The Missing Wife

by Sam Carrington

  Searching through Facebook, Louisa found the village page, Spotted Penchurch, and asked to join the group. She’d never bothered before, even with Tiff’s near-constant moaning to do it so she stayed ‘in the loop’. She couldn’t understand why there was a need for a Spotted page for a small village. You only had to visit the local shop or Post Office to find out about everything going on, and events were always pinned up on the notice board in the window, so why have a Facebook page? Plus, it annoyed her they had dropped the ‘Little’ – if they had no pride in the full village name, they shouldn’t bloody be living in it.

  Here she was, nonetheless, requesting to join because she remembered Tiff telling her, prior to their argument, about the fact they’d post pictures of the church tower being open and people walking to the top to see the view. She was hoping Tiff had put photos up herself from Thursday’s event.

  Two minutes later she had a notification to inform her she’d been accepted, so she went straight to the page to check the latest updates. For Sale posts littered the feed, in spite of the pinned post requesting no adverts. As she scrolled further down the page, there were ramblings from disgruntled horse riders about the speed that cars drove through the village, and various posts about the archaeological dig taking place on the outskirts of the village where Roman artefacts had been found.

  At this rate she’d be there all day, so she clicked on the sidebar tab: photos, to bypass the rubbish. The first batch of pictures had been put up by Eddie, one of the church wardens. Louisa clicked through them quickly. They were mostly shots taken from the top of the tower of the landscape and houses of people he knew. She continued scrolling. Tiff hadn’t posted any. Disappointed, she was about to shut the laptop, but then remembered the drone. Tiff had wanted video footage, mainly, to get one up on Sarah. Clicking back on the shortcuts, Louisa chose ‘videos’.

  Her heart rate juddered, missing a beat.

  The latest video was one posted by Tiff. Louisa opened it and watched in awe at the height the drone had gained above the church, then how it smoothly swept from one side to the other, taking in the people at the top of the tower. She’d done it. Clever bugger. Louisa smiled. Sarah must’ve hated that, which meant Tiff had enjoyed every moment.

  Even if they were some of her last.

  The tears started again, and Louisa blinked them away so she could continue watching the footage. All in all, there were seven separate videos of the drone capturing different groups at the top. And, as Tiff had mentioned when she asked to borrow it, she’d also done several 360-degree shots, moving all around the church and the people. She had to admit, it looked amazing. Brian would be thrilled it worked so well.

  Although it probably didn’t work anymore.

  Now might be a good time to tell Brian about its fate. He surely wouldn’t be angry, not after what had happened. Louisa kept the Spotted page open at the video and went straight to the garage to retrieve the battered drone. What had Tiff done to it? The footage from the church had been so good, she’d clearly not had any problems learning how to fly it and operate the camera and recording. So how come it was abandoned in her garden?

  With the drone sitting on the kitchen table, Louisa stared at it, wondering if she should test it to see if it did work. But then, even if it did, it still looked dented and scratched, so it wasn’t as though she could pretend she knew nothing about it. She’d have to come clean. Fiddling with the camera, Louisa managed to unlock the casing that housed the SD card and she popped it out. Tiff may have wiped the original church videos as she uploaded them onto Facebook, but it was worth checking.

  She double-tapped the icon when it popped up on her laptop screen.

  There was footage still on the memory card, but it didn’t appear to be of the church, or the event. Louisa was watching Tiff’s own garden from at least one hundred feet up in the air by the look of it. Tiff was practising, learning how to fly it prior to using it on the Thursday. A strange feeling washed over her. She was watching video footage her dead friend had taken. The drone must’ve been positioned above the foot of the garden, as Tiff’s decking was visible.

  So was Tiff.

  Sadness overwhelmed Louisa. There was her friend, standing with her back to the patio doors. Alive. How long before her death was this shot? Louisa moved her head closer to the screen to see the time stamp. She frowned. It must be wrong; it said it was Friday – so, after the church event. That couldn’t be right.

