'So, it might not even be true.'
DC Judd just gazes at me, filling the space between us with silent accusation. I won't fall for it.
'Is there anything you wish to tell us, however insignificant, you may think it is, which might help us to understand?'
'Understand what?'
'Why an intelligent man, who seemingly knows nothing about mechanics, decided the one day you accidentally locked yourself in the bedroom, to fix a car himself?'
Her final revelatory question ignites my nerves, until I feel I can no longer look her in the eyes.
'I have no idea what was going through his mind. Once he gets something in his head, you just find yourself being swept away with it.'
I can feel the walls closing in on me. The inevitable crush of my lies trapping me further, as they pour from my mouth, one-by-one.
'I don't know anything about Sophie. My husband has been nothing but an honest, kind, and loving man. The best father I could have hoped for my daughter. None of what you are saying is making any sense.'
But, she's not giving up.
'It looks to me as though Joel knew he was going to die, having deleted those files the night before the accident,' she says.
'Are you saying he killed himself?'
'Do you know what happened to his girlfriend?'
'Jessica?'
'He told you?'
'That she committed suicide, yes. We told each other everything. That's why I can't get my head around what you're saying. You're making out my husband to be some kind of monster.'
DC Judd's stare is concerning me. 'Is that what he told you?'
'He said Jessica committed suicide with sleeping tablets and vodka. This man came…' I realise then I've said too much.
'A man?'
'Chris Hollins.'
Her eyes flit briefly down to the table between us, then shoot right up back to where I sit with my hands clamped tightly together.
'Who is he?'
'He was investigating Jessica's death,' she says matter-of-factly.
'He's a detective?'
'Retired,' she says.
'I thought it was a suicide. Why was he visiting my husband?' For the past four years.
'That's what I'd like to find out.'
A beat of silence passes between us.
'Was my husband a suspect?'
I can see the answer in her eyes.
I lose my thread of thought. Everything is beginning to unravel.
PAST
Five days ago
ERICA
Since Joel attacked me, four weeks ago, for looking through his laptop and finding those sick photographs stored on his hard drive, he hasn't done so much as look at me the wrong way. My face has healed, and to look at me you'd never know anything had happened; the bruising is disguised with heavily applied makeup.
There was a time when Joel wouldn't dare to leave any evidence of his violence visible, but the boundaries have been pushed so far over the past four years nothing shocks me anymore.
Joel sits at his desk, as I pause in the hall outside our bedroom to fold a towel neatly, leaving it in the cupboard at the top of the staircase. He's smiling to himself, but I cannot afford to reassure myself he won't pick a fight with me today. I know how his mind works. I'm given a false sense of security, until the darkness enfolds us in its arms, filling the sky beyond the confines of the house. He might be in a good mood now, but tonight, in bed, I'll be expected to allow him to do as he wants with my body. If I so much as whimper, he'll only become more aroused. I used to tell myself it was a sickness he was unable to control, but I can't fool myself any more.
'I'm going to start on the Audi,' he says, leaving his office.
I don't say anything. It's easier that way.
He's making his way down to the garage. I repel the instant relief, as he disappears. I need to feel the fear; it's what keeps me going. I'm trying to decide if I've got the psychological strength to kill him, when I reach the bottom of the stairs, and catch him leaving the kitchen, heading to the garage.
I could wait for his back to be turned, and hit him over the head. I could bung the exhaust pipe up with my t-shirt, then when he switches on the engine I'll lock him inside. He might not notice the exhaust fumes, until it's too late.
The spare key dangles in front of me on the hook, beside the door, which leads back into the kitchen. I watch Joel cross in front of the car, ten feet away from me, and tug a blanket away from the jack, sitting in the corner of the garage.
I panic when, in my peripheral vision, I see the image of Lily. I blink to rid the black thoughts which cloud my mind, and the vision is gone. Lily is staying with Rose and Jared for the night. When I glance back through the doorway, I notice Joel has already begun to place the jack beneath the car.
