“No, he was by himself, but he was in a state, muttering to himself and staring at a piece of paper. He was in a terrible hurry. He took the stairs, which was unusual for him. He’s like me; he prefers the elevator and an easy life. Four floors is a stretch.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Adrian made his way towards the stairs with Rebecca close behind him.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Follow me. I’ve got a hunch.”
Slowly, they began descending the stairs. “Maybe you should go back,” Adrian suggested, noticing the blood splatters on the wall.
“No, I'm coming with you.”
Mark was lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. Adrian rushed towards him, wanting to get to him before Rebecca. He lay completely motionless and there was no sign of life. Adrian turned him over and checked for a pulse. Rebecca let out a long, low cry and sank against the wall. “No, no, no,” she kept repeating over and over again. “Please God, no. Don’t say it.”
“I'm sorry,” Adrian moved towards her and she held out her hands to him. He sat beside her and held her hands in his. She stared up at him in utter desolation. “He’s dead,” he whispered. Rebecca leaned into him then and he took her in his arms. He held her tight until eventually her sobs began to subside.
Chapter 23
The days and weeks after Mark’s death passed in a blur for Rebecca. Each day seemed to blend into the next, and she found it very difficult to remember anything clearly. It was as if her life had been ripped apart, split in two; there was her life before Mark and after Mark. She’d never expected to feel devastated by his death. There were too many unresolved emotions and questions. Her life was spiralling out of control.
The house was full of people, constantly coming and going, asking her questions, wanting to know if she was alright, offering their condolences and sympathies and trying to reassure her. Confusion, that’s the only thing she could remember of those first days after Mark’s death. The journalists were back in force, camped outside the gates, wanting interviews and photographs. They were prepared to do anything for a story.
Surrounded by people, she was the hunted, not the hunter. Everyone was after her, wanted a piece of her. Her imagination was running wild, but she couldn’t help it. She felt strangely disconnected from everything and everyone around her, as if she were watching the comings and goings from a safe distance, slightly removed.
Everyone was very kind. Nothing was too much trouble. She struggled through the days, feeling numb and confused, not knowing what to say or do. Penelope and Shona were amazing. She didn’t know how she would have gotten through it without them. They took control of everything, and handled every detail, realising that she was incapable of organising anything. They were gentle and understanding, explaining to her what had to be done, and insisting that they would take care of her affairs.
Affairs; she’d come to despise that word and what it represented. Life could be organised into one pathetic word, “affairs.” There were love affairs, business affairs, financial affairs, the list was endless. The dramas of life could be condensed into that one miserable word. She was living a nightmare but still there were affairs which needed to be taken care of. Is this what she had been reduced to, organising her dead husband’s affairs? Dealing with paperwork was of paramount importance. She was expected to put her grieving to one side and fill out form after never-ending form. There were undertakers to be organised, funeral arrangements to be made and inquests to be attended. She would be eternally grateful to Penelope and Shona for taking the pressure off her. Shona, especially, was very sensible and kind and she took her time explaining what they were doing and gently asking her for certain necessary information.
He’s dead! She wanted to scream. He’s dead! Does nobody understand? It was unendurable. She’d never in her wildest nightmares imagined anything like this happening to her.
Rebecca had never been to an inquest. It was surreal and nothing like she’d pictured. They made it seem dramatic on the crime dramas she loved to watch on television, but in reality it was like watching an amateurish play. The Coroner was a tall, severe woman in her fifties with steel-grey hair, cut in an immaculate bob.
Rebecca had to give evidence of identification and the last time she had seen Mark, which had been two weeks previously when he came to spend time with their son, Ethan. He’d seemed in good health and high spirits, not unduly worried or upset about anything.
The doctor’s evidence was next. He stated that his death was as a result of the fatal fall. He’d broken his neck which led to his instantaneous death.
Mark’s neighbour, Hilda Sullivan, repeated her earlier statement that Mark had seemed addled but was alone when he entered the stairwell.
The witness statements were recorded and proceedings ended with the Coroner reaching a verdict of accidental death.
The funeral service was held at the local church, which was packed. The crowd was mostly made up of her neighbours and of course the media who had come for their pound of flesh.
Rebecca wished she didn’t have to attend but she knew everyone would talk if she didn’t show up. She hated the staring, watchful eyes of the people who come to pay their respects. Most of them had only shown up out of inquisitiveness. Shona and Penelope helped her get through the ordeal. They were strong, reliable friends and she was relieved to let them organise everything. They picked the coffin, ordered the flowers and chose the prayers and readings for the service. There weren’t many friends like them.
The gold-plated coffin was impressive and there were huge bouquets of flowers at the cemetery. Anyone would have thought Mark was famous, judging by the number of people who had shown up. He would have loved it, Rebecca thought wryly, his last moment in the limelight. Although she was surrounded by friends and family she felt like a stranger, like she really didn’t know any of them. She was wary of what she said and how she came across. She watched as his coffin was lowered carefully into the earth and listened to the priest’s words; “ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and back to dust we shall return.” An eerie chill ran down her spine. The sadness was gone. She didn’t really know if it had been sadness, shock was more of an accurate description.
