His head was all over the place. Twice on the way over here he’d picked up his phone to call Pete. Both times, he’d stopped himself just in time. Better to say nothing for now. Until he worked out what he was going to do.
Javier got the hint and withdrew into the kitchen. Not Loretta, though. She could be a tenacious bitch when she wanted.
‘We need to speak,’ she said.
‘It’ll have to wait till later,’ Nick said. ‘Spent another bloody morning being questioned by the police. Harassment, if you ask me.’
‘Did they ask about Kieran?’ Loretta asked. Her voice sounded innocent but he knew by the sly expression on her face exactly what she was getting at.
‘It wasn’t Kieran they were interested in,’ he muttered. ‘Not this time.’
She smiled and he wanted to slap her. Couldn’t believe there was a time he’d found that smile attractive. She was no better than Kieran, worse maybe – a conniving, money-grabbing bitch, out to get everything she could.
‘We can talk about it out here,’ Loretta raised her voice and looked around the restaurant. Several customers and all of the staff were looking on, curious and probably relishing the prospect of a row.
‘My office,’ Nick said. ‘Now.’
Inside the office, she sat down and crossed her legs demurely. He remembered a night about two years ago. The two of them more than a bit tipsy at the end of a long day. Loretta sitting where she was now, holding a glass of champagne and smiling at him as she uncrossed her legs and slowly pulled her skirt up over her creamy thighs.
‘You owe me,’ she said.
The image disappeared, replaced by another memory. Kieran in the very same chair, making similar demands. Nick was tired, exhausted with the effort of trying to keep control over all of it. With Kieran out of the way, he’d thought the problem was sorted. How wrong he’d been. Looking at Loretta’s face – full of greedy knowledge that he knew she was going to use to hurt him – he felt like it might never end.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘We made an agreement and you got what you wanted. I’m not made of money, Loretta.’
‘I think you could spare me a little more,’ she said. ‘My friend’s getting tired of having me under her feet, Nick. And I really don’t want to go back to renting. I need my own place. In Greenwich, naturally. If you could see your way to helping me out, well, I’d really be ever so grateful.’
What was it with people? Every way he turned someone wanted a piece of him. Charlotte – desperate to suck him back into their sham of a life, playing the happy couple in their lonely, over-priced, overlarge house; Kieran – with his increasing demands and hints at what he’d do if Nick didn’t comply; Cooper – and his pain-in-the-arse obsessiveness, demanding to know every last detail of how the restaurants were run and how he managed the finances; and now this.
‘A house?’ His hands clenched into tight fists. Before he could stop himself he was across the room and grabbing the collar of her pale pink blouse and shaking her. ‘You want me to buy you a fucking house? You must be out of your mind. I’ve already paid you to keep quiet and that’s what you’re going to do. If you open your mouth to the police or anyone else, you’ll be sorry.’
He dragged her up, lifted his fist to her face, pressed it against the soft skin, pushed until she yelped. All the smugness was gone from her face now, only fear left. His father’s face flashed in front of him, could almost hear the old man’s voice, asking what he thought he was doing.
His hands dropped off her and he turned away, disgusted.
‘You’ll pay for that,’ she said. Her voice was shaky and there was no real conviction there.
‘Get out.’
He heard her unsteady footsteps move away and the sound of the office door opening and closing. He stayed where he was, body shaking so bad he didn’t trust it to stay upright without the support of the table he was leaning against.
When he eventually left the office and went outside, there was no sign of her. Javier said she’d told everyone she wasn’t feeling well and had gone home for the rest of the day. Nick knew he should have been pleased she was gone. Instead, he was unable to shake off the terrible sadness that sat on his shoulders like a weight, wrapped itself around his body and pressed so hard on his chest he found it difficult to breathe.
Twelve
‘I haven’t done anything wrong. It was Nick, not me.’
Charlotte’s voice was high-pitched and hysterical; she looked a mess. Her lawyer had insisted they interview her tonight. Which was why Abby was sitting here at nearly ten pm. Instead of being with Sam, as she’d planned.
