharing personal matters – even with Becky, who had known him for years – and now wasn’t the time to push him, so she slapped the piece of paper down in front of him.

  ‘The person seen in the vicinity of the murders of Derek Brent and Roger Jagger is a man called Scott Roberts. He bought the car from Mrs Matthews a few days ago. Keith’s working through anything we can find on him.’

  Tom frowned and, saying nothing to Becky, picked up his desk phone and pressed a button. ‘Keith, can you bring Edmunds’ ledger in, please?’

  ‘What’s up?’ Becky asked.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  They sat in an uncomfortable silence. If Tom didn’t want to talk, she wasn’t going to try to make him. Fortunately, it was only a minute or two later when they heard Keith’s brisk step in the corridor.

  With a sharp rap on the door, he pushed it open and handed Tom the ledger. ‘Sir.’ He stood awaiting further orders.

 

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