The Bride: A twisty and completely gripping psychological thriller

by Wendy Clarke

  I can’t stop shaking. Noticing, the policewoman puts an arm around me and leads me to the settee. ‘I’ll make a cup of tea, shall I?’

  She’s different to the one who came here before, but the younger officer is the same.

  They’re not telling me much, and I wonder why. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s been taken to intensive care at The Royal London. Mr Price heard the crash and rang us.’

  ‘Mr Price?’

  ‘Derek Price. The security manager. He’s the one who let us in. He saw Mr Belmont leave the building earlier and was worried it might be him.’

  I sit in silence while the policewoman makes the tea and brings it over. She sits next to me.

  ‘Could you tell me why Mr Belmont was driving your car, Ms Solomon? Why he wasn’t driving his own?’

  I nod. ‘He took my car because he said his own had been playing up.’

  It’s the truth. A warning light had come on, and he didn’t want to risk it breaking down before he could make the drop-off.

  The policewoman hands me my mug of tea. ‘It appears that Mr Belmont was driving too fast. The chippings on the road are a skid risk and there really should be signs.’ She looks at me with sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, this must be a terrible shock for you.’

  ‘It is.’ Every word she says is too loud. Too harsh. ‘I can’t take it in.’

  The young officer is seated on the other settee. He leans forward. ‘And you say you don’t know where he was going in such a hurry?’

  ‘No, he didn’t say.’ I hope they can’t tell by my face that I’m lying.

  ‘Yet you were happy to give him your car keys?’

  I look down at my tea as though somehow it will give me a sign as to what I should say. ‘Yes.’

  ‘There was no argument? No reason you can think of for your friend to take the car and drive off at this time of night?’

  ‘I told you. No.’

  They’ve told me what happened. That my car was found embedded in the side of the old pumping station that I’d passed on my way into Black Water Dock last Saturday. Only Saturday? How could that be? It seems a lifetime ago.

  My heart clenches as I remember her words. A write off, she’d said. They’d had to cut the roof to get Mark out.

  Will they have found the holdall of money? Did he leave it on the seat or hide it somewhere? It will only be a matter of time before they find it.

  I cover my face with my hands. I don’t know what to do. What to say. I thought things couldn’t get worse, but it’s like a nightmare that won’t end. This is the time to tell them about Joanna. About Eloise too. It can’t be long before they find out the body Mark identified is hers. But something is stopping me.

  What about Joanna?

  My chest tightens. I’m so tightly bound in the web of lies and omissions I’ve told, it’s almost impossible to break free. Bile rises to my throat, and I wonder if I’m going to be sick.

  ‘Are you all right, Alice?’

  I swallow. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. It’s just such a shock.’

  ‘And Mr Belmont’s wife.’ The policewoman consults her notes. ‘Joanna. You say she’s not here? I’ve got down here that Mr Belmont reported her missing earlier this week but later contacted us to say he’d heard from her. We really do need to speak to her to let her know what’s happened. If you’ve a contact number or any idea of how we can get hold of her…’

  ‘I have a number for her, but she’s not answering. Mark said she’d phoned to let him know she was fine, but that she needed some space.’

  Why am I doing this? Mark is injured in hospital, and there’s no reason to be sticking to his story but I am. How will I ever now be able to tell the truth about the ransom note?

  ‘Can I see him?’

  The policewoman nods. ‘We can take you there now, if you like.’

  ‘Thank you. I hardly knew him, but until Joanna comes home, I’m the only person he has.’

  ‘And will you be staying here when you get back?’ She looks around her at the show-home style interior, all brick, wood and chrome. I wonder what she’s thinking.

  ‘No. It doesn’t seem right to stay now Mark’s in hospital. I’ll leave as soon as I’ve got back from seeing him. It’s time I went home, but I’ll leave my number with you in case you want to get hold of me. Well, I would if I had any charge left on my phone. The cable of my charger’s faulty and the battery’s been dead for days.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do about it tonight, but you’ll probably be able to get one in a garage or service station on your way home. Give us your number anyway.’