At seven, Ger had told Ellen to go home. Ellen wasn’t too happy about it and, truth be told, neither was Abby. Under normal circumstances she’d have jumped at the chance to show Ger what she was capable of. Since Sam, nothing was normal. The determined focus she’d always directed at her career had deserted her. Instead, when she should be one hundred percent focussing on the case and nothing else, she found her mind drifting. She tried to drag it back, but a moment later she was off again. Thinking about Sam and the time they’d spent together so far and the sheer, bizarre madness of never having realised it was possible to feel this way about another person.
All her adult life, she’d been so certain – so one hundred percent convinced – that romance and love and all that nonsense was something for others to worry about. And then this. Just when everything she’d worked so hard for was starting to fall into place. Turned out she was just another stupid woman in a line of stupid women since time began, ready to drop everything when the right man came along.
Panic gripped her. Sharp and sudden, leaving her breathless. What was she thinking? That she could give all this up? For what? To be stuck at home with a gaggle of children while Sam pursued a glittering career in the City? No way. They hadn’t discussed it yet but she had to make it crystal clear to him that there was no chance in hell she would give up her job. Not for any man. Not even one as funny and clever and downright bloody gorgeous as he was. The job was all that mattered. She needed to show DSI Ger Cox that she was the best detective on the team. And if that meant nipping things in the bud with Sam before she went too far and lost herself to him, then so be it.
‘You’re saying your husband killed Kieran Burton?’
Ger’s voiced dragged Abby back to the interview room. Ger beside her, Charlotte and her solicitor sitting opposite, on the other side of the table. A new-style CD-recorder screwed onto the table’s surface, recording every word.
‘Yes,’ Charlotte said. ‘No. I don’t know. He’s … I mean, why would he? That’s what I didn’t understand. He didn’t like Kieran but neither did anyone else. He bloody hated Ginny and that was mutual, let me tell you. But why kill Kieran? It’s not as if he’s the sort of overprotective father who would care one way or the other who Freya was seeing. And that was the only reason I could think of. That he did it to protect her. But she doesn’t need protecting. Didn’t need protecting. She loved Kieran and Nick always said it was her choice, not ours.
‘I hated it, you know. The way he didn’t seem to care. All that education, all the time and money and effort we’d put into giving her the best of everything and she threw it back in our faces by turning up one day with that horrible, horrible man.’
Charlotte stuttered to a halt, eyes darting between Ger and Abby. Like she’d suddenly realised she’d said too much.
‘Is that what happened?’ Ger asked. ‘Your husband refused to act so you decided to take matters into your own hands?’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Charlotte said. ‘It was Nick.’
Abby remembered the last time she’d seen Charlotte. Earlier in the day, when Charlotte had turned up at Freya’s house. By the time Abby came back from the shops, Freya was gone and Charlotte was getting a taxi to take her home. Abby found Freya sitting at the bar in The Meridian, drinking coffee. She was in a foul mood but refused to tell Abby what her mother had done to upset
her so.
‘You told Freya this?’ she asked.
‘She didn’t believe me.’ The hysteria was gone and Charlotte was whispering now. Abby had to strain her ears to catch the words. ‘She never believes me. In Freya’s eyes, Nick can do no wrong. No matter what I tell her, it won’t change that.’
‘We need to speak about the knife we found in your room,’ Ger said. ‘Can you tell us how it got there?’
Charlotte looked at her solicitor, as if asking whether or not it was okay to answer the question. He nodded. His name was Jeremy Lawlor, one of the regular duty solicitors working out of Lewisham station. Abby had worked with him several times before and she liked him. He was a competent solicitor and Charlotte could do a lot worse.
‘Nick put it there,’ Charlotte said. ‘He’s trying to make it look like I killed Kieran.’
Ger pretended to refer to the notes on the table in front of her. Abby knew she was pretending because she knew Ger was more than familiar with what was written there.
‘Would you like to tell us what happened the night you stabbed your mother?’ Ger asked.
