Anita nodded again.
‘She never told me that,’ I said. ‘I had a couple of missed calls from her, but to be honest I was up to my eyes at work, and then my mother had a fall and I had to go and stay with her for a couple of weeks, and by the time I got back home, Bella was dead. I wish I’d returned her calls while I was away. I never spoke to her again.’
‘That’s a pity, but you shouldn’t feel bad about it. You weren’t to know. Is your mother all right now?’
‘What? Oh yes. She’s fine, thank you, much better. But you were telling me what happened when Bella’s boyfriend’s wife went to see her? Please tell me Bella didn’t let her in. She didn’t, did she?’
Anita smiled. ‘Bella knew the police were looking for the wife, who’d done a runner after she killed her husband. The police had already contacted Bella to see if she had any idea where the killer had gone. They thought her boyfriend might have mentioned a hiding place his wife might be using, you know, that sort of thing, and they’d asked her to let them know if she heard anything.’
I was puzzled. ‘How did the police have her number?’
‘It must have been on his phone. So, anyway, when the crazy wife called and asked to meet her, Bella arranged for the woman to go to her flat.’
‘What? Why?’
Anita grinned. ‘Because then she called the cops on her.’
‘Wow!’
‘She was gutsy.’
‘She certainly was. I remember- ’
I broke off and put my head in my hands, as though overcome with emotion at some memory of my friend, Bella.
‘I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ Anita said gently. ‘And then you can tell me all about it.’
Anita had told me as much as I wanted to hear. She clearly believed Paul’s jealous wife had killed him and then come for his mistress. I needed to get out of there before I let something incriminating slip. It would be ironic if she were to call the police on me as well. I was tempted to leave while she was busy in the kitchen but didn’t want to risk alerting her suspicions. Instead, I texted Nina and asked her to wait five minutes and then call me back.
Anita returned with two mugs of tea. She set them down on the table and took a seat opposite me.
‘Thank you.’
‘Now, tell me all about Bella,’ she said. ‘You probably knew her better than I did, even though she lived directly above me. How did you meet her?’
I hesitated. ‘We were at school together.’
That couldn’t be a risky claim, surely. Everyone went to school. But Anita looked puzzled. Too late, I remembered that Bella had been a good ten years younger than me. I could have kicked myself for making such a stupid blunder.
‘But then we lost touch for a while. It’s not as if we were close at school. I mean, she was quite a bit younger than me.’
Even being as vague as possible, I was beginning to tie myself up in knots. Just as I was panicking that Nina might have missed my message, my phone rang.
‘Sorry, I ought to get this.’ I listened to Nina asking me what was up. ‘Don’t worry,’ I told her, ‘I’ll be there soon.’
I hung up.
Before I could say anything to Anita, she stood up. ‘Is it your mother?’
‘Yes, yes.’
My phone rang again. Gabbling to a bemused Nina that I was on my way, I raised a hand in farewell and left. I ran all the way down the stairs and along the street to the station.
30
After a disturbed night worrying about how I was going to manage with less than a hundred pounds in my purse, I woke up to a message notifying me that I was eligible to withdraw a weekly allowance to cover my living expenses. Listening, I remembered being told something similar before leaving the prison, but I had been too agitated to take it all in.
I hurried straight down to my nearest ATM to withdraw two hundred pounds and was pleased, out of all proportion to the amount I received, when the cash appeared. Until then, I had never had any serious worries about money. Paul earned enough for all our needs and most of our luxuries as well. His firm had even offered us private health cover for myself and Dan at a reduced rate, which had been a godsend when Dan was small. I wasn't sure what would happen to that now Paul was no longer working there. Money assumed a significance it had never had for me before. Grabbing the cash, I slipped it into my purse and started walking back home. On the way, my phone rang. Glancing at the number, I fumbled to answer before he could hang up.
‘Sorry, I meant to get back to you yesterday, but I was busy- ’ Ackerman began.
‘You only sent me a hundred pounds!’ I blurted out, not caring that someone might hear me. ‘What's that about?’
‘You got the cash all right then? Good.’
‘Yes, a hundred pounds. What happened to the rest of it?’
A young woman jogged past me, pony-tail bouncing behind her, and I lowered my voice.
‘There must have been getting on for four thousand pounds in that account, if not more,’ I grumbled.
‘Four thousand four hundred and fifty-seven.’
‘You only sent me a hundred. What about the rest of it? That’s more than four thousand pounds you owe me. Where is it, Ackerman? I want my money.’
I had arrived home and was standing on the doorstep, fishing around in my bag for my key.
‘They only let me take out two fifty without notice,’ he said, his calmness provoking me even further.
‘Two and a half thousand pounds? Then-’
‘Two hundred and fifty,’ he corrected me.
I went into the living room and flopped down on the sofa, shaking with disappointment. ‘You still only sent me a hundred of the two hundred and fifty,’ I pointed out.
‘You owe me a lot more than that.’
‘How am I supposed to pay you if I haven't got any money? I can barely afford to feed myself.’
‘All right, all right, I’m working on it. Banks aren’t that easy to hoodwink.’
‘I’m not expecting you to hoodwink them. This is my money we’re talking about. It belongs to me.’
