Emma Holden Mystery 03-The One You Fear

by Paul Pilkington

  Edward nodded, although he looked anything but.

  She moved towards him and cupped a hand around his shoulder. ‘Were you shouting on the phone?’

  ‘A little,’ he said, looking down to his right.

  ‘With a client?’

  Edward snorted. ‘An ex-client.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He looked up. ‘Oh indeed.’

  ‘That’s the…’

  ‘Third client to leave me in two weeks,’ he finished, placing the mobile phone down on the desk. ‘That was Clive Monroe. Fifteen years I’ve been doing his books.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Oh, same old story – really sorry, but times are hard, gone with an accountancy firm that was offering an introductory deal.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the truth.’

  Edward shook his head. ‘Funny how people don’t want to be associated with someone who has been charged with possessing an unlicensed gun and inflicting grievous bodily harm.’

  ‘It could be a coincidence.’

  ‘Miranda, I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but it really is so bloody obvious, isn’t it?’

  She didn’t know what to say to that. He was right; it was obvious. Since the news had come out that Edward had been charged – his appearance at the Magistrates’ Court had been reported in the newspaper – he had been fighting a constant battle to hold onto his clients. Many had wobbled but had been convinced to stay (for now), but the danger was clear. His accountancy business relied on his character as much as, if not more, than his accounting skills. And what had happened had blown a hole in how people once viewed him.

  ‘I’m worried about you, Edward.’

  He stood up, shrugging off her hold, and paced to the window. ‘You should be worried about yourself.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He turned around. ‘You should be worried about how you and the baby are going to survive when I’m either in prison, bankrupt, or both.’

  ‘Edward, don’t, it won’t come to that.’

  ‘Won’t it? I could go to jail for what I did.’

  ‘But there were mitigating circumstances,’ Miranda protested. ‘Your lawyer said that, didn’t he? You were under extreme stress. You weren’t thinking straight. It was totally out of character – anyone can see that.’

  ‘I am guilty though. I pleaded guilty, stood up there in front of the magistrate and admitted it. So I’ll be punished by the court, just like I’m being punished by my clients.’

  ‘But the mitigating circumstances, they’ll take those into account.’

  ‘Maybe. Or maybe they’ll decide to make an example of me.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You don’t know!’ Edward shouted. He checked himself as Miranda shrank back, seeming almost physically wounded by his actions. ‘I’m sorry, Miranda, really sorry. I didn’t mean to shout, it’s just…’

  ‘It’s just that you’re shutting me out, as usual,’ Miranda said. ‘You’re trying to deal with this on your own, and cutting me off. You lock yourself away for hours at a time in this room, you don’t talk to me about things when you do come out, and the only things I get to know are snippets I overhear from your shouting matches with clients. Well, Edward, I’m sick of it. You might behave like no one else in the world but you is affected by this situation, but you’re not on your own.’

  ‘I know,’ he acknowledged. ‘I just, I didn’t want to worry you, not in your condition.’

  ‘I’m pregnant, Edward, not sick. I don’t need protecting, even if that were possible, which it isn’t. Do you really think you can stop me from worrying, from thinking about what could happen, about what all this might mean for our family?’

  Edward closed his eyes and grimaced as if in pain. ‘You’d have been much better off not meeting me. You could have met someone your own age, had a family with them, and lived a good life.’

  Miranda shook her head in disbelief and anger. ‘You selfish, selfish man! Do you know what you’re saying? You’re saying I’d be better off if this never happened. That this never happened.’ She gestured at her swollen abdomen.

  ‘I… I didn’t mean it like that,’ he backtracked. ‘Miranda, I’m sorry.’

  But she was past hearing apologies. ‘Is this just about the court case, or is it about the baby too?’

  Edward looked shocked. ‘I… I don’t understand.’

  ‘Well, you weren’t that overjoyed at the news,’ Miranda found herself saying. ‘Oh, you said you were happy, but did you look it? I’m not so sure.’