The Mark that she had known and loved, the Mark that had belonged to her, was gone forever. He’d left a long time ago. Although she was surrounded by people, she suddenly felt desperately alone. Mark had been her best friend for years, and now he was gone, never to return. Soon, everyone would be gone and she would have to go home alone, home to the house that Mark had built for her. She wished she could have told him one more time how much she loved Cois Farraige, how much she loved him. Strange that a house, made from bricks and mortar, could mean so much, but it had been more than a house to them, it had been a symbol of their dreams and hopes and the love they’d once shared.
“Goodbye, Mark,” she whispered, before throwing a handful of earth on his coffin.
She wondered where she would be buried when the time came. There was no way she would share a grave with Mark. She wished everyone would go away so she could start forgetting about him. It was exhausting having to be cautious all the time. She hated being stared at by people with their false smiles and suspicion in their eyes. Every day she forced herself to carry on. She wished for the day when she could leave the nightmare behind.
Chapter 24
Maggie knew people, often better than they knew themselves. It was like a sixth sense. Sometimes she disliked them and sometimes she felt sorry for them, but she didn’t feel sorry for Mark McNamara. He was a nasty piece of work, there was no doubt about that, but nobody deserved to die the way he died, and she had a strong hunch that he had been murdered. Even scumbags like Mark McNamara deserved justice. The person she felt sorry for was Rebecca, which is why she had agreed to meet with her, against Adrian’s strong advice.
Maggie had received a hysterical phone call from Rebecca, demanding to know what involvement s
he’d had in her husband’s life. Apparently, she’d been sorting through his personal belongings and had come across her business card. Maggie drove to visit Rebecca a few days after the inquest. She knew Rebecca would be home alone, having been informed by her brother that Penelope and Shona were at the office with him.
“Can I help you?” Rebecca opened the door uncertainly. Her face was pale and drawn and she was still wearing her bathrobe although it was the middle of the afternoon.
“Hi, I'm Maggie Rowan.” She held out her hand which Rebecca weakly took in hers. “You called me the other day about your husband.”
“My ex-husband,” she turned, leaving the door open behind her, and wandered into the living room. Maggie followed close behind her. The room was a tip. There were clothes and toys scattered all over the floor. Leftover food and dishes were piled high on the dining room table. The television blared loudly from the corner, poisoning the air with some vitriolic chat show. The curtains were still drawn, making the room dark and miserable. Maggie’s heart went out to the other woman.
Rebecca swung around suddenly, making her jump. “Sorry, who are you?” she asked, distractedly, running her hands agitatedly through her greasy hair. The woman looked and smelled like she hadn’t had a shower in weeks.
“I'm Maggie Rowan,” she repeated. “Your husband hired me to investigate who framed him.” She pulled out her identification card.
Rebecca squinted at it and laughed. “Poor Mark, deluded to the end,” she muttered. “Why would anyone set him up? Did he think he was living in a James Bond movie? This is real life in all its magnificent glory.” She swept her gaze around the room and sank onto the couch.
“I believed him,” Maggie said slowly, giving her words time to sink in. “And I also believe he was murdered.”
“I suppose you’re another one who succumbed to his hypnotic spell.”
“No, our relationship was purely professional.”
“Does it matter if he was murdered? He’s dead, there’s no bringing him back.”
Maggie recoiled at the harshness of the other woman’s words.
“Don’t you want to know the truth?”
“Not particularly. The truth has only ever brought misery to me.”
“Murder usually requires a strong motive and Mark certainly had his fair share of enemies. Revenge is a very personal matter.”
“Penelope and Shona are the only people who may have wanted revenge on Mark, and they were with me in the office when he died,” Rebecca said thoughtfully. “Who else would want to hurt him?”
“I was thinking that the assassin, Savannah Kingston, may have been involved, but I checked into it and she left the country a few days before Mark’s death,” Maggie advised.
“I read in the newspaper that she was released last month,” Rebecca said despondently. “Why are you here? Do you have anything conclusive to offer me?”
“No, nothing conclusive,” Maggie said. “I came to offer you my condolences and to see if you would like me to pursue my investigations.”
“I wish the whole thing would go away,” Rebecca replied. “A verdict of accidental death was recorded and I want to leave it at that. There’s nothing more to pursue.” She got to her feet. “I’d like you to leave, please.”
“I'm sorry for your loss,” Maggie left immediately, surprised by the change in Rebecca’s demeanour. One minute she was sad and lost, the next she was decisive and borderline aggressive. She jumped in her car and sped away. She’d done extensive surveillance on the women who had been involved with Mark. She’d taken Jackie’s hard-drive to pieces, but apart from a few gaps in her email correspondence there was nothing untoward to be found. Still, she couldn’t help a sneaking suspicion that appearances could be deceiving.
.
