by B. A. Paris
‘How was your husband the next day, Mrs Anderson?’ PC Thomas takes over.
‘Just his normal self. I went shopping and when I came back he was in the garden. He’d had a bonfire.’
‘A bonfire?’
‘Yes, he’d been burning something. He said it was branches, which I thought was a bit strange as with the storm and everything they would have been too wet to burn. But he said they’d been under tarpaulin. He doesn’t usually burn braches on the bonfire though, we usually keep them for the chimney. But he said they were the wrong sort.’
‘The wrong sort?’
‘Yes, too smoky or something.’ I pause. ‘I thought maybe that was why the air smelt a bit funny.’
‘In what way?’
‘I don’t know. It just wasn’t the normal bonfire smell, you know, when you burn wood. But maybe it was the rain.’
‘Did he talk about the Jane Walters murder at all?’
‘All the time,’ I say, hugging myself tighter. ‘It really upset me, especially as I felt I’d known Jane.’ PC Thomas frowns and PC Lawson shakes her head imperceptibly, a warning not to interrupt me. ‘He seemed obsessed by it. I had to ask him to turn off the television on more than one occasion.’
‘Did your husband know Jane Walters?’ PC Lawson asks, studying my face. She looks over at PC Thomas. ‘Mrs Anderson had lunch with Jane Walters two weeks before she died,’ she explains.
‘No, he only knew of her, from what I’d told him about her. The day Jane and I had lunch, he came to pick me up but they didn’t meet. Jane saw him through the window though. I remember how surprised she looked,’ I say, smiling at the memory.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that she looked sort of shocked. A lot of people have that reaction because he’s… well, quite good-looking.’
‘So your husband didn’t know Jane Walters?’ PC Thomas says, looking disappointed.
‘No, but my friend Rachel Baretto did. That’s how I met Jane. Rachel took me to a leaving party for someone who worked at Finchlakers and Jane was there.’ I pause. ‘Rachel felt really bad when she heard about Jane because she had a row with her on the day she died.’
‘A row?’ PC Thomas perks up. ‘Did she say what it was about?’
‘She said it was over a parking space.’
‘A parking space?’
‘Yes.’
‘If she worked with Jane Walters, she must have been interviewed,’ interrupts PC Lawson.
‘She was,’ I nod. ‘I remember because she told me she felt bad that she didn’t tell you about the row. She was worried you might think she was guilty.’
‘Guilty?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of what?’
I look at her nervously. ‘I presume she meant the murder. So I told her that nobody would murder someone over a parking space.’ I look at her nervously. ‘Unless the row wasn’t over a parking space.’
PC Lawson gets out her mobile and taps something into it. ‘Why do you say that?’
I look out of the kitchen window to the garden beyond, bathed in the late summer sun. ‘Well, if it was over a parking space, why didn’t she tell you about it?’ I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, it’s just that I’m not feeling very happy with Rachel right now.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because she’s been having an affair.’ I look down at my hands. ‘With my husband.’
There’s a small silence. ‘How long has it been going on?’ PC Lawson asks.
‘I don’t know, I only found out about it recently. A couple of weeks ago, Rachel came over unexpectedly and I saw Matthew kissing her in the hall,’ I say, glad to be able to use something from their text messages against them, even if it means I’ve just lied to the police.
The two police officers exchange glances again.
‘Did you tell your husband what you’d seen?’ PC Thomas asks. ‘Did you confront him?’
‘No, he would only have dismissed it and say my mind was playing tricks on me like he did with the knife I saw in the kitchen.’ I hesitate a moment. ‘Sometimes I wonder if…’ I stop, wondering how far I should go in paying Matthew back for what he’s done.
‘Yes?’ PC Lawson prompts.