I don't have the physical power to knock him to the ground, and being several inches shorter, I'd have to stand on something to get a good enough aim, if I was to slam a heavy object down onto his head. He's never expressed a wish to end his life, so suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning isn't an option, either. But, an accident would be far more believable.
I wait until Joel has the car up on the jack, keeping my distance, and holding my breath, as I watch him collect a wrench from the toolbox on the concrete floor.
He takes one look around the garage, as if he can feel my eyes on the back of his head. I wait until he has shifted himself beneath the car, before I take a deep breath, and try to prepare myself for what I am about to do.
All the while, one thought nags at the back of my head. Do I really have it in me to end another person's life?
JOEL
I undo the oil filter cap, and the black, tar-like fluid leaks down onto my shirt. I knew I should have worn something more casual, but it's too late now. I can't leave the car, as it is, and change my clothing. I realise I've left the torque next to my foot, so I scoot along to where it is, and stop when I hear something behind me. I'm not really sure what it is, but it sounds almost like a whisper of breath. A quick inhalation. I listen intently to the silence, but don’t hear anything else. I tell myself it can't have been Erica, because she's upstairs, in the bedroom.
I haven't locked her in. Not today. The threat is enough to keep her there. If she didn't anger me, if she didn't lie to me and disrespect me, I wouldn't have to do these things.
I snatch up the torque, and shift back beneath the car, with my back to the concrete, stemming the oil leak with a bunched-up piece of cloth. I hold the torque above my chest, squinting, as I try to focus on the filter cap in the darkness beneath the car. I plug it in, and reach down beside my leg to collect the sealant from the floor. At least the leak is contained, I think to myself, when I hear something shift to my left, then a soft groan, like something bearing weight being released of its job.
I turn my head, on instinct, to see a bare foot beside the wheel arch. I wonder why Erica has come down here, but before I can even open my mouth, there is a loud crash, and a sharp stabbing pain, as something cold enters my chest.
The searing metal allows me to gulp in air, but I can't feel it enter my lungs. There is a crushing pain in my chest, causing me to choke. Gasping for breath, all I am capable of is spitting blood.
I writhe from side-to-side, my palms flat against the underside of the car, trying to prise myself away from the torque, but all it does is push it further into my skin. I hear a snap and wince, as several of my ribs crack from the tension in my chest. My body collapses against the concrete from the effort.
Though I know it is quite impossible to free myself, I continue to fight for my life, until I grow tired. I try not to focus on what I know to be true; I'm trapped, and I'm going to die. I twist my head slightly to glance back in the direction of where the bare foot had, seconds ago, been stood against the concrete floor but all I can see is an empty space. I think I must have imagined it. Erica would never do something like this to me. A shadow falls over the lower half of my right leg, and that'
s when I see her.
She bends down to look beneath the front of the car to see the pool of blood, seeping from the wound in my chest, collecting on the ground. I'm too far beneath the car for her to see my eyes, but I caught hers. She looks relieved.
I try to focus on the corner of the garage, where the door leads in through the kitchen. The last image I have is of my wife's stone-wall expression, when she glances down at my body lying beneath the car, realising I am dead.
I hear a click, and assume—as I cannot see—she has walked away, closing the kitchen door behind her. I expect she thinks she's got it all covered—the alibi, her stunned expression when she hears news of my death, and acting out the role of grieving widow. But, what she doesn't grasp is even death can't tear me away from her. Erica belongs to me, and she always will.
ERICA
I sit on the ground in front of the house, while the police are inside about to discover Joel's body under the car. My mind is flooded with memories of the four years we've spent together, each one tarnished more by the next, until my head is bombarded with images of Joel leering over me, as I'm huddled over on the floor in a corner of the room, trying to cover my face with my arms, as he kicks and punches me until he's tired. His eyes vacant, as he chokes me until I pass out. I can almost feel the spit landing on my face at the memory, as he hurls vicious words at me, hoping the effect will leave me a little more humiliated, more bruised than the last time.