  He took a step towards her, arms outstretched. ‘Of course I’m happy, Miranda. It was a shock at first, yes, but I am happy. Once I got used to the idea of being a father again, it felt good.’

  Miranda’s anger settled and she regretted what she had said, even though she’d meant it. ‘Well, Edward,’ she said softly, ‘you have to show that you’re happy, not just say it.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ He pulled her towards him and kissed her hair. ‘I’m really sorry for everything. I promise I’ll try to make things better, for all of us, I truly promise that, whatever happens. I’ll do whatever it takes.’

  ***

  Before leaving her apartment, Lizzy gazed in the mirror for the last time, running a hand through her strawberry blonde hair. She looked tired. The past few weeks had been difficult, trying to get over her experience while also continuing her lead role in the musical. They had given her a couple of weeks off, and offered her more, but she’d insisted on returning. It wouldn’t do her any good to have too much time to think about events. It was much better to carry on as normal. So two weeks ago she had returned to the lead role. It had felt good, but it was exhausting. It didn’t help that she wasn’t sleeping well. Usually she had no trouble in that department – she could fall asleep anywhere – on top of a pinhead, her mother had once said. But it hadn’t been like that recently. Many times she’d woken in a panic, thinking that she was still in Peter Myers’ house, blindfolded and tied to a chair. She’d taken up the offer of counselling, and that was helping. But she knew it would take time, even for someone as strong as her. It was the same for all of them: Emma, Dan, Richard, Will. They were all going through the same thing, in one form or another.

  But there was the one thing in particular that gnawed at her – what Peter Myers had told her during the first few hours of her imprisonment.

  She exited the apartment and paced towards the bus stop. It was a beautiful day and she wished she’d remembered her sunglasses, which had been away in a drawer for most of the summer. The bus travelling towards the West End was crowded, but there was a free seat towards the back. A man who had also been waiting at the stop – he’d arrived just after she had – sat down next to her. He was in his middle to late thirties, with a receding hairline.

  ‘Nice day,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Lizzy replied, glancing up from her stage notes and groaning inwardly. Normally ready to talk to strangers, today she felt uncharacteristically unsociable, as she needed the time on the bus to revise. She’d been quite forgetful since returning to the stage. Only little things – a line that came out slightly wrong, or a hesitation at who was supposed to be speaking next – but she was a perfectionist, and it wasn’t acceptable, not on the London stage. Although her fellow cast members had been too polite to mention the slip-ups, the director certainly hadn’t. He’d been supportive, acknowledging that it was understandable given what she’d been through, but at the same time he made it clear that he expected her to address the issue pretty quickly, or stand aside.

  She could understand that.

  ‘It’s Lizzy, isn’t it?’ the man said.

  Lizzy stiffened. ‘How do you…’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he interrupted. ‘Don’t be alarmed. I know it looks weird, but I only want a quick chat. I thought the bus ride would be the perfect opportunity.’

  Now Lizzy was angry. She recognised the voice. ‘Adrian Spencer. It’s you,
isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, proffering a hand. ‘Adrian Spencer, London Daily Post.’

  Lizzy wanted to push past him and sit somewhere else. For the past three weeks, this guy had been calling her, asking for an interview. He was writing a feature article about the events surrounding Dan’s kidnap. Lizzy, like Emma and the others, had refused his increasingly persistent advances. ‘You’ve got some nerve.’

  He shrugged. ‘You have to, in my job.’

  ‘Well, it’s not a job I’d want to do, harassing people who have been through terrible events and are just trying to get on with their lives.’

  ‘Steady on,’ he said. ‘Harassment is a bit strong a word.’

  ‘You think so? Well, where I come from, what you’ve been doing – calling me, Emma, Will, Dan, Richard, Edward, numerous times, not taking no for an answer, and now pestering me on my way to work – is definitely harassment. And if you don’t stop it, I will call the police, you understand?’