A pleasing image of handcuffs snapping around Matthew’s wrists comes to mind. ‘Sometimes I wonder if Jane knew about their affair,’ I say. ‘Sometimes I wonder if, when she saw him through the restaurant window, she looked shocked because she recognised him. I don’t know, maybe she’d seen him and Rachel together.’ Wanting to be sure they’re thinking what I want them to think, I spell it out for them. ‘When I found the knife in the shed just now I didn’t know what to think. At first, I thought the murderer had hidden it there and I was going to phone Matthew to ask him what I should do. And then I remembered that he didn’t believe me when I told him about the knife in the kitchen so I phoned you instead.’ I let tears fill my eyes. ‘But now I don’t know if I did the right thing because I know what you’re thinking, I know you think that Matthew is the murderer, that he killed Jane because she knew about him and Rachel and was going to tell me, but he can’t be, he can’t be!’
With perfect timing, Matthew arrives home.
‘What’s going on?’ he says, coming into the kitchen. He looks over to where I’m standing. ‘Did you set the alarm off again?’ He turns to PC Lawson. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been called out again. It’s very probable that my wife has early-onset dementia.’
I open my mouth to tell them that all I’ve been diagnosed with is stress but close it quickly, because at this point it isn’t really important.
‘We’re not here for the alarm,’ PC Lawson explains.
He puts his bag down on the floor, frowning. ‘Well, if you’re not here because of the alarm, can I ask what this is about?’
‘Have you seen this before?’ PC Thomas holds out the tea towel, the knife clearly visible.
We all hear the tiny hesitation. ‘No, why, what is it?’
‘It’s a knife, Mr Anderson.’
‘Good grief.’ Matthew sounds shocked. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘In your garden shed.’
‘In the garden shed?’ He manages to look incredulous. ‘How did it get there?’
‘That’s what we’re here to find out. Perhaps we can all go and sit down?’
‘Of course. If you’d like to come through.’
I follow everyone through to the sitting room. Matthew and I sit down on the sofa and the two officers draw up chairs. I don’t know if they do it on purpose but they place the chairs right opposite Matthew, hemming him in, leaving me out of their claustrophobic triangle.
‘Can I ask who found the knife?’ Matthew asks.
‘Your wife did,’ PC Lawson says.
‘I needed some flower pots to put some bulbs in,’ I explain. ‘It was in one of the big ones, wrapped in a tea towel.’
‘Do you recognise this tea towel?’ PC Thomas shows it to Matthew.
‘No, I’ve never seen it before.’
I give a nervous laugh. ‘That shows how often you dry the dishes,’ I say, pretending I’m trying to break the tension. ‘We have one exactly like it. Rachel brought it back from New York for us.’
‘What about this knife, Mr Anderson?’ PC Thomas asks again. ‘Have you seen it before?’
‘No.’ Matthew shakes his head firmly.
‘I was just saying that it looks exactly like the one I saw lying on the side that Sunday evening,’ I tell him earnestly.
‘We’ve been through all this before,’ Matthew says wearily. ‘It was our kitchen knife that you saw, remember?’
‘No, it wasn’t, it was a much bigger knife.’
‘Can I ask where you were on the night of Friday the seventeenth of July, Mr Anderson?’ PC Thomas asks.
‘I’m not sure I can remember that far back,’ Matthew says with a little laugh. But nobody laughs with him.
‘It was the night I went out with
the people from school,’ I say helpfully. ‘The night of the storm.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Matthew nods. ‘I was here, at home.’
‘Did you leave the house at all?’
‘No, I had a migraine and went to bed.’
‘Where did you sleep?’
‘In the spare room.’
‘Why did you sleep there, why not in your own bed?’
‘Because I didn’t want Cass to disturb me when she came in. Look, what’s going on? Why am I being questioned like this?’
PC Lawson studies him for a few seconds. ‘Just trying to establish a few facts, that’s all,’ she says.
‘What facts?’
‘A possible murder weapon has been found in your garden shed, Mr Anderson.’
Matthew’s mouth drops open. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting that I had anything to do with that young woman’s murder?’
PC Thomas looks at him thoughtfully. ‘What young woman would that be, Mr Anderson?’
‘You know very well who I mean!’ His veneer begins to crack and I watch him dispassionately, wondering how I could ever have loved him.