It isn't only the violence I recall, but the feeling of helplessness, being unable, and unwilling, to fight back. Knowing if I did, he'd probably kill me. It was a game of power, and I was the pawn. I cannot bear to think about the other things he did, the things invisible to the eye, so I force myself to try to focus on what PC Stone is telling me, as she leans down, with her hand on my shoulder.
'Your husband is dead, Mrs Heath.'
I know, I want to tell her. I'm glad. Though, for some reason, I feel just as powerless now, as I did all those times Joel towered over me, spewing obscenities at me, telling me how worthless I was; I wasn't a good mother, I deserved a slap, and he wouldn't ever let me leave.
I am numb, and at the mercy of the law now. My actions are going to be judged, and, like it or not, I don't have a choice but to act shocked and upset. If I want to keep Lily safe, I have to stick to my story. I have grown used to lying, but the more elaborate they become, the more I have to remember, and I don't like to deliberately recall events. I'd much rather forget them. It won't serve me well to forget things now, though. Like it or not, I'm going to have to put up with the sickening images, which flood my brain, for a little longer.
I allow PC Stone to escort me to the police car. Moments later, the male officer joins us, and I am soon being driven to the station. The journey feels like the longest I've ever had to endure. I try to curb my thoughts away from Joel's evil, and to the good times we shared, before I chose to marry him. I have to pretend Joel was a loving husband and father. It's a good thing I deleted those files from his laptop. If the police decide to delve into things, and begin digging, they won't find anything untoward. They won't suspect him of anything.
The detective, DC Judd, leads me into an interview room, and begins to question me. For the next four hours, I act the grief-filled, stunned widow, who thought the world of her husband. Feigning sadness comes easily to me—I've spent the past four years unhappily married to a successful lawyer.
It is only when I'm alone that night, in the quiet bed and breakfast the detectives were kind enough to pay for, I can finally allow myself to feel. I had expected the relief and pain of my suffering at the hands of Joel to ignite the tears, which I had been forcing from my eyes all through my interview earlier. But, it isn't tears which come. Instead, a smile lights up my face.
I really have got away with it.
I bunch up the pillows beneath my head, lying back on top of the duvet, and closing my eyes, listening to the sounds of the street beyond the window.
I haven't kept Joel's reputation intact in order to protect him. For Lily's sake, I have to be here for her; I cannot afford to go to prison. Nobody must ever know what happened between us in that house. Least of all what other things he got up to, when he was alone in his office upstairs.
JOEL
I should have seen my imminent death coming. I was always so busy working; I must have missed the signs. Even while I was at home, Rose took a great effort in attempting to distract Erica and the child from me with her dramas, calling her up at all hours of the day, asking for advice, and offering to take Lily out for the day to the zoo or the park. I guessed a long time ago she still harboured some kind of dislike for me, but refused to show it in front of Erica.
Though she couldn't hide her distaste toward me when we were alone. I used to think she held a flame to me. She secretly wished she could take Erica's place, instead of being stuck with that dead-brained boyfriend of hers. Rose had never made a move on me, but I knew it would only be a matter of time. The way she looked at me told me all I needed to know.
I think back to the weeks before my death, and one day in particular stands out. Erica had left the house, half an hour before. I no longer suspected she wanted to leave. She seemed to have resigned herself to her fate. I had lost interest in her; my mind was elsewhere. Rose arrived at the door, with a spring in her step, and her hair tied loosely above her head. Large, bright pink hoops hung from her earlobes. Her smile seemed to fade when I told her Erica had gone to the grocery shop. I invited her inside to wait.
'I was just making lunch. Would you like something to eat?'
'Sure,' she said. 'Why not.'