  I do as she asks, then pick up my bag and follow them to the door. As I reach it, I realise something. This will be the first time I’ve left the building in days and it feels strange.

  Like I’ve been let out on parole.

  Thirty-Nine

  Joanna

  Detective Constable Armstrong leans across the table, his fingers linked. He looks a nice man. The kind who would have a wife and two lovely children, a boy and a girl named Thomas and Olivia. The kind who wants justice to be done. I like him. I trust him.

  ‘You’ve done well telling us all of this, Joanna,’ he says. ‘Especially after what you’ve been through.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  It seems an inadequate thing to say under the circumstances, but he smiles at me and looks at the notes he’s made. I’ve been talking for so long, going over every detail I remember, and finally it’s his time to speak. ‘Just a couple of things. You say you don’t remember how you came to be locked up?’

  I shake my head. ‘I remember being on the riverbank. I thought I heard my name being called, my foot slipping. I don’t remember anything else until I came round.’

  Lifting up the first sheet, DC Armstrong runs his pen down the page beneath. ‘And you don’t remember hearing any other voices while you were in there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s fine. Maybe you’d like to read through what you’ve told me so far and make sure you’re happy I’ve got it all down right.’ He turns the sheet of paper he’s been writing on towards me. ‘It’s late now and I can see you’re exhausted, but tomorrow I’m going to have to ask you to come back in for a video interview. Are you all right with that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘That’s good. I can get this typed up as a formal statement, and then you can sign it.’

  I look up at him, trying to hold back the tears that have been forming while I’ve been talking. ‘I’m sorry I’ve made it so difficult, that what I’ve told you has been so rambling. I’ve been alone for days and it’s hard to think straight.’

  ‘Please don’t apologise. You’ve given a very detailed account of what you remember. It will help us enormously once we start the investigation.’

  With shaking fingers, I draw my lank hair from my face and stare at the words, but they’re moving around the page and I can’t capture them. Pressing my index fingers to the inner corners of my eyes, I wait until the letters finally still, and I’m able to make sense of them. Somehow, despite my stops and starts – the breaks I’ve needed in order to pull myself together – DC Armstrong has turned my long-winded account into something coherent.

  I read the statement through to the end, my heart beating so loudly I’m sure he’ll be able to hear it, but when I reach the end, I turn my head away. There’s something I’ve held back. Not told him. The most important thing.

  The thing that will change everything the moment I say it.

  Why haven’t I told him? Is it because I’m scared of what might happen if I do? Of course it is. Because the thing I’ve left out is so terrible, so far-fetched, that I don’t know if I can bring myself to say the words. If I’d ever be believed.

  DC Armstrong’s forehead creases slightly. He can tell I’m struggling with something. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Joanna? Would you like some water?’

  My throat feels dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of m
y mouth. ‘Yes, if it’s not too much trouble.’

  Since I’ve been here, everyone has been so thoughtful. Anxious to address my immediate needs: the civilian office assistant who took one look at me as I burst through the doors of the waiting room and ushered me through to an interview room, the police officer who placed a blanket over my shoulders when she saw I was shivering.

  That was nearly an hour ago and a lot has happened since then. After I’d been given a seat in the interview room, I hadn’t had to wait long before the door opened and DS Barnes walked in, introducing herself along with DC Armstrong. Since then, DS Barnes hasn’t said much and now she’s standing at the window staring out into the dark car park. Every now and again, just when I think she hasn’t been listening, she looks over and smiles encouragingly at me.

  I tip my head back, exhaustion washing over me. The room is brightly lit, two strips of lighting running the length of the ceiling. DS Barnes sees me looking at them. ‘Is it too bright? Your eyes might not be accustomed yet to the light.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m fine.’ I don’t want to make a fuss.

  Their concern for me brings a lump to my throat. Reaching my hand into my sleeve, I take out the tissue I was offered earlier from the box on the table and blow my nose. I know I must look a sight. Eyes red-rimmed, hair greasy and uncombed. Unrecognisable from the girl who only a week ago was drinking cocktails in an upmarket bar in Canary Wharf.