‘As I said, we’re trying to establish facts. Mr Anderson, how well do you know Rachel Baretto?’
The mention of Rachel surprises him. He looks up sharply. ‘Not very well. She’s my wife’s friend.’
‘So you’re not in a relationship with her.’
‘What? No! I can’t stand the woman!’
‘But I saw you kissing her,’ I say quietly.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘The day she came over unexpectedly, the day I couldn’t remember how to work the coffee machine, I saw you kissing her in the hall,’ I insist.
‘Not again,’ he groans. ‘You can’t keep making things up, Cass.’ But doubt has wormed its way into his eyes.
‘I think it might be better to continue this down at the station,’ PC Thomas interrupts. ‘Would that be all right, Mr Anderson?’
‘No, it would not!’
‘Then I’m afraid I’ll have to caution you.’
‘Caution me?’
I turn to them, looking anguished. ‘You don’t really think he killed Jane Walters, do you?’
‘What?’ Matthew looks as if he’s about to pass out.
‘It’s my fault,’ I say, wringing my hands. ‘They were asking me questions and now I’m scared that every little thing I told them is going to be used against you!’ He stares at me, horrified, while PC Thomas reads him his rights. When he gets to the end, I start sobbing as if my heart is broken, and I realise that I’m not pretending any more, because my heart has been broken, not only by Matthew but also by Rachel, who I had loved like a sister.
They lead him away and, once I’ve shut the door behind them, I dry my tears, because I haven’t finished yet. Now it’s Rachel’s turn.
I dial her number. I was only going to speak to her over the phone but as I wait for her to answer I decide to ask her to come round because it will be much more fun telling her what I have to tell her face to face, much more satisfying to actually see her reaction rather than just hear it.
‘Rachel, can you come round?’ I ask, tearfully. ‘I really need to talk to someone.’
‘I was just about to leave work,’ she says, ‘so I can be with you in about forty minutes, depending on traffic.’ For the first time, I’m able to detect a hint of boredom in her voice and I know she thinks I’m going to start banging on about the murderer being after me again.
‘Thank you,’ I say, sounding relieved. ‘Please hurry.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
She hangs up and I imagine her texting Matthew, as she’ll have bought a new phone by now. But with him in custody, she’s not going to be able to get hold of him.
She arrives an hour later, perhaps because of traffic, perhaps because she wanted to let me stew a little longer.
‘What’s happened, Cass?’ she asks as soon as I open the door. ‘Is it to do with Matthew?’ She looks worried, which means that I was right, that in the time since I phoned she’s been trying to get hold of him.
‘How do you know?’ I ask, looking surprised.
‘Well, you said you needed to talk so I presumed something had happened,’ she says, flustered. ‘And I thought maybe it was to do with Matthew.’
‘You’re right, it is,’ I say.
‘Has he had an accident or something?’ She can’t hide her panic.
‘No, nothing like that. Can we sit down?’
She follows me into the kitchen and sits down opposite me. ‘Just tell me what’s happened, Cass.’
‘Matthew’s been arrested. The police came and took him away for questioning.’ I look at her hopelessly. ‘What am I going to do, Rachel?’
She stares at me. ‘Arrested?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why?’
I wring my hands. ‘It’s my fault. They wrote down every little thing I said and now I’m scared they’re going to use it against him.’
She gives me a sharp look. ‘What do you mean?’
I take a deep breath. ‘This afternoon, while I was doing some gardening, I found a knife in the shed.’
‘A knife?’
‘Yes,’ I say, happy to see she’s gone pale. ‘I got such a fright, Rachel, it was horrible. It looked exactly like the one in the photo – you know, the one that was used to kill Jane. I don’t know whether I told you, you know what my memory is like, but one evening, when you were in Siena, I saw a huge knife lying on the side in the kitchen. But when I called Matthew to come and look, it had disappeared. So when I found the knife in the shed, I thought the murderer might have hidden it there, so I called the police—’
‘Why didn’t you call Matthew?’ she interrupts.