Chapter 25
The soft sea-breeze gently caressed Rebecca’s tanned cheeks. She held her face up to the sunlight and smiled. She was going home. A deep happiness swelled up inside her at the thought of seeing Cois Farraige and her son again. Her doctor had advised her that she needed some rest and relaxation, time to get away for a while, so she’d used some of the money from Mark’s life insurance to treat herself to a Mediterranean cruise. She’d left the business in Penelope and Shona’s capable hands. Her parents were caring for little Ethan. She’d missed him so much and couldn’t wait to hug him close. It would be good to be home at last. She’d left the past, with its struggles and strains, behind her, and was looking forward to a new beginning, a fresh start.
She climbed up on deck just as the coast of Ireland was coming into view. The green fields of home were coming closer. Everything had worked out just the way she’d planned. She’d shaken off Mark’s shadow. The deceit was over. Her plotting and planning and scheming had paid off handsomely and everyone had been taken in by her pretence. Finally, she could drop the grieving widow act. There was no need to pretend any more. She was triumphant. Part of her wished Mark could see her. After all, she’d learned from the best. There was a fine line between love and hate, and he’d forced her to cross that line. He’d proven to be a master of trickery and betrayal but his fatal mistake was in underestimating her; poor, sweet, innocent, trusting Rebecca. Well, that Rebecca was long gone.
Everything had worked out perfectly in the end. It had been surprisingly easy. Colm came to her and told her about the affair his wife was having with Mark. He’d known about it almost from the start, having followed her and seen her meeting him. Rebecca had been upset, but Jackie was yet another one of her husband’s conquests. It was the discovery of her husband’s plot to kill her which had been the final blow and sent her over the edge. She’d accidentally found the emails on his computer and had read each and every one of them in horror. It didn’t matter that he had called the whole thing off. It was too late. There was no going back.
She and Colm had hatched their devious plan and with the help of Colm’s computer expertise she’d hacked into her husband’s account and continued sending the emails to the assassin. All she had to do was maintain the pretence that she knew nothing about Mark and Jackie’s affair.
Jackie’s confession had thrown them off track for a while. Colm had never expected his wife to confess. He wanted to drop the whole thing, and it had been hard work persuading him to continue, but she’d convinced him, eventually. When he’d read in the newspaper about Mark’s movie and book deals he couldn’t control himself any longer. Colm wanted Mark out of his life for good. They bided their time and prepared for their opportunity to exact their revenge.
She and Colm were kindred spirits, united in their burning desire for revenge. It was a relief not to have to pretend with Colm. She could be herself with him, because he understood exactly how she felt. There was no need to worry about him giving the game away because he was in exactly the same situation as her. She poured her heart out to him and he hadn’t been shocked by her plans to kill Mark. They plotted and planned and played their parts. She’d actually enjoyed it. It was fun; dangerous, intoxicating fun because there was always the risk of being caught.
She was exhilarated, having gotten everything she wanted, in spite of the dangers. Mark was gone and she was a very wealthy woman. Everything was fixed and she was going to have an amazing future. She didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. She’d wondered how she’d feel after he was gone, but she didn’t care, not really. It was his own fault. He got what he deserved. She’d won.
Slowly, she drove up the twisting path to Cois Farraige, savouring the first sight of the house. It was as magnificent as ever, her dream home. The house would be a fine monument to Mark’s memory; at least, that’s what she’d tell everyone. A peculiar feeling of foreboding came over her, the closer to the house she drove. She tried to shake it off. There was nobody home when she unlocked the door. Somehow she’d expected a little welcoming party. She checked her watch. She’d arrived two hours early. Sighing she went to the kitchen to make some tea. There was something about Irish tea that she missed whenever s
he travelled. Her mail was piled high on the kitchen table. There was the usual junk mail, and bills to be paid.
Nothing of any great interest, until she came to an unstamped envelope without any address, just her name “Jackie” printed on the front. It must have been delivered personally. She ripped the envelope open with shaking hands. There was a photograph inside, but no letter. She stared at it, trying to make sense of it. It was a photo of a busy street, somewhere in London. Big Ben was in the background. Two people sat outside a café, deep in conversation with each other. It was herself and Colm.
Somebody knew! Somebody had known all along! They’d been so careful. Who knew their deadly secret? She was suddenly very afraid. She ripped the photo into tiny pieces and threw it in the bin. A photograph didn’t prove that they’d murdered Mark. It only proved that they knew each other. Her mind raced. Stop panicking! She wasn’t going to fall apart, not now, not after everything she’d endured. Whoever had sent the photograph had better be prepared. They had no idea who they were up against. She hoped for their sake, whoever they were, that they wouldn’t take this any further, because she was a fighter, and she would fight them to the bitter end…
The End
About the Author
Joanne Clancy is a writer from County Cork, Ireland. She is an avid reader, a self-confessed Kindle addict, and a tea fiend!
Joanne is the author of The Unfaithful Series, The Wedding Day, Unforgettable Embrace, My Love, and The Secrets & Lies Trilogy; Secrets and Lies, Aftermath, and Redemption.
Web of Deceit is her latest release. Joanne is currently working on her tenth book which will be available in February 2013.
Unfaithful (The Complete Trilogy) Page 50