According to Nick Gleeson, Charlotte had tried to kill her mother with a knife. It happened a few weeks before Nick and Charlotte were due to marry. Abby wondered if she’d want to marry Sam if she found out he’d done something like that. She certainly hoped not.
‘That was an accident,’ Charlotte said.
‘According to the police records,’ Ger said. ‘your mother claimed she’d stabbed herself. Although how anyone would stab themselves in the chest by accident is beyond me, quite frankly.’
Charlotte shook her head. She looked exhausted. Abby wondered how much longer before she cracked.
‘She was drunk,’ Charlotte said. ‘She was trying to open some letters and the knife slipped. If you know about it, then you’ll know that I wasn’t even there when it happened. I was at Ginny’s. The first I knew about it was when my mother called, asking me to come home. Check your records if you don’t believe me.’
‘Your husband says that’s not what really happened,’ Ger said.
Charlotte raked her hands through her hair and groaned dramatically.
‘He’s a liar. He killed Kieran and now he’s trying to get you to think it was me. I found his secret phone and he’s scared. He should have password-protected it. I don’t know why he didn’t. His iPhone has a password. The only reason this one doesn’t, of course, is because he keeps it hidden. I read the text. Maybe you think I shouldn’t have, but what would you have done? He’s my husband and he’s got this phone I didn’t even know about. And someone has just killed Kieran and Ginny and …’
‘Charlotte.’ Ger’s voice was sharp and Charlotte’s words skidded to a halt as her mouth dropped open. ‘Start from the beginning. What are you talking about?’
‘He has another phone,’ Charlotte said. ‘A secret one. I found it in the kitchen. I didn’t even know it was his at first.’
‘When was this?’ Ger said.
Charlotte frowned. ‘Yesterday? No, not yesterday. This morning. Sorry, it seems much longer than that but I’m sure it was just this morning. I looked at the call log and the messages. He’s only ever used it to call one number.’
‘Who?’ Abby said.
‘I don’t know. There was no name beside it, just the number. The call log showed twenty or thirty calls between Nick’s phone and that number. No one else. Just that one number.’
‘You mentioned a text,’ Ger said.
‘Just one,’ Charlotte said. ‘I don’t know if he’d deleted the rest or what. It was sent on Tuesday. The same day Ginny was killed. It said I’m scared. That’s all.’
‘And you’ve no idea who sent it or what it means?’ Ger asked.
‘None,’ Charlotte said. ‘But Nick sent a reply. Don’t worry, his text said. I’ll sort it. I promise.’
Abby released the breath she’d been holding. Charlotte’s words hovered in the air between them, dissolving slowly until the only sound in the room was the in-out, in-out of four people breathing and the gentle hum of the CD-recorder storing it all.
‘What was she so scared of?’ Charlotte asked. ‘And what was Nick promising to sort?’
‘How do you know it’s a she?’ Abby said.
‘Why else would he have a separate phone?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Do you still have it?’ Ger asked.
Charlotte shook her head and Abby’s spirits deflated. They’d been so close and now it looked as if Charlotte was making the whole thing up.
‘I don’t have it,’ Charlotte said. ‘You do. You lot made me empty my bag when I came in here. The phone was in there.’
A knock on the door and Alastair came in, whispered something in Ger’s ear and left again. Ger paused the CD-recorder, told Charlotte and her solicitor they’d be back in a bit and stood up, motioning for Abby to follow.
‘It’s Nick Gleeson,’ Alastair said when they were outside. ‘We still haven’t tracked him down but I’ve checked with the BMW garage. His story checks out. He didn’t leave the car in for a service until Wednesday morning, which means he wasn’t driving his wife’s car on Tuesday night. Or not as far as we know.’
‘Good work,’ Ger said. ‘Thanks. I need you to do something else for me too. Charlotte Gleeson’s belongings have been bagged up. Can you go through them and look for a mobile phone? When you find it, bring it to me. Abby, see if Charlotte and her brief want a drink. We’ll break until we’ve taken a look at the phone. Then we’ll decide what to do next.’