  Before Louisa could question it further, she saw Tiff make a sudden movement towards the wooden table on the patio. The distance from the drone to where she was standing was quite far, so it was difficult to make out what she was doing, but it appeared she’d placed something on the table and then turned towards the alley at the side of the house. The one Louisa always used to get to the back and into Tiff’s house.

  The picture wobbled slightly, the drone dipping. But it remained in focus and Louisa could still make out Tiff, standing in front of the open patio door, her back to the drone as if she were about to walk back inside. Had she forgotten the drone was still in the air? Louisa tutted. This could be Friday then, after the church event had taken place, and Louisa was about to witness the crash.

  What was Tiff thinking walking off and leaving it hovering?

  Then Louisa saw a shadow emerging from the side of the house, where Tiff’s attention had turned moments before. She’d obviously heard someone coming. Tiff probably thought it was her again and that’s why she was heading indoors, to hide from her. Louisa squinted – was it her? She had been to Tiff’s on Friday, had been banging on the door, ringing the doorbell. Was she about to see herself? But she couldn’t recall hearing the drone, but could well have mistaken it for a neighbour’s lawnmower.

  Louisa watched and waited for herself to appear on the screen.

  But she didn’t.

  Someone else did.

  A woman, of similar build to herself, walked towards the back door and put an arm out. Louisa couldn’t make out what exactly she was doing, but she could tell that Tiff was blocking the door preventing whoever it was from entering. And then in an abrupt movement, the woman propelled herself through the door. It was too dark inside the house for Louisa to see what was going on, but then a flash of light shone off the patio door as it was suddenly whipped closed. The footage took a violent dip, then seemed to judder for a few seconds before dropping altitude. Fast. This was obviously going to be when it crashed.

  Louisa sucked in a long breath. If this was filmed on Friday, it must’ve been just before Louisa herself had gone to Tiff’s. When she’d stumbled across the drone, it might’ve only just crashed. Had the person who she’d just seen barging her way into Tiff’s been there when Louisa was banging on the door? Perhaps Tiff hadn’t been lying on the floor bleeding to death when Louisa was there after all. She felt relieved in one way; she was beginning to piece together the puzzle, and it would take away some of the guilt she’d been experiencing, thinking she’d been feet away from her friend and not done anything to help. This woman, if she could see who it was, might be able to give more information that would help them construct an accurate timeline of when Tiff slipped and fell.

  Louisa re-watched the footage again from the point at which the woman came into the picture and focused totally on the woman’s features. She was wearing dark-blue, possibly black trousers and a dark hoody. When she turned towards the back door, Louisa noted her hair was long, flowing down her back. It was fair, but she couldn’t make out the exact colour – could be light brown, dark blonde, possibly even red.

  Louisa pitched backwards, slamming into the chairback.

  She took the footage back a few frames then paused it.

  Louisa could make out long, spiral curls.

  She was looking at Melissa Dunmore.

  41

  THE THEORY

  For the fourth time, Louisa rewound the footage and checked again, unsure whether her conclusion was to be trusted. She blinked hard, trying
to keep her eyes focused. She saw no new evidence to suggest she’d been mistaken.

  The woman going into Tiff’s house was Melissa.

  Oliver’s missing wife was, apparently, no longer missing.

  Louisa screenshotted the paused image. She should call the police immediately, but a niggling voice in the back of her mind told her not to. If Melissa was in the area, why hadn’t she contacted the police herself? Surely she knew they were looking for her. There must be a reason why she didn’t want to be found. The question of why on earth she’d have turned up at Tiff’s in the first place was a baffling one. Something wasn’t right – Oliver, Melissa – they’d both been to Tiff’s house. On separate occasions, or at the same time, she didn’t know. Either way, it was a hell of a coincidence and raised alarm as well as more questions. Louisa reconsidered her earlier theory of this being some kind of life insurance fraud. What other possible reason could there be for what was going on?

  But if that was the case, then Tiff must’ve known – even been in on it.

  And now she couldn’t ask Tiff.