  ‘Okay, I appreciate that you could see it in that way, but I just want to get the story straight. I’ll be writing the article whether I speak to you or not, so surely it’s better for you to get your side of the story straight. You wouldn’t want to be misrepresented, would you?’

  Lizzy bristled. ‘Don’t threaten me.’

  He laughed that off. ‘Now, come on, I’m not threatening anyone. It’s just a fact. My editor wants to run this story, the readers want to read about it, so it is going to happen. How it happens is up to you, in many ways.’

  ‘Okay,’ Lizzy said, ‘I’ll give you a quote.’

  ‘Great, let me just get my recorder.’ He delved into his pocket and brought out the digital recording device, pressing the record button as he held it between them. ‘Feel free to go ahead.’

  ‘Get lost!’

  Adrian Spencer’s face creased and he lowered the device. ‘I can see that now isn’t a good time.’

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ Lizzy said. ‘It will never be a good time. You won’t get anything from me.’

  ‘Not even for a fee?’

  Lizzy laughed. ‘You must be desperate, if you’re starting to offer money. The answer’s no, not for any amount. You understand?’

  ‘I still don’t see why you’re so hostile about this.’

  She shook her head. This man just didn’t get it. ‘Because, as I’ve explained to you several times over the phone, what happened to us isn’t entertainment. We’re all still coming to terms with what happened, it’s extremely difficult and stressful, and we don’t want our lives served up in your crappy little newspaper just to satisfy people’s curiosity.’

  ‘Can I quote you on that?’

  ‘Screw you. Now, please, move.’ They were still some way from her stop, but she decided it was time to leave. She would gladly walk the extra minutes to get away from this creep.

  He stood up to let her pass, but as she disembarked he followed her off the bus.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she shouted, as the bus pulled away. ‘Don’t you understand English?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll leave you alone,’ he said. ‘But there’s one last thing before I go.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it.’ Lizzy started walking away.

  ‘I think you do,’ he shouted after her. ‘I know about the secret. I know all about what Peter Myers told you.’

  Lizzy stopped and turned around.

  3

  Will Holden sat down on the park bench, stretched out his legs and looked up at the sky. Overhead a plane trailed across, en route to Heathrow. He brought his vision back down to earth, scanning Regent’s Park. It was still early morning – just past ten – but already the sun had begun to bring out the crowds. There were the usual joggers, a mixture of ages and sizes, pounding the grass and paths, plugged into their music players, lost in their own world. There were the dog walkers, many of whom looked remarkably like their pets. There were the families, children playing with balls or engaged in chase with their siblings. And there were the lovers, hand in hand, out for a morning stroll.

  Will smiled. Things felt good. Just a few weeks ago, in this very same park, it had been so different. The sense of doom had been suffocating, as he wondered whether Dan was still alive, and whether it was all because of him: because of what he had done.

  And it had been.

  Or at least what he had been party to. Yes, it was Stuart Harris who had killed Stephen Myers. But it was he who had helped him dispose of the body. And it was he who had kept quiet about what had happened. He still regretted keeping the secret for so long, and it had been such a relief to tell Emma and the others the truth.

  They had persuaded him not to tell the police.

  Once they had found out that his claim about telling the police everything had been a spur-of-the-moment lie to stop their father from shooting Peter Myers, they had been clear – admitting his crime to the authorities wouldn’t achieve anything, apart from punishing him even more than he had already punished himself. In the aftermath of Dan’s rescue, he had considered what to do. He decided that they were right. The burden of hiding the secret had been lifted – for the first time in years he felt free of its crushing weight.

  He had been given another chance.

  Suddenly he saw Amy, walking across the grass, her arms falling lightly to her sides as she approached. She was wearing joggers and a summery t-shirt. She looked beautiful, with her blonde hair tied back into a ponytail.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, smiling. ‘You’re early.’