‘All the same, we don't want to do anything to attract attention and risk that account being frozen along with the rest of your assets.’ He sighed. ‘Life must have been so much easier when everyone kept their money hidden under the mattress. But you must be getting a weekly allowance through the court?’
‘No one ever kept their money hidden under the mattress,’ I told him. He was really annoying me. ‘And yes, you’re right, I am getting a stingy weekly allowance, but it’s not even enough to live on. I certainly can’t afford to give any of it to you. I do have to eat.’
‘And so do I,’ he told me.
I hesitated. ‘I’ve got a few more bits of jewellery.’
At once, he offered to come over and take a look, adding, ‘We did all right with the last haul, even after Martin took his share.’
‘Don’t expect so much this time,’ I warned him. ‘It’s only a few bits and pieces, and they’re probably worthless.’ But he had already rung off.
I called him back, but he didn’t answer, so I went and put the kettle on, put my feet up and tried to relax, but I was too wound up to be idle. Having gulped down my tea, I ran upstairs to fetch the earrings, pearls and watch that I wanted to show Ackerman. Putting them down on my bed, I scrabbled around in all the drawers, mine and Paul’s, hoping to come across anything else that might fetch some serious money, but found nothing that looked even vaguely valuable. Paul’s bedside table was tidy enough, with his radio, keys and water bottle all within reach. Only his new mobile phone was missing, because the police had taken it. Lifting out the drawer I tipped the contents onto the bed. A jumble of miscellaneous items fell out, keys and odd socks, European plug converters, a couple of old wallets that were both disappointingly empty, boxes of pills and lotions, most of them out of date, and all sorts of papers, tubes of toothpaste, a spare toothbrush and random other toiletries.
I hesitated about goi
ng through Dan’s belongings, but it was possible his grandparents had given him something worth selling that he would never miss. He had been given some trinkets on his birthdays that he hoarded, probably without even remembering what was there. It was worth a quick look.
With a tremor of apprehension, I pushed open his door and went into his room. If I did find anything worth selling, I probably wouldn’t risk my theft being discovered, but that wasn’t really the point. My trespass was driven by curiosity rather than cupidity.
It was more than a year since Dan had banned me from entering his bedroom. He even made a show of hoovering in there himself, albeit rarely.
Paul had fully supported Dan’s wishes. ‘Our son’s entitled to some privacy. He’s not a child anymore.’
Still, the house no longer belonged to Paul. It was mine, and no one could stop me from going into any of the rooms any time I liked. No one else was even living there, although Dan’s absence was only temporary. Admittedly he hadn’t given me permission to go through his belongings, but he would never need to know. I took a deep breath and went in.
The room was a mess, clothes strewn all over the floor, and on the chair. He evidently hadn’t hoovered in there for a long time but must have just run the motor behind the closed door to fool me. I had to smile at his shenanigans, remembering how earnestly he had assured me there was no need for me to clean his room because he was taking care of it. Ignoring his clothes, I picked my way over to his wardrobe. Pulling open his drawers, I searched through them but they were stuffed with underwear and pyjamas, nothing of any use, or any interest, to me.
I turned my attention to the small untidy desk which Paul and I had bought seven years earlier when Dan was about to start senior school. He had outgrown it, but we hadn't yet got around to replacing it. His printer was there, surrounded by papers and books, mostly revision guides, and the surface was littered with pieces of a broken model airplane, a few mugs cultivating green mould, empty crisp packets, and different coloured pens and scraps of paper, receipts and notes. The top drawer was locked but the key wasn't difficult to find, tucked away out of sight in the middle drawer. Feeling a flush of shame, I fitted the key in the lock and prepared to turn it carefully. If by some awful mischance the key broke in the lock, Dan would know I had been snooping around in his room. He would never forgive me.
I went to my room and bolstered my courage with a couple of slugs from the whisky bottle I had taken to keeping beside my bed. Less wound up, I returned to Dan’s room, telling myself he would never know I had been in there. The locked drawer opened easily.
Inside was an old phone charger, various souvenirs from our holidays, and other miscellaneous junk he had collected. Taking a few of the pieces out, I sifted through them, trying to recall when we had bought them. Throughout his childhood he had been absorbed by a succession of fads. At one time he had collected comics, another time foreign coins, then bottle tops and the like. No one craze had held his interest for long. There was also an assortment of broken bits of toy cars, wheels, spokes, and tiny brightly coloured doors. Hidden away at the back of the drawer, I found a thick brown envelope. Feeling guilty, I pulled it out and withdrew a bundle of photographs.
It was predictable that Dan had been secretly hoarding pictures of his dead father. I stared at images of Dan and Paul together, smiling and messing about in the garden, with Dan at different ages from when he was a baby. Dan had always idolised his father. I remembered taking some of the photos, at birthday parties and Christmases, and on our family holidays.
Trembling, I put his laptop on the desk and opened it up. His password wasn't difficult to guess. An entire photo album was dedicated to his father. There were no images of me. The room was filled with reminders of Paul, but I had been airbrushed out of his life. Sitting on my son's bed, I gazed at a photo of Dan and Paul laughing together, and wept uncontrollably for the love we had lost.