I placed a selection of sandwiches on a plate in front of her, taking the seat opposite at the glass table. Her perfume was strong and the scent overpowered the space between us, filling the air with the sickly potion. I could almost imagine her taking on the form of a white witch. Her shrill, irritating voice snapped me out of my daydream.
'Thanks,' she said. 'It tastes lovely.'
Her eyes grazed the plate, as she tucked into her food. As she chewed her sandwich maniacally, I noticed her eyes kept drifting toward me. She didn’t seem able to tear her gaze away from me. I coughed, hoping to alert her to her obvious stare, but her eyes narrowed, and her expression quizzed me.
'What's the matter?' she asked.
I shook my head, and smiled.
'Erica never seems to want to go anywhere anymore.'
My fork clanged against the thick bone china plate. 'She hasn't told you?'
'Told me what?'
'She isn't well, Rose.'
'What do you mean, she isn't well?'
'Do you remember the attempted break-in at the flat, just after you left?'
'Well, yes, but that was four years ago.'
'Erica has been struggling to go out ever since.'
Rose looked astonished. 'Where is she now?'
'At the grocery shop. I know what you're thinking, how can she go out today, but it's crippling her.'
'She's my best friend. I know her better than anyone. Erica is not agoraphobic.'
'Then, what would you call it?'
'I don't think there's anything wrong with her.'
I was slightly taken aback by this. Surely even Rose could see Erica's reluctance to visit her was another sign that all was not well with her psychological health. I thought I'd made it quite clear Erica was mentally unstable, but obviously not clear enough to Rose.
'I have to call her several times a day to make sure she is okay. She has panic attacks; she was prescribed anti-depressants after Lily was born, but she refuses to take them now. She says she doesn't like the way they make her feel.'
Rose sat there, stunned.
'You really had no idea?'
'No, I didn't,' she said, cramming the final quarter of a tuna sandwich into her mouth. 'I guess there's a lot of things we haven't spoken about…'
She left her words hanging, like an unspoken rule is about to be broken. Is Rose going to
confide in me? Does she, too, think Erica is no longer the same person I married?
'I feel as though I don't know her anymore,' she admitted.
'I feel the same.'
She didn’t look at all surprised to hear this. In fact, I'd go so far as to say she expected this conversation. Did she know Erica wouldn't be here, before she knocked on the door?
'I had no idea things were so difficult.'
'She's a closed book, Rose. She doesn't share anything with me. It's almost as though she's given up.'
This was partly true. Erica stopped telling me her innermost thoughts a long time ago, and she had lost her spark.
Rose noted the worry in my face, and brought her hand out to rest on mine. I could feel an erection building in my trousers.
'Do you remember the meal?'
'How could I forget,' she murmured.
The meal I had been referring to was a lavishly prepared dinner party for Roger, his wife, Erica, and I. Only Erica took it upon herself to invite Rose and Jared along. The evening went well, until Rose shared an intimate moment in the kitchen with Erica.
When she returned, Erica was drunk, and in no fit state to continue eating. I told her to go upstairs and have a lie-down, but she refused, telling me she was enjoying herself. I had to put a stop to her unsightly behaviour, so I told everyone at the dinner table she'd been drinking too much lately, which was true.
The shame had burnt her cheeks, and sent her upstairs. Of course, Rose had to take her. That was when I felt it necessary to explain myself more clearly. I told Roger my wife was a depressive. I think him and his wife, Cherry, bought it.
'I know things must be difficult at the moment, but don't give up on her.' Rose’s voice had broken through my recollections of that evening, her hand still on mine.
I glanced down, as I turned my palm upwards to meet hers. She didn’t snap her hand away but left it there. I clasped my fingers through hers and stood. Rose's eyes fell to the floor where her handbag sat, and before I knew it, she stood in front of me, her eyes glistening with lust, my body pressed against hers. She drew her hand back, and slammed it down onto the glass table, holding herself up while I reached down to unzip her slacks.
Beautiful Liar: a gripping suspense thriller Page 20