As they went into the kitchen, they could see that a built-in bean-to-cup coffee machine was working its magic. Niall was standing by it, pressing buttons. Becky hadn’t fully appreciated how tall he was until now. He was well over six feet, and today he looked every bit the successful trendy tech company boss in a crisp white shirt, open at the throat and hanging loose over what had to be designer jeans. However, his thin face looked washed-out, and black brows over hooded eyes made it hard to read their expression.
He turned towards them. ‘Coffee?’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ Tom said.
‘I’m fine,’ Becky said. ‘I’m sure you’re glad to be back in your own home, sir, and I’m sorry we had to ask you to leave for a while.’
Niall gave a slight shrug. ‘I understand. It’s all a bit hard to get my head round, though.’ He picked up his coffee and walked over to the wide central island to perch on a stool. ‘Please, take a seat.’
Becky hitched herself up onto another stool and glanced at Tom. He gave her a quick nod, clearly wanting her to ask the questions so he could focus on Niall’s reactions and check for any hint of guilt in his behaviour.
‘I know this will be difficult for you, Mr Strachan,’ she began, but he held up a hand.
‘Niall, please. It would make me more comfortable.’
Becky nodded and carried on. ‘We need to understand why your wife would have left the house in the middle of the night to walk down a pitch-black lane. Maybe you could tell us if this kind of nocturnal rambling was a habit, or whether you think it’s strange too.’
Niall closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t have been going for a walk. Genevieve exercised hard, but only at the gym. For her, it was a social thing as much as anything. She and her cronies exercised like hell all morning, then cleared off to the nearest wine bar to eat some skinny salad or other, washed down with copious quantities of Chablis. She invariably took a taxi home, which says it all. But it made her happy.’
Becky couldn’t decide if this had been said with a hint of bitterness or not. Genevieve hadn’t worked – a fact they had already established – and they would need a list of these friends at some point. Maybe alcohol loosened her tongue and she had shared something with her friends that might point to her killer.
‘We’re still unable to get into her mobile. Have you spoken to Spencer Johansson in the last hour or so?’ Becky asked.
‘No. He rang, but I rejected the call. I’m not up to speaking to him right now. It’s all I can do to speak to you.’
He was pale, that was true, and Becky hadn’t missed the fact that his hands were shaking as he placed his coffee on the table. She had given up trying to assess the level of a person’s grief; everyone behaved differently. Niall Strachan was in control, but barely.
‘He was probably calling to tell you that we went to the office to speak to Martha Porter, as you suggested. But she wasn’t there.’
Niall was gazing into his coffee, stirring mindlessly, but his head shot up at Becky’s remark.
‘Not there? I don’t believe Martha has had a single day off since she started two years ago. What’s up with her?’
Becky shook her head. ‘We don’t know. She apparently arrived as usual and then disappeared down the private staircase from your office. No one seems to know where she lives, or anything about her. Is there anything you can tell us?’
Niall looked genuinely shocked.
‘I don’t know what to say. She occasionally left the office to buy things we needed – stamps, coffee – but she always asked, or should I say told us what she was doing. Are you looking for her?’
Tom rested his forearms on the worktop. ‘Not actively, no. She’s not a key part of the investigation, but we asked Mr Johansson’s permission to take her computer from your offices for our technical team to look at. We need to get access to your wife’s phone, and the pass codes are on Martha’s computer, apparently. In case you’re worried, we won’t be looking at anything else. I appreciate there may be confidential content relating to your business, so the remit is only to get the password file.’
Niall was looking down again, as if unable to meet either Tom or Becky’s eyes.
‘You won’t have to go through her emails, then?’
‘We have no reason to, no. Is there something on there that you’re worried about?’
‘Not worried, exactly, no. Look, if you don’t need to access her emails, that’s fine. Forget I asked.’
Niall’s phone chose that moment to burst into life. ‘It’s Spencer again. I think I should take it this time, if you’ll excuse me.’
With that, he walked out of the room. Becky turned to look at Tom and raised her eyebrows. No words were necessary.
18
When Niall returned to the kitchen, he looked slightly more pallid than before.
‘Spencer says there’s no sign of Martha, and she left her office mobile in her drawer. No one’s supposed to do that; they’re supposed to have it with them at all times. It’s how we monitor whether the app is working.’
‘I don’t profess to understand these things too well,’ Tom said, ‘but if they’re company phones and this new app of yours is on them, doesn’t that mean you can extract data from them?’
Niall gave a ghost of a smile. ‘We have to protect people’s privacy. It’s only when they’re asked to test a certain function – a specific element of predictive behaviour – that we retain their information. The data is stored, encrypted, on their phones for the main part. It’s only in testing phases that we can check up on where they are, what apps they’re using, and so on. And they’re always made aware of it.’
‘But you were able to use your wife’s phone to track where she was last night?’
‘Yes, but that’s only because I’d asked her to test a new feature with her safety in mind.’ He pulled a face as he realised how ironic that sounded under the circumstances. ‘I’ve fixed our garage door so it can sense the location of Genevieve’s car as it approaches – assuming she has her mobile with her. It opens automatically without her having to stop and wait. I had her location data recorded online for testing.’