* * *
Mother refilled her wine glass and stared at Charlotte over the rim of her half-moon glasses. The glasses were a recent addition. Mother had fought it for years. Denied there was anything wrong with her eyesight, even when it was obvious to everyone else she was blind as a bat. Somehow, she’d managed to make the glasses Charlotte’s fault as well. The stress of motherhood had aged her prematurely.
‘I should have expected it.’
Her voice was hard. One bottle down and her mood had gone from hating herself to hating her daughter. So predictable.
‘I should have expected it.’
Charlotte knew she should go. She didn’t have to listen to this. Nick hated the way she let her mother talk to her. She wasn’t ever able to explain why she put up with it. Except to say she’d never known anything else. She was sitting on the chair opposite Mother, who lay splayed on a matching day-bed. Beside her, on a small round walnut table, was today’s post, unopened. The silver paper knife on top of the envelopes, waiting to be used.
Mother was smoking a cigarette lodged into a long, thin cigarette-holder. She sucked on the cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke in Charlotte’s direction. The tip of the cigarette-holder was stained red from her mother’s smudged lipstick. It reminded Charlotte of blood.
‘I mean, what do you even know about him, Charlotte? Who are his people? Have you met them?’
‘His parents are dead,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’ve told you already, Mother.’
Her mother laughed.
‘An orphan. My daughter’s marrying a poor little orphan boy. Of course, I should have known you’d open your legs to the first man to look twice at you. Oh Lord, don’t tell me. That’s why it’s happening so quickly, isn’t it? You’re pregnant. I might have guessed. Stupid little slut. That’s what happens when you let men fuck you, darling. You end up with a bloody brat you never wanted in the first place.’
Charlotte wanted to say it wasn’t true. But she knew if she tried to speak, she’d cry instead. She’d been so excited coming here to tell Mother the news. Wasn’t it what they’d both wanted? Nick was more than she could ever have wished for. Mother was so wrong about him. He already had his own restaurant and that was just the beginning. Nick was going places and taking Charlotte with him.
Mother was screaming, face flushed red from anger and alcohol, leaning forward on the day-bed, shoving her face close to Charlotte’s, screaming at her for being so fuck
ing stupid and letting a man have his way with her before he’d even walked her down the aisle. Calling her a slut and a whore and a stupid bitch and …
Later, upstairs in her room, Charlotte picked up the telephone. Her hand was shaking and the phone kept slipping from her blood-stained fingers. It took several tries before she was able to dial the correct number. Eventually, she got it right and the phone at the other end started to ring. It rang and rang and she was about to hang up when it was answered. A sweet, familiar voice asked who was calling.
Charlotte started to speak, found she was crying instead. Big, shaking sobs coursing through her body.
‘Lottie? Is that you, honey?’
‘Oh Ginny.’
‘What is it?’ Ginny asked. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Can you come over?’ she whispered. ‘Something’s happened. I really need to see you.’
‘Is it your mother?’ Ginny asked.
When Charlotte didn’t answer, Ginny said it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, she’d be right over.
‘Come quickly,’ Charlotte begged. ‘I can’t bear it a moment longer.’
She put the phone down, lay on her bed, closed her eyes and waited. Everything was going to be okay. Ginny was on her way. She would know what to do. She always did.
* * *
Cold ate its way into her bones. So cold she couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers. So cold her teeth chattered uncontrollably, a tip-tapping sound that echoed through her head and out again, banging off the walls of the cell and ricocheting around her. Spinning around and around like the images eating away inside her head. She couldn’t shut her mind down. Couldn’t stop it going into overdrive. Her head hurt, throbbed from a combination of hangover, lack of sleep and pure, unadulterated fear.
Her mother’s face, shock and pain as she reeled away from her. The dark stain spreading across the front of her pale blue silk blouse. Ginny’s car. Blood on the leather seats. Mother’s eyes rolling back, eyelids fluttering.
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