31
Awash with regrets and drowning in self-pity, and more than a little drunk, I had forgotten that Ackerman was on his way until the front door bell disturbed my miserable solitude. I hurried from the room, wiping my eyes while I went downstairs. It wouldn't have required any investigative skills to detect I had been crying, but Ackerman made no comment on my appearance as he followed me into the living room. Once we were both seated, he asked what I had brought him, eyeing the laptop I was still clutching.
‘No,’ I replied, ‘this isn't for sale.’
‘That’s a shame. It looks new.’ He took it from me and turned it over. ‘This must be worth a few hundred quid.’
Paul had paid over a thousand pounds for it.
‘It might fetch up to a grand, in the right hands.’
‘Maybe, but it’s not for sale. It’s my son’s.’
‘So what else have you got? You mentioned some more jewellery?’
I went upstairs and fetched the pearls and earrings, and the gold watch, and he examined them all carefully.
‘I should think we can get a decent price for these.’
After that, we discussed how he was getting on with looking into Paul’s murder. He didn’t seem to be making any progress so far. When I told him about my visit to Bella’s neighbour, he looked surprised.
‘I didn’t find out very much,’ I admitted.
‘She told me you murdered your husband and his mistress,’ he said.
‘She can’t possibly have any proof because it never happened,’ I replied sharply.
‘It was just her impression from what Bella had told her and of course she could have been lying, or your husband could have lied to her about you. None of this proves anything.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d been to see her?’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t think you’d be very happy to hear what she told me.’
‘And presumably she told the same thing to the police as well.’
‘If it’s what she told me and you, I’d say that’s a reasonable assumption.’
‘But it doesn’t prove anything.’
‘No. It’s all hearsay about what a dead man told a dead woman. It can’t be investigated.’
‘And they can’t use it in court, can they?’
‘No. Although the prosecuting council doubtless will. The jury will be instructed to discount it, but if they hear any of it, they might be influenced despite the judge’s instruction.’
‘How can we stop her spreading her lies?’
‘I don’t think she’s lying. If anyone played hard and fast with the truth, I’d say it was your husband. But we can’t gag her if the case goes to court.’
‘Then we have to make sure it never gets that far.’ I stared at him in consternation. ‘And the only way to do that is to find out who killed my husband. I can’t be convicted for a crime I didn’t commit. And what about my son? How is he going to cope if he’s told I really did kill his father after all?’
With assurances that he would continue working to prove my innocence, Ackerman left. After he had gone, I realised Dan’s laptop wasn’t in the living room. I hunted everywhere, but it had vanished. There was only one possible explanation: Ackerman must have taken it with him. In a panic, I called him, but he didn’t answer his phone. I kept trying, without success.
A couple of days later, Dan called to say he was bored of Edinburgh, fed up with his grandparents, and missing me. I was thrilled. The only problem was that I hadn’t yet recovered the laptop from Ackerman who had proved impossible to get hold of since our last meeting. I kept trying but either his phone was switched off, or he didn’t want to talk to me. Checking Dan’s room, I was confident nothing else was missing and he wouldn’t be able to see where anything else had been disturbed. Even the brown envelope of photos was back in place, all but concealed beneath a confused mess of broken toy car parts. Leaving a few coffee cups cultivating green and white mould as evidence that I hadn’t entered the room, I took a last look around and left, closing the door behind me. Apart from the absent lapt
op, Dan would never know I had been in there.
Frantically, I called Ackerman’s number and left another message for him to contact me urgently, telling him that I needed my son’s laptop back immediately, but he remained silent. I didn’t know where I could get in touch with his contact Martin and had no idea where we had gone to meet him. All I could remember was that Ackerman had driven me to some kind of industrial estate and taken me to the back of a warehouse. It could have been anywhere. I could hardly drive around every industrial estate I could find, searching for him. As a last resort, I called my lawyer, but I hung up before anyone answered. I couldn’t ask him if he could trace a man whose name I didn’t even know.
I considered trying to pass another laptop off as Dan’s, but there was really no point because his data, including his photos, would be missing. He wouldn’t believe all his data had been wiped out in a power cut, or by the police. In any case, I didn’t have enough money to buy a new one. So, I waited anxiously for Dan to come home, cursing Paul for causing me so much trouble. I still couldn’t believe he had done this. We had been happily married once, happy enough to want to have a child together, and he had thrown it all away to sleep with a younger woman. Even if he had fallen in love with her, had it been worth destroying everything we had built together and wrecking our family in pursuit of his selfish desires? It was infuriating that I would never be able to challenge him to answer that question. Just thinking about him made me angry. This whole situation was so unnecessary. All Paul had needed to do was consider the happiness of the two people who loved him and tolerate his reasonably contented life, and none of this would have happened.
Dan arrived early one evening. Irritable from travelling, he was annoyed with me for not picking him up at the station. Reluctant to admit that a curfew had been imposed on me, I didn’t say anything. Of course he would find out soon enough, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to tell him when he was tired and hungry. I insisted he sit down and eat before going upstairs.
The Adulterer's Wife: a breathtaking psychological thriller Page 16