‘So why wait so long between when you got home and when you checked where she was?’ Becky asked.
Niall walked over to the coffee machine again, once more turning his back to Tom and Becky as he pressed a few buttons. The sound of beans grinding masked his words as the aroma of coffee filled the air. Tom was beginning to wish he’d accepted the previous offer.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,’ he said.
‘I said I don’t really know. My head was full of the meeting, I suppose. It was a success. The company can go on developing the app, and we’ve got the funding for the launch. I came home excited, and I just assumed Genevieve had decided not to wait up and had gone to bed. I was pissed off, to be honest. It was a big moment for me. So I poured a Scotch and sat down, mulling things over, wondering how long until we’re ready to release the app to the world.’ His coffee ready, Niall returned to the counter and sat down again. ‘After a while I decided to wake her. I was sure she’d want to know, so went upstairs. She wasn’t there. I was a bit cross that she’d gone out again.’
‘Where did you think she could have gone at that time of night?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I spoke to her at eleven, and that’s not that late, is it? I thought perhaps one of her mad friends had called to say they were at a fantastic party and she’d ordered a cab to pick her up. I tried to call her, but of course there was no answer.’
Tom was finding all of this a little far-fetched. But maybe he was out of touch. Maybe people did decide to go out on a whim after eleven on a Monday night. Maybe he was just getting old.
‘Can I pick up on something you said earlier about your app?’ Tom asked.
Niall nodded with a look of surprise.
‘You said you had Genevieve’s location recorded online – which is how you could che
ck where she was. Does that mean you could also see where she’d been?’
‘Yes, but it’s not going to tell you anything. It’s clear from the data that she was with her sister, then drove home, stayed here for about an hour and then walked down the lane. There’s nothing more to know.’
‘And how far back does the data go?’
‘A couple of weeks, since I asked her to test the app. Why?’
‘Because it might be useful for us to know where she’d been in the weeks leading up to her death. It could tell us if something about her movements was out of the ordinary. Could we have a copy, do you think?’
Tom was asking politely, but he would take the data whether Niall liked it or not. It could lead them to discover something she had been doing that involved her killer.
Niall hadn’t put up any resistance to sharing his wife’s movements and had left the room again, saying he would download the data onto a thumb drive. Charley, who had been sitting quietly in the background, went with him as they needed to be sure he didn’t compromise the data, and Niall didn’t seem to mind.
Tom had briefed Becky to restart the questioning, and she was happy to oblige. As Niall took his seat and handed the thumb drive to Tom, she opened with something that had been concerning her since that morning.
‘I need to ask you a couple more questions about Martha, if that’s okay.’ Niall shrugged as if it wasn’t important. ‘When I arrived at the office this morning, a young woman suggested that someone should talk to me about a party – about something that happened that involved Martha.’
Niall tipped his head back with a ‘Hah!’ and his thin lips curved upwards in a slight smile.
Becky waited.
‘The young woman who suggested this would, without a doubt, have been Elise Chapman – although I’m not sure how she knows anything about it.’
‘About what, sir?’
‘Look, it’s a little embarrassing, but it seems Martha got slightly the wrong idea about my feelings towards her. It was unfortunate, but I think I handled it well.’
Becky wasn’t sure if that meant Niall had acted inappropriately and Martha had overreacted, or it was the other way round. ‘Can you be more specific, sir?’
He sighed as if he didn’t want to tell this story, but there was a glint in his eye, as if he was secretly pleased to be sharing the events of that day.
‘Just off Martha’s office – directly opposite the door into my room – there’s a small nook where we’ve put a few bits of kitchen equipment. We’ve got a fridge for wine, and Martha likes to be sure we have some slices of lemon and a bucket of ice for gin, especially if we have a meeting that’s going on late into the evening. The thing is, this nook is hidden from the outer office even when the door to Martha’s room is open.’
Becky was certain she knew where this was going and wished he would cut to the chase.
‘We had an office party. Martha was in her cubbyhole, getting some ice, and I went in to tell her to leave it to someone else. She should come and join everyone, and relax. I put my hand on her shoulder – in a friendly way, you know – and she turned towards me, took a step right up to me and rested her hands on my chest. I thought for a moment that she had misunderstood my gesture and was going to push me away, but she wrapped her arms around me and lifted her face to mine. She thought I was going to kiss her.’
Niall stopped.
‘And?’ Becky asked.
‘I explained that I was only being friendly. That I loved my wife and I wasn’t interested in anyone else. She turned and ran out of the room – out of the building. Some people saw her go, but I didn’t say anything to anyone apart from Spencer. He must have told bloody Elise.’
‘And was that the end of it?’
‘Not entirely, no. There were a few emails after that. I was worried they could still be on her computer, and your tech guys might find them when they start delving.’
Tom shook his head. ‘They’re not looking for emails. But perhaps we should take a look, if that would be okay with you? We’ll need your permission.’