  ‘Would you like a few more minutes?’

  ‘No. That won’t be necessary.’

  I thought I was brave, but I’m not. I’m scared. A voice in my head screams tell them, but I can’t do it. If I do, I’ll forever live in fear of the consequences. Despite what he’s done to me, the thought of having him punished for it makes me sick to the stomach.

  DC Armstrong waits. ‘Joanna?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry.’

  Pushing the tissue back up my sleeve, I turn my statement back towards him. DC Armstrong starts to pull it, but I keep my hand on it, my palm covering his slanting handwriting.

  What if he does it again? With someone else?

  ‘There’s something else I need to tell you.’ The words come out in a rush. ‘Something important.’

  ‘I see.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see DS Barnes nod her encouragement. It gives me the confidence to carry on.

  I knit my fingers together, my fingertips pressing into the skin on the backs of my hands.

  ‘It’s about the person who abducted me.’ A band of pain tightens around my chest, as though a hand has wrapped itself around my heart and is squeezing hard. ‘I know who it was.’

  My eyes meet DC Armstrong’s warm brown ones and I wonder, even now, if what I saw was real or something my imagination had conjured up. But the awful, savage pain in my heart tells me everything I need to know. What I saw was the truth. I know now what he’s capable of.

  DC Armstrong lets go of his notes. He folds his arms on the table and leans forward. ‘You’re safe, Joanna. If you tell us who it was, we can make sure they never do anything like this again.’

  I push the page with my words on towards him, my eyes locked on his, hoping they will give me the strength to say what has to be said.

  ‘It was my husband.’ Emotion chokes me. Roughens my voice. ‘It was Mark.’

  Forty

  Joanna

  DC Armstrong’s head shoots up. He looks across to DS Barnes who is staring at me, whatever she’d found so interesting in that dark car park forgotten.

  ‘Just to be clear. It was your husband, Mark Belmont, who abducted you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My voice is barely a whisper, and DC Armstrong has to lean forward to catch what I’m saying. I wait as his pen scratches across the page, wondering what he’s thinking. Eventually, he finishes what he’s writing and looks up.

  ‘So, you’re saying that it was Mark who knocked you unconscious and kept you locked in the storage unit?’

  I stare miserably at my hands, the knuckles still raw and bloodied. ‘Yes.’

  DS Barnes leans against the radiator. ‘Is there a reason you didn’t tell us this before, Joanna?’

  I look at her, wishing I had. Wishing my feelings for Mark hadn’t made me so weak.

  ‘I think it was because I was frightened of what he might do.’ I pick at the frayed skin around my knuckles until beads of blood form. Putting them to my lips, I suck them away. ‘I don’t think he ever meant for me to see him.’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t.’ DS Barnes frowns. ‘Is that the only reason you didn’t tell us?’

  ‘No.’ I look away. ‘It’s not. I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.’

  DC Armstrong reaches out and pats my arm. ‘We’re here to help you. You shouldn’t be scared to tell us anything. It really is important that if there’s anything else we should know, you tell us now.’

  ‘No, there’s nothing more and I’m sorry.’ My voice doesn’t sound like my own. ‘It’s just that I can’t think straight. Everything that’s happened. I can’t…’

  ‘It’s all right. I know this is difficult, Joanna, but you’re doing really well. This has been a traumatic time for you.’

  DC Armstrong’s fatherly tone makes the tears that have been pooling in my eyes, spill down my cheeks, dampening the neck of my blouse.

  ‘He said he loved me.’ I’m talking to myself as much as to them. ‘How can he have done it?’

  The detective’s gaze is steady. He’s sympathetic, but I know he’s wanting to get on. Needs to get to the bottom of things.

  DS Barnes remains at the window, her face impassive now. ‘It was your husband who reported you missing.’ She waits while this sinks in. ‘But three days later he said you’d made contact and that you were no longer a missing person. Can you think why he would do that?’