  Therefore, she needed to speak to Melissa. She couldn’t trust a thing Oliver told her now, so there was no point in speaking to him. She’d have to make sure she didn’t let on that she knew his wife was alive and well and sneaking around Little Penchurch if she saw him before managing to find Melissa. If she managed to find her.

  That was the biggest snag. How was she going to find Melissa?

  ‘How have you been today, love?’ Brian kissed her on the top of her head as he sauntered in, dropping his prison officer belt, the key chain rattling, onto the worktop.

  ‘Ah, you know – it’s been weird. It’s like I’m caught in another dimension or something. I feel apart from everything – like I’m existing in my own bubble – weightless, numb.’

  Brian lowered his head. ‘I still can’t believe she’s gone, Lou. How could this have happened? It’s off the scale.’

  Louisa filled the kettle, more for something to occupy her hands and mind than to refresh her husband after his long day at work. She had to be careful not to let anything slip – not even mention the drone, let alone the footage she’d found. It would only be a matter of time before Brian went to the garage to retrieve the drone, though. For the moment at least, it was obviously the last thing on his mind. Tiff’s death had knocked him sideways.

  It was apparent to Louisa he was suffering – and more than she felt he should. Not that shock and grief didn’t affect people in different ways, but it felt disproportionate somehow. Tiff was her friend, and while she was sure she’d feel shock and sadness if one of Brian’s friends were to die, she was fairly confident she wouldn’t be taking it as badly as he was responding to Tiff’s.

  Further adding weight to her suspicion that he’d fancied her or even been in love with her.

  Louisa’s heart ached, the knowledge that she’d not trusted Tiff still lingering on her conscience. It seemed better to mistrust her husband now, rather than her friend, who could no longer defend herself.

  ‘I feel so useless too – I haven’t done anything to help Tiff’s family. Is it rude, do you think, to phone and ask if I can help with any of the funeral arrangements?’

  ‘No, not at all. You were her best friend,’ Brian said, his voice catching at the end. He gave a cough – a poor attempt at covering it up. Louisa turned away from him and began pouring the boiling water into the mugs.

  ‘I don’t know – it might come across that I’m intruding during a difficult family time.’

  ‘It’s better to ask, though, Lou. Imagine if you get to the funeral and you find you’re the only one of Tiff’s friends who hasn’t contributed anything to the service or something?’

  That was a good point. She would be gutted.

  God, what if Sarah does something? Tiff would turn in her grave!

  ‘You’re right,’ she said firmly, handing Brian his tea. ‘I’ll ring her mum this evening.’

  ‘Do it now. You’ll have talked yourself out of it by then otherwise.’

  Yes, again he was right. That was the most likely outcome if she waited. She went to move past Brian, but stopped short.

  ‘Shit. I still haven’t found my phone. I can’t ring her. Her number is saved to the SIM; I don’t have it written down anywhere.’

  Brian put his hand up, his mouth to the lip of the mug. ‘It’s on the coffee table,’ he said, swallowing quickly. ‘I assumed you’d found it.’

  Louisa frowned. ‘No. I’ve been looking all day.’ She eyed Brian cautiously. The mobile had not been there earlier. Had he been the one who’d had it? Had he been searching through her texts? The thought seemed ludicrous. Brian had never done that before. She let the thought slide; replacing it with the other, more likely scenario that she’d forgotten what she’d done with it. Louisa walked back into the lounge and, after grabbing her mobile called Shirley, Tiff’s mum.

  42

  THE HOUSE

  Tuesday a.m. – Day 18 post-party

  Oliver’s car was parked along by the trees at the end of the road. The opposite end from Arthur’s house this time. Louisa stepped back inside the hallway, yanking Noah’s pram backwards up the step. She hoped he hadn’t seen her before she’d beaten her hasty retreat.

  What was he doing hanging around again?

  Arthur had reported him loitering before. He was taking a risk by being anywhere in their road. Louisa ran to the lounge window and pulled back the edge of one curtain. She couldn’t make Oliver out; the car was a little too far away for her to be sure if he was behind the wheel. He could’ve parked up and was out walking somewhere. She needed to go to Tiff’s. She’d arranged it with Shirley last night – she was to make a start packing up some of Tiff’s things because her poor mum couldn’t bring herself to do the task.