‘Because he didn’t believe me last time and I was worried he wouldn’t believe me this time. Anyway, he was already on his way home.’
‘So what happened? Why did they arrest Matthew?’
‘Well, the police came and they started asking me all sorts of questions, about where he was on the night of the murder…’
She looks suddenly frightened. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting that they think he’s guilty of killing Jane?’
‘I know, it’s mad, isn’t it? The thing is, he doesn’t really have an alibi for that night. I was out in Castle Wells – it was our end-of-term dinner – and he was here by himself. So he could have gone out. At least that’s the way the police seem to be looking at it.’
‘But he was here when you got back, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t see him. He had a migraine and went to sleep in the spare room so that I wouldn’t disturb him when I came in. But listen, Rachel, there’s something I need to ask you. You know the tea towel you brought me back from New York, the one with the picture of the Statue of Liberty on it? You said you bought one for yourself too.’ She nods. ‘Who else did you give one to?’
‘No one,’ she says.
‘You must have done,’ I insist. ‘It’s really important that you remember because it will prove Matthew’s innocence.’
‘What do you mean?’
I take a deep breath. ‘When I found the knife this afternoon it was wrapped in a Statue of Liberty tea towel, and when the police asked me if I recognised it, I had to say, yes, that it was ours. I felt terrible because it made Matthew look even guiltier. But after the police left, I found my tea towel in the cupboard – which means that whoever killed Jane is someone who has the same tea towel. So, think, Rachel, because it will prove that Matthew is innocent.’
I can see her mind racing, looking for a way out. ‘I don’t remember,’ she mumbles.
‘You bought one for yourself, didn’t you? Are you sure you didn’t give it away to someone?’
‘I don’t remember,’ she says again.
I sigh. ‘It would make the police’s life easier if you could remember but, don’t worry, they’ll get there in the end. They’re going to test the knife for f
ingerprints and DNA – they said there’s bound to be some. So Matthew will be in the clear because they won’t find any of his. But it might take a couple of days and, apparently, they can keep him in for twenty-four hours, and if they really suspect him of being involved in Jane’s murder, it can be for longer.’ I let tears fill my eyes. ‘I can’t bear the thought of him sitting there in a prison cell being treated like a criminal.’
She takes her car keys from her pocket. ‘I’d better go.’
I watch her face. ‘Don’t you want to stay for a cup of tea?’
‘No, I can’t.’
I go to the door with her.
‘By the way, did you find your friend’s phone? You know, the one you lost in the Spotted Cow?’
‘No,’ she says, flustered.
‘Well, you never know, it might still turn up. Someone might have handed it into the police by now.’
‘Look, I’ve really got to go. Bye, Cass.’
She hurries to her car and gets in. I wait until she’s started the engine then go over and knock on the window. She winds it down.
‘I forgot to tell you – the police asked me if I knew Jane and I said I’d first met her at that leaving party you took me to. So they asked me if you knew her and I said, no, but that you’d had an argument with her over a parking space on the day she died but that was all. But they didn’t seem to believe it was over a parking space. So try and remember about the tea towel, won’t you? When I phoned them earlier to tell them that I’d found mine in the cupboard, so it couldn’t be the one the knife was wrapped in, I said that the only other one I knew of was yours.’ I pause for effect. ‘You know what they’re like, they’ll use every little thing against you if they can.’
It feels good to see her eyes dart around, looking for somewhere to run. She rams her car into gear and tears out of the gate.
‘Bye, Rachel,’ I say softly as her car disappears down the road.
Back inside, I phone the police to tell them that the tea towel the knife was wrapped in isn’t mine because I’ve just found it in the cupboard. I remind them that it was Rachel who bought it for me and that she also bought one for herself. I ask about Matthew and pretend to be distressed at the news that they’re keeping him in overnight. And once I’ve hung up, I go to the fridge, take out the bottle of champagne we always keep there for unexpected guests and pour myself a glass.