  ‘So are you.’ Will smiled back, standing to greet her. She offered him her cheek and he kissed it lightly.

  They had met two and a half weeks ago at a bar in town. Amy had sparked up conversation while waiting to get served and, for the next two hours, they’d talked non-stop about all manner of things – their backgrounds, likes and dislikes, hopes for the future. Amy was a sports teacher at an inner-city comprehensive, and obviously loved her job. Will had never met anyone so instantly attractive, looks- and personality-wise, so he’d been amazed when she had suggested meeting up the next day for a coffee.

  Two and a half weeks, and numerous dates later, things couldn’t have been going any better.

  ‘Are you ready, then,’ she said, ‘to face your fears?’

  Will nodded. At the first meeting he had revealed his fear of spiders, and how it was the main barrier for him visiting his old school friend Ed, who’d emigrated to Melbourne, Australia, three years ago. Ed and his wife Yvonne had invited him there numerous times, but the thought of visiting a country where spiders came as big as your fist was just too much. For as long as he could remember, he’d hated spiders. It probably had something to do with the film Arachnophobia, which he had watched at a friend’s house when he was only ten years old. The movie, about a town plagued by the arachnids, had lingered in his memory.

  On their third date, a moonlit walk by the Thames, Amy had suggested a radical treatment for his fear – holding a tarantula as part of a phobia treatment session at London Zoo. She knew a friend, a fellow teacher at her school, who had done it, and it had worked really well. At first dismissing the idea because of sheer horror, Will came round. At the heart of it, he wanted to impress Amy, who was obviously much more adventurous than he – she had been trekking in Nepal, explored South America on a gap year by herself, regularly parachute jumped (Will was afraid of heights), and competed in several triathlons, to name just some of her exploits. Compared to all of that, holding a spider in a controlled environment seemed straightforward.

  Except that it wasn’t, of course.

  They walked hand in hand across the grass towards the entrance to the zoo. Will wanted to back out. And his face must have shown it.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Amy said, as they reached the gates. ‘You look, well, terrible.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he lied, ‘just a bit nervous.’

  Amy smiled warmly. ‘It’s okay, you know, you don’t have to do this. Don’t feel forced int
o it. We could try again another time.’

  Will braced himself. He had to do this now, or it would never happen. ‘No, I’m doing it.’

  They paid at the desk and entered the zoo. It was another ten minutes until their slot for the up-close and personal session with the spider, so they spent the time wandering around the zoo, with Amy trying to take Will’s mind off the impending encounter. They spent time watching the penguins, where Amy revealed that she intended to visit Antarctica, and had already done some investigating of possible options. Her distraction technique worked and by the time they headed off to the building Will felt better.

  Ten minutes later and Will was standing there, Amy by his side, with the biggest spider he had ever seen being lowered gently onto the palm of his hand. The keeper stood back as he brought his hand away from the tarantula.

  ‘Are you okay, Will?’

  Will nodded, not daring to breathe in case it startled the spider into scurrying up his arm, or jumping towards his face. Suddenly his arms didn’t seem long enough. But a few small breaths and he was okay, watching the creature with its hairy black legs as it moved slowly over his palm.

  ‘Its legs tickle,’ he said, finally managing to get some words out.

  The man nodded. ‘He’s a friendly chap, Horace. Likes giving massages to make people feel comfortable.’

  The spider paused, as if wondering what to do. Will looked across at Amy, who smiled.

  ‘You see,’ the man said, ‘lots of people are afraid of spiders, certainly. My wife nearly split up with me when she realised what I did for a living – she was scared stiff that one might stow away in my bag and appear in front of her. But now she’s fine with them, and most people are, if you can break down the instinctive barrier that’s there.’

  Will focussed on the spider again. It was a lot better than he’d expected, although obviously he was still nervous. ‘Do a lot of people do this kind of thing?’

  ‘A lot. Since we started doing these sessions a few years ago, the number of people enrolling has grown every year.’