  Shirley had received the news yesterday that Tiff’s post-mortem had been carried out. The coroner reported it as an accidental death. Louisa had felt a strange mix of relief and sadness and she’d immediately envisaged Tiff rushing around, going from one task to another without giving enough attention to each one – knocking over the water without realising then slipping on the floor. Louisa shut her eyes tightly, fat tears squeezing out. It was still so unbelievable to think Tiff was gone. It was hard to consider what her family must be feeling, but she was glad the funeral home was releasing Tiff’s body now. At least her family could begin the agonising task of arranging her burial.

  Louisa certainly didn’t want Oliver following her to Tiff’s, making a nuisance of himself. He was bound to offer his assistance, and Louisa wanted to do this on her own. It was going to be the most difficult, heart-breaking thing she’d ever had to do, and she didn’t want an audience.

  It was her time with Tiff. Her memories. Her apology. It was private.

  But with Oliver just outside, the likelihood of carrying this out without interruption was slim.

  Binoculars. She ran to get them from the garage. At least then she’d be certain if Oliver was in the car. If he wasn’t, she’d take her chance and leave. If he was, well then she’d have to think of another plan.

  Louisa’s gaze passed over the box containing the battered drone. Just seeing it made her breath catch. She still hadn’t had any idea how to find Melissa, but she held some hope that while she was sorting out things at Tiff’s today, she might come across something – a clue as to why Melissa, and Oliver, had been visiting her. And whilst she’d been pleased the coroner had concluded Tiff’s death was accidental – Louisa couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling something was amiss.

  Dusting off the binoculars, Louisa took them back to the front window. She angled them in the right direction, then twiddled with the dioptre adjustment on each eyepiece. She hoped none of her neighbours were watching. As she turned the central focusing wheel, Oliver’s car came into clear view.

  She gave a sigh of relief. No one was inside it.

  Louisa flung the binoculars on the sofa and snatched up her bag, pu
shing Noah back outside. She turned left to avoid Oliver’s car, just in case he came back to it as she passed. Although she was glad he wasn’t inside the car, it did leave the question of where the hell he was. Why park it there and walk off? His behaviour was increasingly concerning.

  By the time she’d reached Tiff’s she was out of breath, her lungs struggling, chest tight – from walking so quickly, or from anxiety, she couldn’t tell. Louisa punched in the code Shirley had given her to release the key from the small metal key safe on the outside wall, then, with a huge intake of breath, opened the front door.

  The stale air hit her. The house had only been closed up for a matter of days, yet it already had the faint smell of must – an ‘unlived-in’ scent. She stood on the threshold, her legs heavy, feet refusing to move her inside. The stillness, the unnerving peacefulness the house held, made Louisa’s skin turn to gooseflesh.

  Come on, Lou. You said you’d do this – you can’t back out now.

  As she pushed Noah in ahead of her, she became aware of a lightness inside her head – a dizziness consuming her.

  Breathe slowly.

  She’d been taking such shallow breaths she was now hyperventilating to compensate. She had to slow her breathing down or she’d faint.

  And bang my head and die.

  The thought made her shiver.

  The urge to call out ‘hello’ was overwhelming. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Eight years she’d been coming here, and this was the first time she’d been in the house without Tiff being there. She felt as though she were trespassing. That feeling would become even stronger once she began rummaging through Tiff’s belongings.

  Why had she agreed to do this? She should’ve offered to help with arranging the service seeing as Shirley had decided Tiff was to be buried in Little Penchurch because it was a place close to her daughter’s heart. Louisa could’ve happily organised Tiff’s favourite songs, photos, anything. Something less obtrusive. Less like she was a stalker. But, on the other hand, if she hadn’t agreed to this, she wouldn’t now have the opportunity to find evidence. Not that she knew what evidence she was looking for or what form it would take. Or even if there was any to be found.