  ‘No longer missing?’ Her words make me catch my breath. Why report me missing and then tell them that? What’s been Mark’s game?

  My head is starting to ache with all the thoughts that are racing through it, searching for a reason. ‘I’m sorry. I have no idea. Mark… my husband… he’s a complex person.’

  ‘Complex? Can you explain that, Joanna?’

  ‘I’ve never felt as though I’ve really known the real Mark.’ My fingers stray to my wedding ring. ‘But that might just be because we haven’t been together very long. Did he say we’ve only been married for a week?’

  DC Armstrong says nothing but watches as I twist the gold band round and round my finger. He leans forward in his chair and my heart thumps as I wonder what he might say next. What new bombshell he might drop.

  ‘You mentioned in your statement that you’re Mr Belmont’s second wife.’

  I stop twisting my ring. ‘Yes. His first wife, Tanya, died. In a car accident.’

  ‘I see. And you say he never hurt you during the time you were in captivity?’

  ‘No. There’s a bump on my head, but I don’t know how I got it and I know I must have been tied up at some point.’ My thumb seeks out the tender skin of my wrist. ‘But after I woke up, he didn’t come near me. The only time I saw him was when he pushed the tray of food through the door. It was pitch black in there, and he didn’t say anything to me, or I would have recognised his voice. Like I said, I didn’t know it was Mark until I escaped.’

  I take a gulp of my water, scared I might spill it as my hand is shaking so much.

  Suddenly, the weight of what has happened, the seriousness, the danger, is starting to sink in, but I can’t let it overwhelm me.

  I stare at DC Armstrong, wide-eyed. ‘Oh God! Do you think he was planning to kill me?’

  A groan escapes me, and I bury my head in my hands, my fingers grasping at my hair, tightening the skin at my scalp.

  ‘Please, Joanna. Don’t upset yourself. At this stage, it’s impossible to say what your husband’s motive was until we’ve apprehended and questioned him.’

  I shudder. ‘His first wife, Tanya, left all her money to
him. Oh Jesus. What if her death wasn’t an accident?’

  DC Armstrong clears his throat. ‘There’s nothing to be gained from jumping to conclusions.’

  I can’t leave it, though. ‘Mark is in financial trouble. I have a trust fund. What if that’s what he’s after? What if it’s why he wanted to marry me quickly?’

  ‘Please, Joanna.’

  I grip the edges of the table, my fingers whitening, and push myself up. ‘Will he be able to find me?’

  ‘Please sit down. You don’t need to worry. You’re safe now.’ DC Armstrong pushes his chair back. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell us at this time? As I said earlier, we’ll want you to do a more detailed interview tomorrow, but what you need now is rest. We’ll be arranging for you to spend tonight in a hotel.’

  I collapse back onto the chair. ‘Please, can’t you just let me go home?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. We can’t be sure that your husband won’t return there. Until we know where he is, it would be better for you to be elsewhere. Besides, forensics will be wanting to take a look around the apartment to see if there’s any evidence that will back up your account.’

  ‘You don’t believe me.’ It’s a statement not a question. Folding my arms around my body, I hug myself, my fingernails digging into the soft flesh of my arms. ‘I knew you wouldn’t. I expect it’s what Mark’s banking on too.’

  DC Armstrong frowns. ‘I didn’t say we didn’t believe you, Joanna. It’s normal procedure, nothing more.’

  I feel like screaming, but I force myself to stay in control. ‘When will I be able to go back home?’

  ‘I can’t say for certain. Maybe in a day or so. We’ll know more tomorrow. I’ll make a call, then, once everything’s arranged, I can get a car to take you to the hotel. Before you go though, I’d like you to see the police surgeon so he can make sure you’re okay.’

  ‘I don’t need to see them.’ The tears are starting again, stinging the back of my eyes. I can’t face anyone poking and prodding me. Asking more questions. ‘I said Mark didn’t hurt me. I just need to sleep.’