Niall closed his eyes and groaned softly. ‘I wish you didn’t have to. It’s not important, and I was dealing with it. I tried to avoid being in the same room as her if the door was shut – that kind of thing.’
Becky could only imagine how that might work, given the fact that Martha was the office manager and sat in a room right next to his.
‘One last thing, sir. We were also told that Martha had an argument with your wife recently. Do you know what that was about?’
His eyes opened wide. ‘I didn’t know about that. No one told me, and Genevieve didn’t say a word. I’m sorry, I don’t have a clue.’ He shook his head rather more emphatically than was necessary.
Becky didn’t need to look at Tom to know that he didn’t believe Niall Strachan any more than she did.
19
MARTHA
My stomach is churning, and I can’t blame the pizza. I didn’t eat much of it, although Alfie seemed to enjoy it. It tasted like cardboard. I’m too scared to eat. I’m dismayed by Elise’s poison, and certain the police will double their efforts to find me.
When I devised my escape plan, I thought the best option would be to stay in a hotel for a few days. I imagined the police scouring CCTV from train and bus stations, looking for me, so I decided it would be best to lie low. But now being in Manchester seems more dangerous than moving on. My chest feels tight with anxiety, and I don’t know if it’s fear or guilt. I can’t wipe from my mind Genevieve’s face as she shouted at me, her mouth wide open, her skin flushed with anger.
Surely they can’t find me. I haven’t used a credit card in the name of Martha Porter; I don’t have a registered mobile phone; the taxi dropped me by the hospital rather than the tram stop, and I look nothing like the person who worked for XO-Tech. And yet each time I hear a police siren outside the window, I believe they are coming for me.
There’s a part of me that wants to hand myself in, to tell them everything and let them do their worst. The heavy burden I’m carrying would be lifted from my shoulders. Then I look at Alfie’s sweet, innocent face and I’m scared for him. In so many ways, I want to stop running, but he has to be my priority.
He is snuggled against me on the small sofa that faces the TV, my left arm holding him tight as he looks at one of his favourite books. Suddenly he makes a tiny moaning sound.
‘Hey, baby, what’s the matter?’ I ask, pulling his hot little body closer.
And then I realise that his body really is hot. It’s too hot. The air in the room is stifling, with ineffective air conditioning and a window that only opens about two inches, so I had assumed it was just the heat of the room.
‘I feel funny,’ he says.
‘What kind of funny, sweetheart? Does your head hurt; do you feel sick?’
He gives a long, drawn-out, ‘No.’
I rest my hand on his forehead. It’s hot, so I pull away and crouch in front of him. His face is flushed. Maybe it was because I was holding him too tightly.
‘Let’s get you cooled down a bit.’
I open the door to the bathroom and grab a flannel to run under cold water and return to the room, wiping his hands and face.
‘Does that feel better?’
‘A bit, but I still feel funny.’
I know there is no point in asking him to be more specific. There have been many times in my life when I have felt not quite right and it hasn’t been possible to point the finger at one cause, and he has slept more than usual today. I thought I’d just overstressed him.
‘Come on. We’ll give you a nice cool bath and see how you feel after that.’
He’s listless and whingey, and that’s not like Alfie. I bathe him in lukewarm water, but as I kneel on the bathroom floor to dry him, he starts to cry and rests his head on my shoulder. I know if we’d been at home, I would have thought nothing of this. I’d have given him a cold drink and waited to see if it passed. But we’re
not at home, so what happens if he’s ill? Really ill?
The first thing is to get his temperature down. If I can do that, I’ll know it was nothing much. I won’t panic until then. But I’m not taking any risks either.
‘I tell you what, Alfie. Let’s get you dressed, and we’ll go out into the fresh air for a little while. Shall we see if we can find you an ice lolly?’
We will actually go to the nearest chemist, but I don’t think that’s enough to entice him to leave the room.
‘Can I go to bed, please, Mummy?’
I want to weep. I can’t leave him here in the hotel room alone. He’s five and perfectly capable of opening the door and wandering off. I might only be away for ten minutes, but that’s too long.
‘We’ll get you a lolly, or maybe an ice cream if you like, and then straight back here to bed. How does that sound?’
He doesn’t look convinced, but he’s such a good boy he gives a sad little nod.
I quickly dress him, not prepared to push my luck with the girly clothes I made him wear earlier. But I put his sun hat on, fluff up my hair and apply some bright lipstick. I’m sure that even if I bumped into Elise on the street, she wouldn’t recognise me.
I run a hand over my stomach, as I do so many times a day, to check that my body pocket is there and I can feel the hard plastic of the debit card inside, and I head for the door.
I’m relieved to see that the receptionist who checked us in isn’t there. The thought of her seeing me twice makes me nervous. Anonymity is the key. It always has been. I try to alternate the shops where I buy groceries, use different pharmacies on the occasions that we need them. It was trickier when Alfie was a baby, but as soon as we could, we moved on from where he was born. Now it’s only at work – a situation I can’t avoid – where I see the same people every day, but I have my own office and I keep my distance – the only defence open to me.
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